Sunshine and Rain
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: Emma wakes up one morning in a stranger's bed with a wedding ring on her finger. Things couldn't get any worse...except for the fact that the person she supposedly married...was Mr. Gold. Takes place after 7th ep.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Once Upon A Time**_**. ABC does. **

_**A/N: **First off, I must tell you all that this story was fully inspired by a most wonderful series. It is known as the **Abridged Once Upon A Time series** (it is a parody on LiveJournal), and it has been the best thing to pass the time between episodes lately. Seriously, if you have not read it yet, go do so now. It is amazing, hilarious, and the author, DaesGatling, has been incredible with it. (=_

_Just thought I'd throw that out there._

_Now, this will (I hope) be a really fun fanfic to write. It's just for fun, really. Also to please the Gemma fans out there (I know you guys have had it hard since Belle came into the picture). This takes place directly after the 7th ep._

_With that in mind….enjoy._

* * *

><p><strong>Sunshine and Rain<strong>

_I'm dreaming of a white…wedding…_

_Ow, my head…How much did I drink last night? Trying to forget…Graham…Graham…_

There was an irritating ache pounding behind Emma's eyes as she awoke from a deep, uneasy sleep. The sound of bells echoed through her skull.

She kept her eyes closed—it hurt too much. Definitely a hangover, though she's had worse before.

_What happened last night? _It was foggy, hard to remember…

_Graham…_

Graham was dead.

Died right in her arms after first kissing her. How pitiful was that? The minute Emma allowed her walls to tumble down, the guy just…dies. And Emma vaguely recalls drowning her pain and guilt with alcohol.

The rest is a blur. She doesn't even remember leaving the diner. Or stumbling through the door. Or falling into bed. Was Mary Margaret even up yet? It was so quiet…

Emma shoved Graham from her mind—up went her walls. She yawned widely and stretched leisurely, her hands smoothing across the silk sheets and—

Wait. What?

Silk sheets?

Emma's bed didn't have silk sheets. So, then….where was she? _Oh, God. Don't tell me I crashed somewhere else. Granny's inn, maybe? No, Granny can't afford silk sheets. _

Green eyes shot open wide and she bolted upright in the bed, the sheets falling away. Not her bed, but _someone's_ bed. With black silk sheets.

_What the hell? _

Emma scanned the room. She had never seen this room before. It was grand and large, like the room of a mansion. Light curtains fluttered as a gentle breeze flowed in through the window, the stream of sun filtering across the floor. The bed was massive, her body only spanning half of it. _Her body…_

Panicking, Emma stared down at her body and was relieved to find she was wearing clothing. Well, if you counted her red bra and panties as clothing. _Oh, God…where am I? What did I do? _

Slipping from the bed, Emma searched for her phone. There, on the bedside table. Snatching it up, she punched in Mary Margaret's phone number. It buzzed in her ear as Emma swept her blonde hair from her forehead.

Something gleamed in the sunlight. Sparkled, actually. Gold. There was an unfamiliar gold ring on her finger, set with an exquisite diamond.

Emma's stomach plummeted like a roller coaster as she stared at it. A gold ring…_I had too much to drink last night. Did I really…? Oh, this can't get any worse. Please tell me I married Archie; at least being a psychologist he can calm me down. _

Mary Margaret's sweet voice rose from the phone, but Emma's throat was dry. _I have a ring on my finger! Why the hell do I have a ring on my finger? _

Sense snapped into Emma as Mary Margaret's voice became insistent, almost frightened.

"Yeah, I'm here..." Emma managed, green eyes wandering about the room. This wasn't her place…so where was the owner?

"Where have you been? You didn't come home last night. I heard about Graham…" Mary Margaret's voice trailed off—she had been the one to suggest Emma's feelings for the sheriff. Late sheriff.

"Oh, trust me. I think I have bigger problems than Graham right now," she murmured, in case the owner heard she was awake. Emma crept across the floor to the door and edged it open.

The sound of sizzling was coming from downstairs, with the tantalizing smell of bacon. _Mmm…wait. Emma, think. Focus. Ring on finger. Awaking in a stranger's bed…_

"What? What other problems? Emma, what's going on?" Mary Margaret sounded how Emma felt right then: worried, confused, upset.

Emma crept back to the bed and gazed out the window. A normal street in Storybrooke. There was someone gardening across the street; otherwise, it was quiet and still. Not helpful.

"It's…it's hard to explain. I don't even remember what I did last night. But I woke up in someone else's bed with a…a ring! Mary, there is a ring on my finger," Emma blurted out, glaring at the beautiful golden ring. It must have cost a lot of money.

"A ring? Emma, you don't mean…"

"I don't know! Worst possible scenario….I got hitched," Emma collapsed on the edge of the bed, raking her fingers through her hair. She had never been the Vegas type unless she was chasing someone jumping bail. She'd been wasted a couple of times in her life, but never had she gotten _married._

It was silent on the other end. Did Mary Margaret faint or something?

"To who? Emma—"

"_I don't know! _All I remember is Graham and now….now I'm lying in someone else's bed. Look, I think the owner is still here, so I'm going to figure this out. I'll be back soon," she assured the shaken Mary Margaret. _Shaken? Join the club. _

_Click_ went her phone and Emma jumped up. The breeze gave her goose-bumps. _Clothes! Where are my clothes? I swear, if I end up pregnant…won't Henry be overjoyed at the idea of a sibling? Someone else to bother me about fairy tales while I'm cleaning the house for my new husband. Husband…oh, God…_

Emma swore under her breath as she retrieved her rumpled clothes from the floor. Jeans, tank top, boots, leather jacket. Check.

_Okay, Emma. Now think. What happened last night? _

Emma scrunched her nose in concentration. _Okay, Graham died. Graham….okay, focus. You went to Granny's diner to drink and get rid of the pain. Drink…how many? Two, three…maybe four. Or more?_

She faintly remembered tossing back the drinks and ordering Ruby to bring her another. The sound of bells was still echoing in her head. _Bells...bells…the bell above the diner's door rang. Right. _

Emma could see it now. The bell rang and someone else came in. She couldn't remember who the person was, but she was certain that was who she'd left with last night. That was who she'd…_married_, she groaned inwardly.

The bacon was calling her. Her stomach growled. That was where the owner was. _Please let it be Archie. For God's sake, let it be Dr. Whale or a stranger. At least it wouldn't be the worst option in the world. _

As a last thought, Emma found the gun she concealed in her leather jacket and aimed it in front of her. What if whoever it was meant her harm? Had taken advantage of her? It made her skin crawl.

_Carefully, Emma. Quiet. _Emma slowly descended the stairs to the first level. The front door was right there, closed. It had a stained glass window, the sunlight transformed into rainbows across the floor.

She could leave right now…but she really wanted to know whose house—whose bed—she had woken up in. It could be anyone in Storybrooke. _Please let it be Archie. Please let it be Archie. _

Still, this house was way too nice for Archie. It was more suited for…

Emma suddenly realized she knew the answer she was seeking. Her heart hammered in her chest and her stomach twisted at the sickening thought. _God, if you're listening, prove me wrong. Please, don't let me be married to…_

Emma padded down the hallway and ducked into the kitchen, her gun pointed in front of her. Her feet froze and her worst nightmares came true.

He was standing there, frying pan in hand, bacon sizzling, business suit protected by an apron. Brown eyes, cane leaning against the table. Emma was going to be sick any moment.

"Hiiii, Emma," he drawled, glancing over his shoulder. "I decided it'd be best to let you sleep. Please, are you going to shoot me in my own home?" Emma hesitantly lowered the gun, words stuck in her throat. _Silk sheets…the gold ring on her finger….married…_

"Although, come to think of it…it's actually _our_ home, now," he corrected, smirking at her as she lingered in the doorway. "Would you care for some breakfast, dear?"

Emma's mind was stunned beyond belief. _The gold ring, married…married to…oh, I was wrong. This just got a helluva lot worse. _

The person she was supposedly married to…was Mr. Gold.

* * *

><p><em>Hehe, this is amusing, no? I'm sure Gemma fans will be pleased. It wouldn't quit bugging my brain.<em>

_Also, fun fact: the title came from a song I listened to while writing this first chapter. It's **"Hate and Love" by Jack Savoretti** and it is a very good song._

_Once more, I credit my inspiration to the wonderful** DaesGatling's Abridged Once Upon A Time series**, which can be found on LJ under the same name. Check it out because it is hilarious and brilliant—and that is an understatement._

_By the way, DaesGatling (if you're reading this), I could not resist adding in the "Hiiiii, Emma." (-; You know, I never really noticed how much he leers at her in the show until that abridged series. Interesting._

_Just for the record, I've been doing a lot of one-shots for OUAT lately, in case anyone would like to check those out as well._

_All reviews are greatly loved! Sorry for the long note._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: OUAT is not mine. Sad, but true. **

**A/N: Wow, I absolutely LOVED the response for the first chapter. So many reviews, favorites, and alerts that my inbox nearly exploded! Thanks, guys! Don't worry—I plan to turn this into a good story. (-; **

**So, enjoy the second chapter. **

**Chapter Two**

"You did _what_?" Mary Margaret leaned against the table, cup of warm tea in hand, while Emma slouched in a chair. The ring glittered on her finger, mocking her. _Stupid ring. Stupid alcohol. Stupid creepy pawnbroker. _

"Please don't make me say it again," Emma groaned, trying unsuccessfully to rip the ring off. The stupid thing was stuck. _Figures. _"I…married…Mr. Gold."

Oh, God, the words tasted horrible in her mouth. The idea of sharing a house with him—let alone a bed—made her stomach churn. _There is no way in hell I'd ever share a bed with that man. You'd have to kill me first. _

"On the bright side, Mr. Gold is the wealthiest man in town," Mary Margaret pointed out. Emma glared at her.

"Great. I'm a gold-digger." Mary Margaret stared at her earnestly.

"So…you woke up in…in bed, found him in the kitchen…and then what?" Mary Margaret's green eyes were wide with shock. Emma hid her face with her hands and shrugged, having given up with the ring.

"And then I left. Why? You think I should've taken him up on his offer for breakfast?" Emma's stomach growled with emptiness. Oh, that bacon had smelled good. Mary Margaret got the hint and dug out some ingredients to make her a sandwich.

"Emma, how many drinks did you have last night?" Mary Margaret spread the items on the counter.

Emma thought back to the diner. How did she manage to forget that the person beside her was Gold, even with the assistance of alcohol?

"I didn't drink _that_ many! It was two…or three. Four at the tops," Emma insisted, dropping her hands to her sides. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow. Emma broke. "Okay, I have no idea how many, but this is my reward. Oh, God, I'm _married_."

"You…are married," Mary Margaret agreed, trying her best to suppress a giggle. The last person she'd imagined Emma marrying was Mr. Gold. Ironically, it was funny. "To Mr. Gold. Emma Gold…hmm." Mary Margaret burst out laughing.

"Mary! This is not funny!" Emma rocketed from her seat and gripped the edges of the table. Mary Margaret's face was red and tears were streaming down her face. "This is a disaster!"

"I…I…I'm so sorry, Emma," Mary Margaret gasped, struggling to cease her laughter. A ghost of a smile stayed on her lips, the laughter bubbling right beneath it. "I shouldn't have laughed. You're right; this is a horrible situation. I mean, who would have thought you'd be married to…to…Mr. Gold?"

Out came the snort of laughter again and Emma rolled her eyes. _At least one of us can find the humor in this situation. I wonder if Regina kept that chainsaw I used on her tree…_

"You're no help at all," Emma told her, shaking her head. Mary Margaret stopped laughing and placed a comforting hand on Emma's.

"Just so you know, I have not kicked you out yet," she said. Emma forced a smile.

"You would actually consider kicking me out?" Mary Margaret slowly shifted back to the serious, considerate type that Emma had grown to appreciate.

"Look, Emma. You've become a friend of mine and…just keep your distance for a while. Take a few days to cool off," she advised, gesturing to the apartment. _As if I'm going back to his place. Fat chance. He'll have to drag me back. Or maybe I could leave town for a few days…_

A soft rapping on the door broke through Emma's thoughts and reality set back in. She had a sinking feeling about the person waiting behind that door. Quickly, she tossed Mary Margaret a no-nonsense look.

"Your apartment," she told her before hurrying off into the bedroom. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it would be someone like David. David was charming. Mr. Gold? Not so much.

Emma paced around her bedroom as she heard Mary Margaret open the door.

Mary Margaret stifled her up rise of giggling as she recognized Mr. Gold, dressed immaculately in a flawless business suit, an amused grin on his face.

"Oh, um…can I help you?" Mary Margaret hoped her voice wasn't shaking. _Poor Emma, having to deal with so many troubles lately and now this._ Mr. Gold's grin grew slightly.

"Hello, dearie. Actually, I'm hoping to speak to my _wife_," he said, drawing out the word "wife" for emphasis. Inside her bedroom, Emma heard the familiar accented cadence and inwardly groaned. _Wife…such a horrible word. Well, I guess it's better than mistress. _

Mary Margaret's eyes flickered once to Emma's bedroom and she cleared her throat. Heat traveled up her neck, reddening her fair skin.

"Oh….you just missed her. She went out to…to pick up some groceries," she stammered nervously. Mr. Gold studied her and she had the feeling he saw through her like glass. _Of all the people Emma married…it was the most powerful, manipulative, feared man in town. The two of them would kill each other. _

"You're a poor liar, Miss Blanchard," he said softly, folding his slender fingers atop his cane. Mary Margaret blushed with guilt—she was never good at lying. God knew the volcano story never worked on Emma.

"Really. Emma's out, so maybe when she gets back—"

"Then I'm sure you won't mind if I wait for her," Mr. Gold suggested, stepping lightly across the threshold and causing Mary Margaret to take an awkward step back. Just then, Emma strode out of her bedroom, knowing that there was no other choice but to face her…her…oh, she couldn't even spit the word out.

Mr. Gold motioned to her with a hand, his dark eyes gleaming with glee. _Oh, yes. He's just enjoying this, isn't he? _

"Emma," he spoke her name nice and slow, the exact way to send chills down her back. The ring felt heavy on her finger. _Emma Gold…_"You certainly returned rather fast from grocery shopping." He sent Mary Margaret a knowing look.

"I think I'll just…I'll leave you two to talk," she excused herself and hurried to her room. Emma glared at the bedroom door. _Traitor! _

"Mind if I sit? Darling?" Gold did not wait for her answer before settling in the chair she'd recently occupied. Emma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Yeah, I do mind. While you're at it, I'd appreciate it if you didn't use any terms of endearment," she retorted harshly. _I'm still struggling to call him my…my…husband. _Emma fought hard not to cringe. And failed.

"No sense denying the truth...Emma. Among other colorful phrases last night, you said two magical words…_I do._ You and I are wed, if not happily." Emma's stomach clenched, her appetite gone out the window. _As if I could ever attach the word "happy" to you. Yeah, right. _"And if I remember correctly, it was you who insisted on this lovely…arrangement."

That froze Emma's insides. _What did he just say? _

Mr. Gold tented his fingers beneath his chin and watched for her reaction as the realization dawned. Emma could barely breathe. _He's lying. I would never…_

"You mean _I _asked _you _to marry _me_?" Emma sputtered, brain fizzling. _Why in the world would I do something as stupid as that? Oh, someone shoot me now. Use my own gun if you have to, just shoot me. _

"Precisely. I simply obliged to your wish," he informed her, leering at her deliberately. Another thought nudged Emma's mind. Wait. _This can't be happening. It's getting worse. When will it stop getting worse? _

"You obliged? Let me guess: because _I _asked _you_, there's a price?" Emma gritted her teeth, _wishing_ she could lunge at him and do many illegal things. Many violent illegal things. Mr. Gold spread his hands wide.

"There's a price for everything, dearie," he replied innocently. Emma wanted to kill him. After she got this ring off her finger. _What, is it magic or something? Where's the kid when you need him? _

Emma scoffed at him. Typical Gold. Even the subject of marriage came in the form of a cold, hard business deal.

"What's your price?" A dangerous question. Emma watched his smile grow slowly, a devilish gleam in his brown eyes.

"Since you asked. My price is simple: give this _marriage_ a chance." He spoke the word "marriage" the same way he did her name. Gleeful, meaningful, creepy. _I'd rather get hit by a bus, lose a limb, and be kept alive by tubes the rest of my life. Not that I'm wishing or anything. _

"Are you joking? I don't even want to think about this arrangement. I don't want this," Emma argued, prying at the ring. _Come on, not even an inch? _

"Apparently, you do or you wouldn't have asked." Emma stared spitefully at him. "I suggest you stop fighting with the ring." Emma sighed and collapsed into a chair that was across the room. The farther away the better. "I'm sure there are more details you cannot remember. I certainly can."

Emma wanted to ignore him, but her mind was wandering. What else happened last night while she was blissfully intoxicated by alcohol? _Do I even want to know? I ended up in his bed without my clothes…_

"Did…did we…?" Emma gestured between the two of them, at a loss for words. Gold tilted his head at her.

"Did we what? I'm afraid I don't follow," he said. Emma shot him a doubtful look. _Of course not. You're enjoying this. You want me to say it. _

Emma combed her hand through her messy hair.

"Did we…sleep together?" There. Emma waited while Gold tapped his cane on the floor. _Please say no. Please say no. _

"Depends," he said, shrugging once. Emma had a feeling he was going to be playing a game with her. She was not in the mood for games.

"On what, exactly?" Impatience dripped from her voice. It was bad enough she was thinking of Graham and his unexpected death. This was too much to deal with.

_Wonder what the kid will say when he hears about this. I swear, if he tells me that Gold is my…true love…I'll take that book of his and see that it's never found. _

"Depends on whether you're willing to accept my price." Emma groaned. They were back to that…again. _This is simply a game to him. A business deal. _

It was quiet as Emma considered her options and Gold waited patiently for her decision. Emma was sure she could hear a pin drop then. As long as the pin pierced Gold's heart, she'd be fine. _My price…give this marriage a chance. This will never work. _

"Fine! I'll agree to your price…if you let me stay here with Mary Margaret for one last night," she proposed. Maybe she could find a way out of this before tomorrow. She just needed time to think and she could never think straight if she were being constantly leered at by someone as disturbing as him.

Mr. Gold nodded and got to his feet. He seemed satisfied, which was more than what Emma could say.

"Deal. I'll see you at home…sweetheart," he told her before slipping through the door. He just couldn't resist using one more term of endearment. It grinded on Emma's nerves. _Sweetheart. Sweetheart. _It echoed furiously in her mind.

Mary Margaret casually stepped out of her bedroom, as if she hadn't been listening by the doorknob. She gave Emma a sincere smile.

"So…do you still want that sandwich?"

…..

**I think a proper shout-out to my reviewers is in order. Here's to imagine808, Kendra Luehr, anche, Emerald Imagination, Musicalfan2012, scabiorsnatcher, and DaesGatling. The comments were wonderful and made me smile so much! Yay! **

**The episode last night was awesome, especially with so much Gold/Rumpel. Hehe, you can never go wrong with too much leather. (-;**

**Once again, this story has been inspired by DaesGatling's Abridged OUAT series! A must-read if I do say so myself. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. ABC does. As much as it pains me, I do not own Emma Swan, either…or Mr. Gold. **

**A/N: Leaping lizards, my inbox was bursting lately! Thank you so much everyone for enjoying the story and giving me such kind words! *tosses cookies to everyone* **

**I actually re-wrote this chapter three times because I really disliked the first part of it. As long as you guys like it, though, I'll be happy. **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Three**

_What a horrible night, _Emma mentally groaned as she briskly strode up the steps of the diner. She had done nothing but toss and turn with troubling thoughts of being married to Storybrooke's creepiest resident. _And I was so hoping it was just a nightmare. _

Her hair was hidden by a winter hat—underneath, it was a brutal mess of tangles. Her eyes were red and sore, her head pounded worse than the day before, and her stomach grumbled for food. _God help the person who crosses me the wrong way today. For the town's sake, I hope it's Regina or even Gold himself. That way, I might not feel as guilty. _

The minute the bell announced her presence in the diner, Emma felt the temperature drop at least fifteen degrees. Every single person stared at her like a museum exhibit, most hiding behind Storybrooke's newspaper, _The Mirror. _

News of Graham's death dominated the front page. His funeral was tomorrow and Emma was dreading it. A dull ache throbbed in her heart as she remembered the way he died in her arms. _I wonder what he'd say about my arrangement with Gold, considering he was stuck in Regina's grip for so long. _

"Well, you look just as pitiful as I feel," Ruby said as she eyed Emma with bloodshot eyes. Emma moaned as she slid onto a stool at the bar. Everyone was whispering in hushed tones—they knew. _The next time I see my…husband…I'll kill him. _

"Gee, thanks, Ruby. I know, I look like crap. A hot chocolate, please?" Emma laid her head in her hands while Ruby headed off. The energetic bounce was missing from the waitress's step that morning.

"With extra cinnamon and cream, coming right up." Ruby dashed off to fetch the drink, red-streaked hair flying wildly behind her. Emma tried to ignore the murmurs of the crowd. _Don't these people have anything better to do than gossip? _

"Thanks, Ruby." Emma accepted the mug of steaming cocoa and gratefully sipped it, her wiry nerves easing a bit. Ruby's nails clicked on the bar. _Click, click, click. _

"No problem…Mrs. Gold," she hinted, eyebrows raised in wonder. Emma gave her a long, serious look. "Nice ring." She gestured to the gold ring and Emma let her hand fall to her side.

"Does everyone in town know?" Emma felt her stomach clench tightly as she imagined all the stares and whispers that would follow her.

"Yep, thanks to the _Mirror_, of course," the girl replied, motioning to the open newspapers shielding the faces of the customers. _This is just great. First I'll kill Sydney Glass, then I'll kill Gold. Or maybe the other way around. _"Hey, Dr. Hopper."

Emma shifted to see Archie standing beside her, his umbrella clenched in his hand. He nodded once at her, a sheepish smile on his face. It was frail, easily falling away. He gave his order to Ruby and she left them alone in awkward silence.

"So…Mr. Gold, huh?" Archie scrutinized her behind his thick glasses. Emma wanted to die. The last thing she needed was a psychological evaluation from the town's therapist.

"You know, when I woke up yesterday, I was actually hoping it was you I was married to instead," she told him honestly, not bothering to hide her distaste for the pawnbroker. _Seriously, how did I manage to marry a person that I can't even stand? _

Archie blushed visibly, nearly speechless.

"R-really? Not that I'm holding out for hope or anything," he mumbled nervously. Emma's throat grew dry as she realized Archie had the beginnings of a crush on her. _How do I attract these types of people? _"But I, uh…I guess that's understandable. Mr. Gold's…he's a difficult person to…to understand, I guess," the psychologist stammered.

"No kidding. And I'm unfortunate enough to be married to him," Emma voiced it aloud and hated the words. Archie nodded as Ruby returned with his food. She hurried off to attend to Dr. Whale in the corner.

"Maybe this marriage wasn't a mistake. Maybe it's a good thing," Archie suggested, shrugging. Emma tossed him a warning look. _A good thing? Name one thing that's good about this, doctor! _

"What do you mean?" Emma's voice was icy, but Archie did not seem to notice. She felt a psychological evaluation coming on. _Here we go…_

"Maybe…maybe this marriage will help you two overcome some of your issues," he said, digging around his food carefully. Emma stared at him in disbelief. _Issues? Oh, you have no idea. _"Perhaps you and Mr. Gold can come to understand each other."

"What about Mr. Gold?" Henry suddenly popped up beside Emma's shoulder, leaping onto the stool next to her. His little face was lined and anxious—the kid was probably shaken up about Graham. Her heart ached for him a little.

"Hey, Henry, have you figured out his fairy tale counterpart yet?" Emma motioned to the leather-bound storybook Henry laid on the counter. His face became even more solemn.

"No, not yet. I think we should take a break from Operation Cobra for a while. What's that?" Henry's eyes focused on the ring on Emma's finger—she had briefly forgotten about it. Now, she mentally kicked herself.

_How could you forget? Great, now it's time to give Henry the talk. You see, kid, when adults drink too much alcohol, they do stupid things. Marrying a creepy pawnbroker is one of those stupid things. _

"Uh, well…" Emma choked on the words.

"Is that a _wedding ring? _Did my dad give it to you? Did you get married? Who is he?" Henry's questions poured out, excitement filling him. His hand shot out and brought Emma's hand closer so he could gaze at the beautiful ring.

"Well, kid…your dad didn't really give this to me," she slowly explained, pulling her hand away. Henry looked to her with confusion.

"Really? Then, who did?" Emma opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Archie nearly choked on his food as he stifled a giggle. Emma launched her elbow into his side and he began coughing horribly, his glasses falling onto the counter.

"You didn't hear? She married Mr. Gold," Ruby informed Henry as she strode behind the bar once more, brown eyes gleaming with amusement. Emma could have killed the waitress then, which would make three people on her hit list. _It just keeps on growing, doesn't it? _

"You _MARRIED_ Mr. _GOLD_?" Henry's voice screeched several octaves higher than necessary. Every single head whirled in their direction. Emma's face burned with heat as she dipped her head, lips thinning into a stressful line.

"You know what? I'm fine with the hot cocoa," Emma muttered, throwing a twenty on the bar and hurrying from the diner. Before leaving, she settled a strong, intimidating glare towards the crowd.

Henry's quick footsteps followed behind her on the sidewalk.

"How could you marry Mr. Gold? He's one of the bad guys," Henry groaned, rushing to keep up with her long strides. Emma glanced down at him and his leather book.

"I thought you didn't know who he was," she absently murmured. She didn't even know where she was heading, but all she wanted to do was get away. Get away from the suffocating atmosphere of Storybrooke. Get away from the mistake she'd just made.

"I don't have to know who he is to know he's bad news," Henry replied. And he was right—Gold was bad news in every sense of the phrase.

_And I have to go back to his place tonight. That was the agreement…_Emma's stomach twisted at the idea of black silk sheets.

"He's going to use you. He's probably siding with the Queen, which means he'll use you to his advantage." Emma stopped and knelt down until she was eye-to-eye with Henry.

"I'm not going to let that happen. Nobody decides my fate but me," she assured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Henry didn't seem so sure.

"You promise?" Emma studied him with sympathy. The kid really needed someone to believe in, didn't he? _Of all people, it had to be me. Look at the mess I've gotten into now. Not exactly heroic material. And yet…_

"Promise."

…..

Leroy watched Emma Swan leave, the kid running after her. Downing the rest of the alcohol in his glass, he swaggered up to the bar. A forlorn Ruby was wiping down the counter.

"Mind pouring me another, sister?" He flicked the glass towards her and she caught it expertly before it reached the edge. A dramatic roll of the eyes and the normal Ruby resurfaced.

"Only you could drink yourself into a stupor before eleven, Leroy," she teased him, even as she filled his glass to the brim. Leroy shrugged, swallowing it in a single shot. Archie was sitting beside him and readjusting his glasses, a hand rubbing his side where Emma had struck him. _Wimp. _

"Too bad about Graham, hmm?" Leroy motioned to a copy of Storybrooke's paper on the counter. An air of sadness descended over them. Ruby's eyes became watery.

"Poor Graham. He was so young," she murmured, squeezing the rag in her hands. Archie nodded solemnly.

"Well, that's what you get for messin' around in the Mayor's bed," Leroy grumbled. "Speaking of messin' around, what'd you think about Mrs. Gold?" Leroy gave a gruff laugh. Ruby's eyes lit up and she leaned in, unable to resist the moment of gossip.

"The two of them were in here the other night. She drank quite a few. Never thought the Deputy would get hitched, though," she said, an elated smile forming across her red lips. Leroy gazed skeptically at her. _Like it wasn't obvious the gimp had the hots for her. _

"No way, sister. You don't up and get married all account of a few drinks. Trust me, I know," he insisted, swinging his empty glass in his heavy hand. Archie set his fork on his plate and shifted to face the two, joining in.

"Leroy makes a good point. Maybe there was a hidden unconscious desire on her part and the consumption of alcohol allowed her to act upon those desires," he spouted, waving a finger. Ruby tilted her head and grinned. Leroy rolled his eyes. _Yep, what the shrink said. Only not so complicated. Guess the Deputy digs rich, limping guys. _

"Yeah, right. Who'd ever want to get in _his_ bed?" Ruby grimaced at the idea of the pawnbroker. Out of nowhere, Dr. Whale slid up to the bar, a wolfish grin pasted on his face as he drank in the sight of Ruby's curvy figure.

"I'd sure like to get in _your_ bed," he told Ruby, much to her disgust. She made a dramatic choking gesture. Leroy guffawed and would have spewed his drink if he had any left.

"In your dreams," she retorted, slapping the dirty rag at him. Leroy smacked his glass on the counter.

"A gold-digger, that's who," he answered Ruby's question. Ruby stared at him with shock. "What? That gimp's got more money than any of us combined."

"Are you calling Emma a gold-digger?" Archie stared at the grizzly little man with bemusement. Leroy shrugged and spread his hands wide. _Aww, poor shrink's got it bad for the Deputy. _

"If the ring fits. If she wanted to marry someone for fun, she should've married me," he stated, rubbing a hand across his beard. Ruby scoffed at him. "It'll never last, sister. Mark my words."

"You don't know that," Ruby argued, resting her elbows on the table. "You can tell a lot about a person when you live with them. I'll bet they're getting all fired up, if you know what I mean."

"Nah, I agree with Leroy," Dr. Whale chimed in, tapping the drunken man on the shoulder. "There's no way that marriage will last. They'll tear each other apart." Ruby shook her head, her red lips pulling into a pout.

"You two are so wrong. Besides, if he gets laid, he might not be so cold. Maybe he'll ease up on us," she suggested, thinking of how her and her Granny still needed about fifty more dollars for rent that month. Leroy smiled mischievously.

"You wanna bet on it? I'll bet you fifty dollars that marriage will crumble in a good month," Leroy proposed. Ruby bounced up with eagerness and extended her hand.

"Deal. I need the money," she said, wrapping Leroy's meaty fist in her own. Archie shook his head, clearly disapproving of this raunchy behavior.

"Making bets based on the outcome of a relationship is very immoral," he said, focusing all his attention on his remaining bits of pancake. Leroy narrowed his eyes at him. _You're just mad you didn't have the gall to ask Emma to marry you first. Tough luck, shrink. _

"Whatever you say, doc. Prepare to lose, sister." The bet was on and Leroy celebrated it with another drink.

…..

The yellow Bug rolled to a stop. Emma wrapped her arms around the single box of her belongings. Mr. Gold stepped out of the car and opened her door for her. She stared defiantly through the windshield as he impatiently tapped his cane against the sidewalk.

"You'll have to get out at some point, Emma. Don't make me throw you over my shoulder." Emma huffed as she slid out of the car and slammed the door.

"I'd like to see you try with that sorry excuse of a leg," she shot back, nudging her foot against his cane. A chill swept down her back as a wide grin stretched across his face. As he took one step forward, she took one step back, the car pressing flat against her back.

"Be careful, dearie. I always love a fresh challenge," he warned her, brown eyes gleaming dangerously. _Why don't I make it more of a challenge? Why don't I just knock that cane out from under you, get in my car, and drive away? Catch me if you can, Gold. _

Mr. Gold backed off and started up the steps to the house. Emma studied it, giving it a good long look.

"You know, I never noticed before. Your house is pink." Mr. Gold paused in retrieving his keys to arch an eyebrow at her. She was pleased to note that his smile was gone. _Point for me. _

"I prefer to call it salmon," he replied coolly. Emma shifted the box in her hands and snickered. _Finally. My turn to laugh. _

"Please. Your house is _pink_. It's an oversized Barbie Dream House! Very intimidating." Mr. Gold unlocked the door with a sharp click, a distinct frown darkening his face.

"If it's not so intimidating, why are you hesitating?" Mr. Gold vanished through the door and Emma's satisfaction faded quickly. _I am not hesitating. Okay, maybe I'm hesitating a little bit. Just a little. _

Sighing, Emma glanced back at the street before entering her new prison.

"Shall I give you the grand tour…Mrs. Gold?" Emma bit down on her tongue—he was only mocking her to get a rise out of her. _Be the better person, Emma. Swallow the insults. Grin and bear it. _

"I think I've seen enough of it yesterday morning," she replied. _Yesterday when I woke up in your bed and found a ring on my finger. Yesterday when my whole world became a living nightmare. _

Mr. Gold smirked openly at her.

"Of course. I trust you'll be able to find the bedroom." _Bite your tongue, Emma. Be the better person. Too bad he's making it difficult to do that. _

Emma firmly pressed her lips together and headed up the stairs with Mr. Gold's gaze burning into her back the whole way.

"Dinner will be ready at seven," he informed her from the bottom of the staircase. _I expect you to be there, _the unspoken words carried to her.

"And if I refuse to eat with you?" _What exactly will you do about it, Gold? _Emma reached the top step and listened for his response. The house was dead silent—not even the whisper of wind at the windows.

"My dear, I wouldn't want to make this experience any more unpleasant for you than it has to be." _Too late. _"Dinner will be at seven," he repeated.

Emma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Wonderful. Something to look forward to since my night couldn't possibly get any worse. _

"Oh, and Emma?" Before she could slip away, his voice called out to her once more. Emma slowly turned. His eyes roamed suggestively over her body. "Make sure to wear something nice."

…..

**Hehe, I love playing around with the idea of Emma and Gold. (-; Such good fun. By the way, let's say Leroy loses the bet (wink, wink)….any way you guys want to make it interesting? What do you think Ruby should make him do if he loses the bet? I'd love to hear your say on it (go crazy). **

**Shout-out time! **

**To DaesGatling: I am so glad you're reading my story! Haha, fanfic's been messing up a lot lately, especially with new chapters. /= And yes, I kind of had Gold avoid the question on purpose, if only to taunt Emma even more. (= **

**To SlyShindi: Thank you so much! I'm glad you're finding it really enjoyable! **

**To olverabonk: Thanks for checking out this story. I know, I love the Abridged series as well (thank you DaesGatling!). Haha, gotta love the "Hiiii, Emma." Never gets old. **

**To TwylaMercedes: I'd be surprised if Emma wasn't armed around Gold! Haha, thank you for reading! **

**To MonkeyDoctorWho1987: Yeah, you've got to feel somewhat bad for Emma. I don't think living with Mr. Gold would be easy to handle. Who knows, though? Good stuff may be coming soon…**

**To anche: Thank you for making this your new obsession! It means a lot to hear things like that. And I definitely know how that feels to be caught giggling at something—it's happened to me loads of times. (-; **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Yay! I've managed to turn someone over to the Abridged series! One more person to share the awesome OUAT parody with! (= Glad to see that even non-Gemma fans are enjoying this. **

**To Kat5l13o: Hmm…having Gold as an evil step-father. Well, I probably wouldn't be complaining, but I don't think Henry would like it very much. We shall see, though…**

**KairiOliver: Thank you for the nice review! I'm glad you like the way I'm portraying their characters, too. Not an easy feat where Gold is concerned (if only because Robert Carlyle is fantastic in this series!). **

**Musicalfan2012: Aww, thanks! I'm glad you like it so much! (= Yay! **

**Kendra Luehr: Haha, I'd probably laugh, too. And yes, I would find it so amusing to watch these two if they ever actually got married. It'd definitely be worthy of its own reality Storybrooke t.v. show! Imagine that! **

**To Legolas's Mione0233: Aww, I hope you get better soon! Laughter is the best medicine, right? I'll do my best to keep you entertained. (= **

**To Psychobillybutterfly: I actually like that suggestion. I might include that later in the story—I'm sure Emma is frustrated that she cannot remember and who knows whether Mr. Gold will distort the truth or not? Well, everyone except me, anyway. Thanks for reading! **

**To adumar80: Thank you! Yeah, I think Emma's in denial right now and is going through her own personal nightmare. Let's see what comes out of it! **

**BlooperLover: Thanks so much! I actually added in that line at the last second before updating. (= Glad you like it! **

**AnonReader: Thanks for reading and enjoying it so far! (= **

Thank you everyone! You support is awesome and I shall do everything in my power to keep this story alive! (=


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow! So many reviews and every one of them made me so happy! Thank you, guys! You rock! **

**Plenty of Gemma in this chapter! Enjoy, everyone! **

**Oh, and thank you for all the suggestions about the bet with Leroy—I'm sure what I plan to do with him will be amusing. (-; Hehe, I particularly like the idea of salsa lessons with Ruby. **

**And here we go…**

**Chapter Four **

Dinner was terribly silent that night, with only the occasional scraping of forks penetrating the wall between them.

Emma had tried every option to get away from Gold and each one failed miserably. There was no reason for her to be called in at the station, Mary Margaret was spooked by Mr. Gold and practically handed her over on a platter, and Henry was spending the evening hours under Regina's cold, watchful eye. _I almost wish I could join them instead. Regina's glares don't seem so bad anymore._

Clad in a simple white dress and sitting at Gold's dining table, she refused to say a word. She pushed her food around on her plate, all the while sensing Gold's leering eyes on her skin. _If looks could kill…_

"I'm finding it impossible to keep up with the rate you're conversing, Emma," he taunted her, setting his napkin beside his plate and tenting his fingers under his chin. Emma's fork paused and she glanced up stonily.

"If you're expecting me to make an effort at conversation with you, don't hold your breath," she replied, allowing her fork to clatter noisily onto her plate. "Actually, I change my mind. You hold your breath and I'll watch."

Mr. Gold sighed, sounding almost worn from Emma's sarcasm.

"A person is incapable of dying simply by holding one's breath," he advised her patiently. Emma shoved her plate away and glared daggers at the man sitting across from her.

"One can only hope," she mumbled. The corners of his lips lifted slightly—he'd heard. Emma reached for her wine glass and swallowed the rest of it in one gulp. Eagerly she refilled her glass.

"Careful, Emma," Mr. Gold warned her in a light, amused tone. Emma set the wine bottle down with a hard _thump! _"Remember what happened last time you allowed alcohol to get the better of you." Mr. Gold tilted his head at her, eyeing the gold ring on her finger.

"You never answered my question, you know." Emma had realized it when unpacking her items. He had skirted around the act of answering her in the apartment.

Mr. Gold did not reply; he did not agree with or deny that accusation. He waited.

"Well?" _I'm not a mind reader! And I'm not sure I'd like to know what twisted thoughts are going through your head, anyway._ Slowly, Mr. Gold's lips parted.

"If you remember, we made a deal," he spoke softly, leaning back in his seat. While Emma's body was rigid and tense, he simply appeared comfortable and relaxed. In control.

"Yeah, I know. If I agreed to give this…agreement a chance, you'd tell me about the events of that night." _Events that I conveniently cannot remember. Stupid alcohol._

Emma dared him to protest against the terms of the deal. The idea of contracts was highly treasured by Gold—surely he wouldn't weasel his way around one now?

"That's right," he agreed, dipping his head. The room lapsed into silence. Emma's nerves were wearing thin. She eyed him expectantly. Nothing.

"And? You told me your agreements are always honored," she reminded him. _Including this one. So start talking. _

Emma quietly fumed. He was enjoying this entire catastrophe. He was taunting her on purpose, finding ways to make her tick. It was working, which made her hate him more.

"That they are. Funny thing about deals…you should learn to be more specific." Emma froze in her seat. All at once, her mind replayed the scene in the apartment, searching for some detail she'd missed. It hit her. "I told you I would answer your question. I never specified _when_ I'd answer."

Emma's fingers gripped the edge of the table as she observed Gold's smug expression. She imagined crawling across the table and strangling him. Burying her hands in her lap, her fingers clenched and unclenched.

"If strangling me would make you feel better, I implore you to try it," Mr. Gold said calmly. Emma's eyes widened. _Oh, hell. Did I say that out loud?_ "And while your body is straddling mine and your hands are around my neck and you come to realize I do not die easily, then I shall refer to it as…how do you put it? Oh, yes. _Hooking up."_

Mr. Gold made air-quotes with his fingers. Emma glared at him, having picked up a trick or two from Regina. Angrily, she threw down her napkin and wanted to storm from the room, regardless of how rude Gold would make it out to be.

For a brief second, Emma swayed dizzily. Maybe she'd had too much wine. Figures.

When the room stopped swinging, she noticed Gold had gotten up from his seat and was holding her by the elbow, steadying her. Wrenching her arm back, she nearly collapsed into her chair, but Gold righted her.

"Thanks," she muttered. Mr. Gold's smile grew slowly and she was aware that his hands were still placed on her waist, holding her upright. Funny, she always imagined his touch would burn her or something.

"My pleasure," he replied meaningfully. Emma opened her mouth to say something, maybe to tell him to get his hands off her waist, but the room danced again. Dipping her head, bile rose up her throat, faster and faster…_Oh, no…_

Throwing her head forward, Emma emptied her guts…all over Mr. Gold's legs and shoes.

A shaky laugh escaped her dry mouth as she saw the splattered yellow gunk covering him, even as a string of spittle dripped from her lip. Gradually, Mr. Gold lowered his gaze to his ruined shoes.

"Those were my new shoes you just soiled. And my favorite suit." Emma rolled her eyes and squirmed out of his grasp.

"You have a suit for _everything!_"

_This is going to be a long night. A long, sleepless night. And not in the intimate sense._

* * *

><p>"There is no way I'm sleeping in that bed."<p>

Emma stood at the end of Gold's bed with her arms rebelliously planted on her hips. Waking up in that bed once was bad enough. Waking up with him laying beside her…the idea nearly made her shudder.

Mr. Gold fluffed up his pillows and gracefully slid between the sheets. Closing his eyes, he insistently patted the spot next to him. Emma stayed where she was. _Forget it. I'll sleep on the floor. I'll sleep in the shower. I'll sleep anywhere so long as it doesn't have black silk sheets. _

"In earlier times, it was generally required of a woman to respect her husband and bear a child," he informed her, nestling his arms behind his head. Emma grimaced. One kid was enough for her.

"Yeah, well this happens to be 2012 and if you were a gentleman, you'd offer to give up your bed for me," she remarked. Mr. Gold opened his eyes and seemed to deeply consider it.

"Unfortunately, Emma, you'll learn I'm not much of a gentleman behind closed doors." Emma blanched and suddenly needed to escape that room. Hurrying over to the empty side of the bed, she gathered up the pillows. His brow furrowed as he watched her. "Where do you plan to sleep?"

"Somewhere. Anywhere so long as it's away from you," she snapped, starting for the door. Mr. Gold shrugged and switched off the bedside lamp. Emma was blanketed in darkness, but she could still feel his roaming eyes on her body.

"You could try the bed downstairs," he suggested as she was halfway out the door. Emma frowned and turned to gaze at his shadowy figure. She could almost feel his smirk from here.

"You have a bedroom downstairs?" _How large of an estate does he have? _From the darkness came his rich, accented voice.

"Not necessarily. I figured 'bed' sounded better than 'couch.' For your sake, we could call it a love seat," he replied smoothly, irking her. Emma shook her head. _You're just enjoying every second of this. Well, I'm not biting this time. _

Emma loudly descended the stairs.

"Goodnight, darling," he called out to her. Emma did her best to ignore him and collapsed onto the black couch in the living area. Tucking the pillows under her head, she curled up and allowed her aching, tired mind to fall into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>It was midnight.<p>

Emma was wide awake, staring at the ceiling high above her head. The only sound was the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. Counting the seconds that she remained here. Mocking her. _Tick, tick, tick. _

Was Gold still awake? She had nurtured the odd notion that he never slept, stayed alert long after the rest of Storybrooke had fallen asleep, doing strange things. _Strange, creepy things. _

Emma could only imagine the struggles and hardships that awaited tomorrow. This was only the first day of living here, within the confines of her new arrangement. What would it be like to spend a month with this man? A year? _Time goes by so slowly…and I'm not sure I can stick around that long. _

Emma stared at the ceiling and imagined Gold sleeping comfortably between his silk sheets. Did he ever dream? _Sure, he probably dreams of all the ways he can taunt Regina and ruin her day. He probably dreams with a smirk on his face. _

She sighed and blew a piece of hair from her face. _I hate this. I hate having this ring on my finger. I hate this stupid pink house and sleeping on his couch. I hate…him, always leering…_

_If you hate it so much, why not leave? _To her disliking, the small whispery voice sounded like Gold. As if it wasn't bad enough dealing with him in the waking hours, the man had snuck his way into her head. Emma's brow furrowed with frustration.

_I made a deal with him. I said I'd give this marriage a chance. I'm not a coward. Besides, I don't have a choice, _she thought, shoving the thought away.

_Everyone has a choice, _the voice argued against her, the rich accent slightly thicker. _Why not leave? _Emma's green eyes traced over the smooth, white ceiling. A frown creased her lips.

_I need him to tell me what happened that night. I can't remember. Simple as that. _Emma curled onto her side, burying her face in the pillow. It was a simple answer, but somehow not the right one. _Leave me alone. _

_You don't need him to tell you that. You know very well what happened. You were drunk, you married him like a fool in Vegas, awoke up in his bed with little clothing and now…here you are sleeping on his couch and for what reason? Come now, Emma…perhaps there's something more…_

Emma closed her eyes and pictured the pawnbroker. Her husband. Everything about him irritated her. _That's ridiculous. I am not in love with him. _

Her mind settled and she almost smiled at the idea of the Gold-voice being gone. _Another point for me. _Until…

_I never said you were, Emma. You came up with that one on your own._

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there you have it! I already have the next chapter written up, so it won't be too long a wait. And I already have a magnificent idea of where to go with these two…but you'll have to wait and see! <strong>

**Shout-out time! And there's so many of you to thank! Still, it's good to know that so many people are enjoying my story. **

**To Mizcamaro: Haha, I love the irony of Gold having a "salmon" house. Yeah…"salmon." Maybe the Queen did it on purpose. She gave him an estate, but made it pink. Typical Regina. **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Can I just say that I absolutely loved the idea of your first suggestion? It never even crossed my mind to introduce that concept, but I think I might make it work. A-ha, and you were the one with the suggestion of salsa lessons! You see, I like that. Thank you so much! **

**To RandomWriter101: Hello, there and thank you for reading! I'm glad you found the story so amusing (yay!). AA—perfect for Leroy! Always nice to meet a fellow Abridged fan as well. **

**To Kendra Luehr: Yes! Emma's growing hit list! (-; Storybrooke's citizens better watch out! I'd love to hear any suggestions you come up with for the bet—I'm currently weighing on what I want Leroy to do. Thanks!**

**To saku-lee: Nice to meet a Gemma fan—that's one of my potential shippings. Although, I think I might start shipping Emma/Jefferson (have you seen the CHEMISTRY?). But Gemma would be my preferred crack shipping. (= **

**To js0718: Wow, I've managed to impress a die-hard Rumbelle fan! Who knew? (= Yay! That review made me smile so much! Hehe, oh my Gold. Nice. **

**To animegal1234: Hmm, was it? Maybe that's where I got the inspiration from, though if those lines were from B&B, then it was completely unintentional. Interesting. Thanks for reading! **

**To Musicalfan2012: Thank you very much! I love that you're enjoying it so much! **

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yep, that's Storybrooke for you…their entertainment comes in the form of gossip! Leave it to Henry to make it worse for Emma. I couldn't resist with the color of his house! (Seriously…it's **_**pink! **_**Though for his benefit, we'll call it "salmon.") And I actually imagined the whole cartoon "hitting him over the head with a bat" thing. LOL **

**To Chibiboku: Yes, I'm sure there's some people out there who wouldn't mind being married to Gold. Poor Emma, though. **

**To The Narnian Phantom Stallion: Hehe, could you not imagine him flipping her over his shoulder and carrying her? Maybe if he were Rumpel in the FT world…that would be amusing to watch! (= **

**To DaesGatling: Haha, paparazzi, much? Typical Storybrooke citizens, always gossiping. Thank you again for reading! **

**To Twyla Mercedes: LOL, Leroy waiting tables! That is good! Though I'm sure he would not be happy about it. Glad you're enjoying the story! As you can see, I used your suggestion. Couldn't resist! Yeah, I'm sure having a girl throw up on you kind of ruins the mood…**

**To BlooperLover: To me, his house looks a shade of pink, really. And yep, that's Archie for you. Showing off with his psychological babble. (= Thank you so much! **

**To megumisakura: Thank you for reading! I appreciate it! **

**To S: Thanks a lot and I'm glad you're liking it. **

**To Legolas's Mione0233: Yes, I do hope you get well! Oh my goodness—Happy 18****th****! *throws party and blasts music* (-; **

**To olverabonk: Haha, I love that line, too. Hmm…wonder what Henry would think of that talk? Very good lesson: never get drunk and marry creepy pawnbrokers! Unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing. **

**Phew, thank you everyone! You guys are awesome and you really fuel this story to continue! I'm so glad everyone is enjoying it! And the 17****th**** episode was pretty good—LOVE the Mad Hatter! His character was amazing and from what I heard, he'll be back for two more episodes this season! (-; What'd you all think? **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, good readers! As always, the reviews were absolutely wonderful! Thank you so much, guys! I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter! **

**Chapter Five**

The sound of running water stirred her from sleep.

Her neck was stiff from lying at a crooked, odd angle for half the night. Moaning, she stretched her arms as the water—the shower, she registered—stopped. A few minutes later, the sound of careful footsteps sounded on the stairs, intervened only by the tapping of a cane.

Barely awake, Emma inched open her eyelids, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sunlight. Mr. Gold was scanning around the living area, his brown eyes lighting up as he found what he was looking for in the corner.

Her eyes widened as she noted that he was only wearing dress pants, his chest bare. She was so used to seeing him immaculately dressed in a suit. Thoughtfully, her eyes traveled along his tan chest, up towards his steady shoulders, and down his wiry arms—

"Like what you see?" He wasn't even looking at her, but she noticed the corners of his lips lift upwards. Emma felt heat rise along her neck and cheeks. Abruptly, she swung her legs over the edge of the couch and sat up.

"In this room? Hell no." She raked her fingers roughly through her blonde hair. Her green eyes glanced at the detailed gold clock on the wall. _Eight in the morning and I'm already bothered. Stupid pawnbroker. _

_Oh, please,_ the whispery voice in her mind chimed in. _You're just angry because you got caught staring. Wait, no. Not staring. Leering. You, Emma Swan, were leering! Definition: to stare at lustfully, among other things. _

_The day I lust after him is the day I eat a poisoned apple,_ Emma thought bitterly as she rose to her feet, her back facing Mr. Gold. _Maybe he has some. _

_No, Emma, that's Regina's expertise. You're not married to her, too, are you? _Emma mentally gave the voice a tremendous shove and forced it back into the corners of her mind. She had enough to deal with today….today….

It was then that reality set in—today was Graham's funeral. She half-turned to gaze through the window, his face swimming in her mind. Her heart squeezed painfully and she gave a shallow gasp. _Graham…_

In her peripheral vision, Mr. Gold circled to face her, a crimson tie in his hand.

"Something bothering you, Emma?" Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw a hint of concern in the depths of his dark eyes. _Right. Gold is self-serving. The only person he cares for is himself. _

"Why would someone like you care?" Emma pressed her lips together and spun to start up the stairs before she could see his reaction. Her walls were in place, same as always. "I'm taking a shower." _God knows I need one after talking to him._

"Was that an invitation?" Emma paused on the step and gave him a long, hard look. "Better hurry, darling," his lilting, amused voice licked at her heels. "Wouldn't want to be late and give Storybrooke's citizens reason to talk."

Emma slammed the bathroom door and leaned against it, thinking. _I can't let him get to me. That's what he wants. _

She turned the shower on full blast and stayed beneath the powerful stream of water until her feet and skin became an unattractive shade of red. Until she had returned to a safer state of mind and no longer pictured smooth, tan skin and endless dark eyes.

…..

The funeral was held on a dreary, rainy day. It was as if even the clouds were crying for the loss of Graham.

The entire town was there, a sea of mournful black with umbrellas positioned over their heads. The raindrops rolled over Graham's casket and Emma was sure she could hear the steady _drip, drip_ as the drops fell into the six-foot hole below.

The entire town was there, Emma kept thinking, and every single person was sneaking a glance at her. Most of them tried to hide it—some were happy to stare at her like a science project. _Oh, why don't you have Sydney take a picture for you? I'm sure he'd love to rave about it in the headlines! _

Emma was standing on the fringes of the crowd, arms crossed over her red leather jacket, green eyes bloodshot. The strands of her soaked hair clung to her forehead, but she did not have the mind to care.

Beside her stood Mr. Gold and she hated every second of it. She knew he was finding amusement out of playing his role as her "husband." Mary Margaret's pale face sometimes poked through the crowd, a sympathetic frown creasing her lips. _Save me, _Emma pleaded her friend with her eyes, but Mary Margaret had already turned to hug a red-eyed Ruby.

Up ahead, Emma noticed Henry glance back at her, his usually bright eyes dim and growing anxious at the sight of Mr. Gold. Regina, clad in a slim black dress, laid a rose on Graham's casket before sending Emma a piercing glare.

_Look at the mess you've caused now,_ those cold eyes screamed. Regina's eyes slowly gave Emma the once-over, her lips pulling back in disgust. _And what in God's name are you wearing?_

Emma narrowed her eyes harshly at Regina and tried to focus on the sorrowful murmurs of the crowd instead.

Mr. Gold's hand lightly pressed against her back; she abruptly shook it off. The last thing she wanted was him touching her today. He was now the crux of her misery_. Keep your hands to yourself. Stop trying to make a show for everyone. _

The funeral ended, the crowd gradually dispersing. Murmurs of Graham being a "good man" echoed in Emma's ears. _He was a good man,_ she silently mused. _And now he's gone._

"The funeral is over…darling," Mr. Gold breathed in her ear. Emma gritted her teeth; really, she had to urge to swat him away like a buzzing fly. _I wonder if there's an open grave I can "accidentally" push him into…It'd be impossible to climb out with a lame leg._

"I realize that…Gold," she deliberately mocked him, much to his apparent chagrin. Emma watched as Regina and Henry started in their direction. _As if I don't have enough problems to deal with. Regina can't resist adding in her two cents. _

Emma swore under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" Mr. Gold was grinning down at her, his brown eyes gleaming.

"Nothing concerning you," she muttered as Regina stopped in front of her. The Mayor's red-nailed hand was gripping Henry's shoulder possessively while the other one clutched a black, lacy umbrella. _Where the hell did she get that thing? The Addams Family? _

Regina's burgundy lips widened as she flashed her famous smirk, oblivious to the insults traveling through Emma's head.

"What do you know? A wedding and a funeral in the same week," she taunted Emma while Henry squirmed in her grip. A roll of thunder crashed above their heads, the pounding of the rain beating down around them.

"Here I thought you'd be grieving for Graham, especially after he dumped you. You seem perfectly fine to me," Emma shot back. A couple of the remaining mourners turned their heads. Leroy's grizzly voice carried with the wind.

"You hear that? _Graham_ dumped _her!_ Someone owes me thirty." Regina whipped around to shoot him a cold glare. Leroy's laughter bubbled and faded quickly. "Sorry for your loss," he hastily blurted before dashing off among the headstones.

"I would've bet fifty," Emma quipped to Regina, earning her a deadly stare. _What are you going to do, Madame Mayor? Hit me again? _

"Perhaps you shouldn't go looking for trouble, Miss Swan. Or is it…Mrs. Gold?" Regina's dark eyes found the ring on Emma's finger, a perfectly thin eyebrow raised in interest. Suddenly, Mr. Gold took a step forward.

"I'd appreciate it, Madame Mayor, if you let my wife and I be," he spoke softly, yet coolly. Regina pouted her lips at him and opened to protest_…"Please,"_ he added, the word drawled slowly from his tongue.

Emma watched with puzzlement as Regina was struck speechless. _That's a first._ What was even more shocking was how Regina appeared ready to do what Gold had requested, her lips snapping closed. Henry was staring at her with awe, the wheels turning in his little head.

Removing her hand from her son's shoulder, Regina smoothed down her dress and pursed her lips. It was then Emma realized: Regina disliked doing as Gold requested, but she had no choice. Regina had to obey his word_. Why is that? Did you make a deal with him? This is your price to pay, but what did he ever do for you? _

"Very well. I'm sure the two of you will have a lovely time," Regina stated with finality, leading Henry away. Emma breathed a sigh of relief until—"Oh, Deputy, just one more thing. Love your bra."

Emma's eyes widened as she glanced down at her white shirt. _White shirt. White soaked shirt. With a red bra underneath. Smooth, Emma. _

Regina's laughter clung to her as she escorted her son away. Emma sent daggers towards the pawnbroker. _And when the hell were you going to warn me about that? _Gold simply shrugged, pretending to be fixated on something in the distance.

Left alone in the rain, Emma huffed as she knelt down and placed a flower on Graham's casket, closing her eyes to savor the memory of his face in her mind. _Goodbye, Graham._

Silently, she allowed Gold to lead her away. The muddy grass of the cemetery sucked at their shoes, the point of Gold's cane digging into the moist earth. Emma noticed that he was struggling more with his leg today, occasionally wincing as he lifted it from the ground.

"You're limping extra severely today. I'm half-inclined to leave you behind," she mocked him, striding forward in front of him. Mr. Gold didn't miss a beat in responding—apparently he was used to her snarky behavior. _Good because you'll get a lot of it._

"The rain tends to make my leg sore," he explained, rubbing it with one hand. Emma felt a twinge of sympathy and then mentally kicked herself. "Among other things." Yep, the sympathy went out the window.

"That's too bad," she muttered flatly. Mr. Gold did not seem to mind her lack of pity for him. Instead, he offered her a knowing look. In her mind, she suddenly realized how her words sounded. "I meant that's too bad the rain makes your leg sore, Gold."

Gold held up his hands in surrender, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips.

"I'm sure that's exactly what you meant. I never said anything on the contrary." Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"No, but you were thinking it," she accused him as she almost toppled forward. Her foot had gotten stuck in a small hole. Mud splattered across the bottom of her jeans. Mr. Gold lifted his cane and chuckled.

"Now who's having leg problems?" They reached the spot where Emma had parked her yellow Bug, his cane tapping along with the wave of rain against the concrete."Besides, there's not a chance you'd leave me behind," he stated confidently.

Emma stared skeptically at him. _Wanna bet?_ _Leroy sure seems like he's in a gambling mood. _

"Oh, really? And why is that?" In a flash, Mr. Gold revealed a set of keys and dangled them in front of her. Emma's eyes widened and she recognized the car keys even as her hand flew to her pockets.

"I'm driving," he told her, starting for the driver's side of the car. Emma gaped at him, imagining his hand slipping into her pocket without her noticing.

"But…but…how did you…" Emma stuttered, brain whirring. Mr. Gold laughed darkly as he set his cane in the car.

"I'd hurry if I were you, Emma. That shirt would not do well in the rain," he advised, motioning to the white shirt she had on under her red leather jacket. Emma had zipped the jacket up past her breasts, but Gold could not resist throwing it in her face again. _He was probably memorizing everything under the white shirt. God knows he'll never see it in the bedroom. _

Mouth dropping open, Emma tugged the edges of the leather jacket tighter, swearing a string of profanities in her head.

Grudgingly, Emma shoved the passenger's door open and slid into the seat, allowing the warmth of the car to settle over her damp skin and clothes. She avoided his gaze and refused to speak until she realized that they were heading in the opposite direction of Gold's estate.

"What did Regina mean about us having a lovely time? Are we going somewhere?" Emma glanced over at Gold. His face was blank and his brown eyes only switched to her for a brief second. Her hand curled around the handle of the door.

"Relax, Emma. No need to jump from a moving vehicle." _I beg to differ,_ she thought, eyeing him suspiciously.

The edge of the town was coming up and she froze in her seat. Surely, he wasn't planning on leaving? But Henry had said…_Oh, what? Now you suddenly believe the kid? This is the perfect chance to prove his theory wrong. _

"Where are you taking me?" Mr. Gold's lips curled in a mischievous smile, one that Emma truly detested. His fingers tightened around the wheel and he deliberately sped up as her yellow car passed Storybrooke's sign.

"Have you forgotten your predicament already?" She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to make sense. "We're going on our honeymoon, of course."

…

**R.I.P. Graham…On a brighter note: Honeymoon time! (-; **

**But first: shout-outs to my wonderful reviewers! Seriously, you guys are amazing. **

**To RandomWriter101: Thanks for the review! I'm so glad to know you're enjoying it and I appreciate the suggestions! (= **

**To anche: Thank you! Yeah, I've been coming up with a lot of ideas for this story so I am a chapter or so ahead. Good news for you guys, right? **

**To DaesGatling: Hehe, I love writing those tense moments for Gold/Emma. It's so much fun. (= And as for Emma falling in love with him…hmm, we'll have to see. I wonder if Emma likes guys in leather? **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Thanks so much! Heh, I actually put in the vomit thing at the last minute as per a suggestion from another reviewer. It was too good to resist! Good to see I might be turning people towards Gemma. And of course I am going to have so much fun with this story! (=**

**To AnonAg: Nice to meet another Rumpel fan—he's my favorite on the show! I'm glad you like the story so far!**

**To megumisakura: Thank you! Appreciate the reviews! **

**To Kendra Luehr: Mmm…looks like Emma's subconscious might cause her a little bit of trouble. (-; And somehow I don't think Gold would mind if Emma agreed to sleep in his bed….maybe. In any case, she's the wife—she's definitely doing the laundry (as long as she doesn't turn his clothes pink)!**

**To saku-lee: Haha, thanks! I absolutely loved the Mad Hatter and I'm looking forward to seeing if the show brings him back or not. As for the fic…we shall see. (= I'm actually surprised there's not more fics out there; I almost expected it to be like Rumbelle after Skin Deep. **

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yes, you most certainly amused me with that cartoon imagery! I'm a very visual person. Hehe, if that line about Emma coming up with the idea on her own didn't keep her awake for the rest of the night, I don't know what would. Poor Emma…but it's all for your entertainment! **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Hopefully I will be able to provide more insight on Gold's part in later chapters. As for the Emma anger level, I'm sure she's displeased with the situation. But no worries—I think I'll include a lighter scene with her and Gold in the next chapter or so. Just wait and see! **

**To Musicalfan2012: Haha, I love writing the tension between them—as if there isn't enough on the show (partly what made the first ep intriguing). I have plenty of good stuff coming where Gemma is concerned. (=**

**To Chibiboku: That would be quite something if Gold were somehow standing over Emma and saying those things! Typical of him. Seriously—does Gold ever sleep? Hmm….well, thank you for reading, anyhow! **

**To olverabonk: Oh, I can definitely see Gold being amused by Emma's resistance. But she can only resist for so long…Mwuahahaha! (= Thank you again for the awesome review! **

**To Narnian Phantom Stallion: Not sure whether Gold has any of his power left or not (would be interesting), but it would be very amusing if he actually was standing over Emma, if only to mess with her. Thanks! **

**Thank you everyone for such good reviews! What would my story do without you guys? Aren't you guys just looking forward to their honeymoon (and all the chaos that ensues)? **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey, guys! The enormous support continues to amaze me! Thank you so much, everyone! Drinks all around! **

**Enjoy the chapter! I bet some of you are looking forward to the Golds' honeymoon…**

**Oh! And the whole "name game" (for lack of a better phrase) was inspired/suggested by MoreThanMeetsTheEye96. I just decided to put a twist on it. **

**Chapter Six **

Much to Madame Mayor's displeasure, there was in fact a particular way to leave Storybrooke. It was all based on a simple technicality. A loophole. Contracts, loopholes, technicalities…they were his longtime specialty.

Most people who sought to leave Storybrooke had no intention of returning to the small, desolate town that trapped them. It had been the very reason the pregnant Ashley could not reach beyond the town's limits.

As long as you planned to return to Storybrooke, you could cross into the world beyond it. As long as the intention existed in the back of your mind. A simple technicality. _And the both of us will come back. After our little honeymoon._

Carefully, his brown eyes switched to Emma. She was curled up in her seat, her legs tucked beneath her and her forehead resting against the window.

Unbeknownst to her, the town had forged its chains on her as well, welcoming the long-lost daughter of Snow White into its prison. He was not worried about his new wife skipping town to escape her unwanted arrangement. Little Henry himself was helping the matter. _So much like Bae…perhaps little Henry could become the very thing I lost. _

In any case, Emma Swan was not a coward. Or rather, Emma Gold now. _Emma Gold…I like the sound of that, even if she doesn't. Or pretends she doesn't. _

Inevitably, his gaze lowered to her delicate neck, the pulsing of her heart in the hollow of her throat. What would it be like to press his lips against the skin there and feel the rapid beating like a violent drum? What would it be like to feel that pulse quicken as she sighed his name? _As she sighs my true name._

Eyes dropping lower to the soaked white shirt beneath the smooth red leather of her jacket. _Leather…_always a favorite of his. Not many men could pull off a full leather ensemble like he could, vain as it was to admit. Charming had tried, but in the same way he lost Snow, the silly prince failed.

Leather…It had been miserably absent from his wardrobe since the journey from that other realm. _That wretched Queen…first she takes away my Belle, then my leather outfits? Is nothing sacred? _

Oh, but leather looked good on Emma. Absolutely wonderful.

Her bra matched her jacket—he could see it through the simple white cotton. And the tender pattern in which her breasts rose and fell with each soft breath…

"Like what you see?" Emma sarcastically turned his own words on him. It amazed him that she had allowed him to look for so long. Did it no longer bother her, the way his eyes roamed over her?

Reluctantly, his gaze returned to her face and he couldn't help the smile that quirked his lips. Emma was sharp; she wasn't going down without a fight. _That's my girl,_ he thought, fighting the urge to guide her face towards his.

"As a matter of fact, yes. The view is quite spectacular." Emma whipped her head around to send him a piercing look, her green eyes flaring with anger. Even when she was angry at him, she was beautiful, amusing. And it was fun making her so mad.

Fuming, Emma snapped on the radio to a heavy rock station and shifted on the seat, tugging her jacket closed over her damp, exposing shirt.

He did his best to suppress a giggle. So much fun…how could he resist? Another thought struck him.

After their honeymoon, he'd have to do something about that couch. His bed was quite lonesome without his darling, precious wife.

…..

Being angry at Gold was downright exhausting.

Not that she was ready to jump his bones or anything. That was the last thing on her mind.

It was simply impossible to break that amused, resolved mask of his. While he kept throwing the fishing line, Emma foolishly kept biting. And she was afraid her walls were starting to crack. His never did. He never faltered.

_Okay, Emma. Breathe. Release the anger._ Odd enough, this soft, incentive voice sounded like Archie's. Emma mentally rolled her eyes as she recalled what he had said to her in the diner. _Maybe this marriage is a good thing. _

Shifting on her seat, Emma's muscles relaxed. She was determined to take a leaf out of Mary Margaret's book. Yep, that's right. Emma Swan was going to look on the bright side. There had to be one…right?

_Think, Emma. One good thing. Well, Gold is the wealthiest man in town, so I doubt I'll ever face financial problems. Gold-digger or not…it's certainly an upside. _

Emma couldn't help but smile lightly at her achievement. Her nerves felt less bothered, her mind stretching open.

_And…he's not influenced by Regina. He does seem to have some control over her. Maybe the two of us can form an alliance against her. That should cheer Henry up, anyway,_ she thought positively, squaring her shoulders. Gold also had a great extent of power-he'd make a reasonably appropriate ally.

This was working-it didn't seem so bad anymore. Honestly, she was almost ready to belt out that uplifting_ Annie_ song. _Okay, maybe I'm not that comfortable yet…but close._

Even better was the notion that this was her chance to learn more about the pawnbroker, to really figure him out. Appearances could be deceiving…sometimes.

Emma snuck a glance at Gold. His long fingers were curled gently around the wheel. His brown hair hung like a soft curtain around his jaw, but she could still see the smile on his lips. Was the man ever in a bad mood? Lucky for her, it didn't seem so.

"So…" She slowly began, just to catch his attention. As if that were a difficult task. His brown eyes flickered to her expectantly. "Since we are…ma…mar…" Emma stuttered through the sentence. The dreaded word was stuck in her throat.

"Married?" Gold clued in, a smirk dancing on his lips. Emma swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, that. Right. I think…I should know your first name." Gold paused as though contemplating whether it was a good idea to tell her. _What, is it something embarrassing? Does he think I'll point a finger at him and laugh? _

"On the off chance you'd like to scream it aloud?" Emma shook her head, her blonde curls swaying.

"I'd much faster scream 'kidnap' if I actually thought about escaping from you," she replied coolly. Mr. Gold gazed at her seriously, as if she had missed the punch-line of a joke.

"That's not what I meant." Emma's brow furrowed. _On the off chance you'd like to scream it…oh…oh, God, no! _Emma blanched and stared at him in disgust. _Why do I keep walking into his pathetic traps? _

"You…are…disgusting," she spat, running her fingers through her hair. Then, he snickered. Emma gawked at him. _He's laughing? Why is he laughing?_ "What did I say?"

A faint red hue tinted Mr. Gold's face as he regained his control.

"Oh, your actions alone have spoken volumes, Emma." Briefly, he motioned a finger in her direction. "How about this? I shall offer you three chances to guess my name." _What, is this his form of a road trip game? _

Emma mulled it over. It seemed simple enough. What else did she have to lose? It wasn't like she could sacrifice her virginity or anything. And, if there was one thing she enjoyed, it was a good challenge. Gold must have known that.

"And if I fail? What then?" Mr. Gold tilted his head, thinking. Planning. A dangerous concept. _Gold is always planning, isn't he? The man wouldn't buy an ice cream cone unless he were planning on how it would benefit him! _

"If you fail to discover my proper name…then upon the conclusion of this honeymoon, you must refrain from sleeping on my couch." _Problem solved,_ he thought with well-deserved satisfaction.

His other option was to take his cane to his splendid couch. Not that he couldn't afford a lovely new one. That way, Emma would either have to result to his bed (locks would _conveniently_ appear on the guest room doors) or sleep on the floor. Which she might actually do, knowing her stubbornness and lack of fondness towards him.

This way, she must abide by the terms of a deal.

It was the most efficient way to obtain what he wanted and, over the centuries, it was the tactic that never failed him. _And those useless fairies call my deals 'unethical.' What is it they expect me to do? Wave a glittery wand and say 'poof'? _

Emma's eyes had flown wide and she was currently staring at him as if he had miraculously spurted another head.

"You want me to sleep in your bed? With you?" Mr. Gold offered her a sidelong look.

"Yes, I thought that insinuation was reasonably clear, Emma." Her mind spun. Three chances to guess his name…or sleep in his bed. The last stitch to officially concrete her as his wife.

What was she afraid of?

"How about three days? Three chances seems a little unfair," she argued. A delightful smile crossed his face. Emma's stomach sunk in on itself. _Is it too late for me to throw myself out of a moving vehicle? _

"Ironic," he muttered. Emma arched an eyebrow.

"Why's that?"

"If I told you, it would defeat the purpose of this little game," he replied smoothly, peaking Emma's curiosity. Was it a hint? "Very well. Three days. Do we have a deal?"

Mr. Gold took one of his hands off the wheel, extending it to her. She eyed it suspiciously, wondering about the last questionable place it had been. Nevertheless, she grasped it in her own hand and was surprised to find his skin warm.

"Deal," she boldly agreed. Emma held his hand a few seconds longer than necessary before dropping it. Mr. Gold nodded once.

"Well then, Emma…start guessing."

…..

He was expecting to have a lot of fun watching Emma struggle to guess his name. There were thousands out there, but none of them would be correct.

And she would surely end up in his bed, if not in the sense he truly desired.

Truth be told, "Mr. Gold" was the extent of his name in this pathetic, miserable realm. The only other answer, therefore, was his real name. His proper name, as he'd told Emma. Slipped it into the deal without her even realizing it. _It's all about the wording, my dear. _

And unless she found his dagger soon-unlikely-then his darling Emma would lose. The boy wasn't here to help her. And he knew very well that Emma had turned her nose up at the idea of a curse. She would think logically, select normal, everyday names.

"Rumpelstiltskin" was not in her vocabulary. Pity.

Stealthily, he glanced at her. A determined look lined her hard-edged face. He absolutely adored it. _Try, try, my little curse-breaker! You'll never guess_. His teeth bit sharply down on his tongue as he stifled a giggle.

"Hmm…is your name Robert?" He paused, toying with her just a bit. _Robert Gold…not a bad first guess. At least it starts with an 'R.'_

"Sure has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Emma's emerald eyes lit up with victory and she beamed smugly at him.

"Hah! I win. That was easy," she proclaimed, crossing one leg over the other. The curve of her thigh was so highly defined by the tight fabric of her jeans that Gold nurtured the fantasy of tracing a finger across it.

"Wrong, Emma," he retorted in a lilting tone. Her smile diminished.

"What? But you just said-" He held up a commanding hand to stop her.

"Exactly. I said the name had a nice ring to it. I never said it belonged to me." His fingers drummed against the wheel to a tune in his head.

Emma visibly deflated. The next time she perked up, there was an unmistakable spark in her eyes, a fierce thirst to prove him wrong and guess correctly. _Oh, yes. There's a fire inside her that Graham wouldn't have known what to do with. Luckily I have experience stoking such fires. _

"You and your technicalities. Alright, _Gold_…" And the game continued.

**Don't worry, guys! It took me a while and a great deal of researching and surfing the Internet, but I'm pretty certain about the adventures of their honeymoon. Getting there is half the fun, right? (-; **

**Thank you all for taking the time to read! I'm happy to have so much support and love for this story. Now, here come the shout-outs (because my wonderful readers deserve it): **

**To DaesGatling: You are absolutely amazing (you actually inspired a few more of my ideas)! The cabin in the woods is an interesting idea…perhaps the two of them will end up there some time (and just imagine if they were forced to preserve body heat?). Haha, I am still imagining Gold wearing Mickey ears in Disneyworld. (= **

**To olverabonk: Yes, Emma surely complains too much. I know of some fan girls who would have loved to stand outside Gold's window and snap photos like paparazzi! (Shh…don't tell them where he lives!) Glad you're liking it! **

**To blueberry24: Guess you'll have to wait and see! You never know what good stuff can happen on a honeymoon-especially since there's actually two weeks time between the 7th and 8th eps. (= **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Regina's always over the top, but that's why she's so amusing to watch. Especially when it concerns Emma. Thank you for the review! **

**To rydia94: I personally think being married to Gold is messing with Emma's head a bit-the whole red leather jacket/white shirt certainly proves that! I'm sure Gold didn't mind, though. I'm actually hoping to include Henry at some point (maybe when they get back). And no, I've never seen the Full Monty! I must get around to that! And the "please" thing? Never gets old. (-; **

**To scabiorsnatcher: I'm glad you want more! Because I'm currently working on the next chapter! Anyone want to place bets on whether Emma will be able to resist Gold's charms (besides Leroy)?**

**To Musicalfan2012: Yeah, seeing as it was Graham's funeral, I thought I should give Emma one sad moment. Poor Graham-but at least we've finally learned where Regina gets it from! The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess. **

**To Emerald Imagination: That's okay! I know firsthand how life can easily get in the way of fanfic. I hope your finals went well! Hehe, there will be some good stuff, I think. This is a Gemma story, after all! **

**To megumisakura: Thanks so much! (= **

**To RandomWriter101: Yep, guess the kid isn't right about EVERYTHING. Don't worry-I'm sure a honeymoon between Gold/Emma could be nothing but amusing and hilarious! Just wait to see what kinds of antics Emma gets into (I'm not going to spoil a thing). **

**To Kendra Luehr: Oh, Emma is a handful…but I think Gold can handle her. Great, now I'M imagining Gold chasing Emma around the room! LOL I just hope she isn't the kind to turn sheets/clothes pink in the wash. Maybe THAT'S why Gold's shirt is bright pink (magenta?) in the 8th ep! **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye: Yay! Honeymoon Time! Have you ever read the Abridged Series by DaesGatling? "Mary Margaret is going to be mad when she sees the water bill on account of all the showers I just took!" Just a taste of it. (= I'm glad you love it! **

**To AnonAg: Thank you so much! And yes-we shall have to wait THREE WEEKS! What the heck is up with that? Hopefully, I can keep you entertained. Also, DaesGatling's Abridged Series is helping to keep ME entertained. And Rumpel is amazing! **

**To DragonRose4: Glad you like it! As for Gold finding a way around leaving town….there's always a loophole with him. /= There must be, if he supposedly broke his deal with Regina in the 18th ep. **

**Thank you everyone! Your support means the world to me. (= It won't be long until the next update, so be patient (or you can cure the impatience by swamping Gold's pink house while he's honeymooning). **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy Easter, everyone! Guess what? This happens to be a longer chapter than the last. More for you to enjoy! **

**Just a warning—Gold deals with a little…problem. You'll see what I mean. (-; He REALLY likes Emma. **

**Mainly, I was thinking about the most awkward, crazy things to happen on this road trip. Needless to say, that idea popped into my head and it was too hard to resist. So, enjoy! **

**Chapter Seven**

"Nicholas? William?" Cold brown eyes. Silence. Emma huffed.

By now, she simply had to glance at Gold to know whether she was right or wrong. Every single time, she was wrong. _Think, Emma. What's a good name for a manipulative, creepy guy like him? A name that doesn't require children to get their mouths washed with soap? _

"David?" _Wrong, Emma, _she could practically hear the lilting rejection slip off his curved lips.

"Last time I checked, that name belongs to Mr. Nolan. Not me." _Of course not, because that would be far too simple. Well, I accept that challenge. _

Emma leaned her head out of the open window, the skies having cleared up. The sun was overwhelming and it was humid as hell itself.

Under any other circumstance, she would've taken off her heavy red leather jacket. Knowing Gold, he'd make some remark about how she was flashing him, given that her shirt was only starting to lose its dampness. _No need to give him any more ideas or cause to irritate me. _

"What does the name start with?" His eyes flickered to her and then away again. Emma sighed. "Oh, come on. One hint will not hurt your chances of getting me in your bed." _Wait…no. That came out wrong. That was not what I meant. _

Emma mentally groaned. What was it about Gold that made her lose every bit of common sense? She watched as he touched a finger lightly to his lips, contemplating.

"R," he answered honestly, not that it would help her in the long run. Emma buried her head in her hands, clearly frustrated. Gold's fingers tightened over the wheel, a small smile lifting his lips. Suddenly, Emma shot her head up.

"So I was close in guessing Robert?" There was a challenging note in her voice and Gold memorized every octave. Maybe it never occurred to her…but Gold had similar tastes to Emma. He always enjoyed a good challenge. And Emma was the biggest challenge of all.

"You were most certainly on the right track," he agreed, dipping his head ever so slightly.

Determination sparked in her green eyes. Pure, feisty determination that would do wonders had she been unfastening his buttons in the bedroom. Emma crossed her arms under her breasts, urging them upwards. Her skin spilled over the hem of her leather jacket.

Mr. Gold's body grew stiff in his seat. A telltale hardening stirred between his legs. He stifled a lustful groan as he tore his eyes from his golden beauty. What a taunting, tormenting woman she was—and she didn't even realize it!

If he weren't the one driving, he would have crossed his legs. Instead, he uncomfortably shifted in his seat, hoping that Emma would not notice…

As if she read his mind, Emma leaned back in her seat and crossed her own legs. Again he was drawn to the way they curved, the way her foot was swinging back and forth…_oh, sweet Jesus. Of all the times to react to Emma. _

Casually, Gold removed a hand from the wheel and pretended to brush something off his suit. It was his fortune that Emma was staring out the window. Slowly, still brushing, his hand pushed down on the sore spot between his legs, wincing at the heat that rushed there. _What am I supposed to do? Jerk off while she's sitting inches away? _

Maybe some air would do. Hastily, Gold lowered his window, the humid wind caressing his face. _Caressing…_

The heat instantly got worse—and he wasn't talking about the weather. Licking his lips, Gold fought to keep from gazing over at Emma, who was oddly silent.

"Oh, screw it," she muttered, jolting up in her seat.

Unzipping her leather jacket, Emma threw it into the backseat, the humidity finally getting to her. The shirt hung loosely on her frame, the red bra still visible through it. Emma then lifted her bare arms to tie back the waves of her blonde hair.

Mr. Gold's brown eyes traced over the skin of her arms, down to her chest with the visible red bra, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be driving. The hardness was almost painful now. It throbbed and pulsed, mocking him. _And we just hit the open road. No rest stops for another few good miles. Unless we're lucky…_

Emma lowered her arms to smooth down her white tank top. Fingers running over white along her stomach…Gold closed his eyes for a second, biting his tongue to keep from moaning. _This is worse than any curse the Queen could place on me. _

He quietly released a stream of air as Emma returned to her position of sitting with her arms and legs crossed. Like that helped. _And this simply comes from sitting in the same car as Emma, let alone the same bed. Comes…oh, God…_

"Where the hell are we even going?" Emma's voice was drowned out by the horrible throbbing down below. His fingers curled over the wheel, wanting so much to ease the pain…His throat was incredibly dry—he feared it would break, alerting her to his little…problem.

"Mmm…I'm afraid I can't tell you. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, would we?" So far so good. Emma rolled her lovely eyes at him. His hand dropped to drum against his leg, uncharacteristically shaky. "If I give you hint, would you mind driving for a while?"

Emma gave him a surprised look. Had she noticed? No, she was only taken aback by his unexpected offer.

"Really? All of a sudden you're just ready to take the backseat?" _Backseat…throbbing…growing harder…if you insist, Emma. _"Give me a hint, then."

"Oh, damn," he mumbled under his breath, shifting in his seat again. _I take it back. I'm grateful not to be wearing leather pants now. _

"Or….not." Emma eyed him curiously, but shrugged it off.

Leaning over, she switched on the radio, searching for a good station. Her brow furrowed and, with the right angle, he could just begin to see down that white shirt…_No! Not helping! Breathe it out. _

There was static and then Emma paused to listen to a song. _In my head, I see you all over me. In my head, you fulfill my fantasy. In my head, you'll be screaming out…_

In Gold's head, he pictured Emma smoothing her hands down her shirt, crossing her legs, perhaps even letting him see everything under that shirt…_It's like listening to the radio when you're heartbroken. It's nothing but a burden. _

"Music is going downhill today," Emma half-mumbled to herself. The dial turned to another station and another song. _I'll take you to the candy shop…I'll let you lick the lollipop…_"I can't stand rap."

_At this point, Emma, neither can I, _Gold thought as he tried to stealthily rub that hardening spot. Another twist of the dial on the radio: _Tryin' to hold back these feelings for so long...come on, let's get it on. Let's get it on-_

"How about we just…not listen to the radio?" Gold grabbed ahold of Emma's hand, almost desperately. Emma stared at his hand over hers and seemed startled. Abruptly, he released her and snapped off the radio.

"Last time I checked, this was _my _car, Gold." There was a warning in Emma's voice, but she kept the radio off.

It was at that moment her eyes happened to drop to his legs. Emma's eyes flew open wide and she blanched—she'd noticed this time.

"Oh…oh, God…are you…are you _aroused?" _

_You make that sound criminal, Emma. It's a compliment. _Gold avoided her accusing eyes, all the while feeling the heat spread to his thighs.

"Any particular reason why you're leering in that direction, Emma?" He feigned collectiveness, but this was a tender issue. Emma's expression became one of disgust, her mouth dropping open.

"That's not the point! You're…you are _aroused _in my _car!" _Emma shrilly exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I swear, Gold, if you make one move to jerk off…" The sentence trailed off as she involuntarily shuddered. _How pleasing. Not the reaction I so desire._

"That would be why I asked you to drive," he pointed out, his breath hitched. Emma gave him a look that seriously questioned his sanity.

"Why? So you could sit here and ease your hard-on? Hell, no," she snapped, sticking her head out the window for air. "I'll wash that seat fifteen times before driving this car again." Emma pinched the bridge of her nose.

"There's always another way to ease it," he softly suggested, earning him a piercing look that would put Madame Mayor's glares to shame. If only she were here now to have it shoved in her face. "Quip. Not serious."

"Yeah, you better not be. That's it—if it is the last thing I do, I am guessing your name. Because there is no way I am sharing a bed with you and risking getting raped during the night." It was Gold's turn to send her an unpleasant frown. Did she think him so monstrous?

"You needn't worry about that. There are many questionable things I have done, Emma, but I would never stoop so low as to rape you," he assured her. _It wouldn't be rape if you asked for it, would it? _

Emma didn't look like she believed him. For a few minutes, the two drove in silence—silent, all except for Gold's labored breathing as he tolerated his problem. Then, Emma pointed out the window to a sign on the side of the road.

"Look, there's a motel nearby. The sun will be setting in a couple of hours anyway. You can…deal with your problem there," she told him, averting her gaze from him. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Pennsylvania," he responded as best he could. And the two of them still had a good ways ahead of them. _Some honeymoon this is turning out to be…_

* * *

><p><em>Great. A motel meant for people who sneak around having affairs. Exactly where I want to spend the night with Gold. My soiled Bug is tempting right now. <em>

Emma grimaced as she observed their dingy, cheap motel room.

The floor was littered with dirt, the television only omitted static, and the sheets looked like they hadn't been washed in years. She was also pretty sure the owner had mentally undressed her—it almost made her prefer Gold's leering. Almost.

_At least there are two beds,_ she thought dryly as she settled on the one closest to the door. _Just in case I need to escape. _The stench of musk clogged her nostrils, making her gag.

"The only place nicer than this is the Bates Motel," she sarcastically called out. Gold was in the bathroom, taking care of his…problem. "As in _Psycho_?"

There was the brief sound of running water and then Gold limped into the room, a relieved look on his face. Emma scrunched her nose with disgust. And Gold still looked flawless, despite his recent "exercise". How did that work?

"I expect you won't be taking a shower anytime soon," he replied, easing himself onto the second bed and stretching out his legs with a sigh. Emma reclined on her bed so that she could stare at the ceiling instead of Gold.

"After what you just did in there? Absolutely not." Emma's mind deceived her as she pictured Gold in his immaculate charcoal suit, jerking off. It was entirely unpleasant, even more so than if she pictured him in a princess gown.

_What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to attract his attention? All I said when we met was 'thanks'. Not 'hello, can you marry me so I can move into your pink house and have you getting aroused in my yellow Bug!'_

"I told you there were easier forms of relief," he hinted. Emma could hear the velvety suggestiveness attached to his words. _Keep dreaming, Gold. It will never happen!_

"And I told you that if you lay a hand on me, you'll need a new cane," she retorted, turning on her side and switching off the flickering lamp. There was a great blue light as it exploded. Emma stared at it in shock.

"Ms. Blanchard informed me that you have a habit of breaking objects when you get upset, Emma. Now I know what she means," Gold said from the darkness. The lamp sparked a couple of times as if to complain.

_I need to figure out his name. There is no way I am sharing a bed with that man. I can't even stand him now, never mind lying next to him. Starts with an R…_

"Richard?"

"Keep trying, dear," came the smooth answer. Emma frowned. There had to be some way of figuring it out. Maybe it was something unusual. The guy had to have a name, right?

"Hannibal Lecter?"

"Cute, Emma. You have a lovely sense of humor. I knew there had to be a good reason why I agreed to marry you." Emma scoffed at him over her shoulder. _Just like him, pointing out that this was my idea! Maybe I have an evil twin somewhere in Storybrooke. _

"Right. You agreed to marry me for my humor. Not for any creepy, devious ulterior motive." It never occurred to her to wonder why Gold had taken her as his wife. Somehow, she didn't think it was because he was lonely.

"Believe it or not, Miss Swan, not everything I do has an ulterior motive." Emma sat up in bed and searched for his shadowy form in the darkness. "Some things I do…purely for my entertainment."

"Huh. You called me 'Miss Swan.' Not 'Emma', 'dearie', or even 'darling.'" The pawnbroker was quiet. Emma impatiently blew a blonde strand from her face.

"Is that a complaint?" Emma leaned back just as Gold folded his arms behind his head. _Trust me, there are bigger things I could complain about. Like how I can't drive my own car because of strange stains on the seat! _

"Observation," she stated. "Ryan?" She was grasping for straws.

"Afraid not. Would you rather I refer to you as 'Mrs. Gold?'" There was a pleased note in his voice.

Emma narrowed her eyes. How many people in Storybrooke were already calling her that now? _Oh, look! There's Mrs. Gold. I just spotted Mrs. Gold in town today! There goes Mrs. Gold, heading to her husband's little shop! _

"I'd rather you call me…Emma," she relented, figuring it was the most harmless one. Still, there was the way he said it each time-slow and deliberate, rolling off his tongue…

"Very well…_Emma_." Like that. Maybe she should have chosen "dearie". Gold called everyone "dearie", including David and Archie.

"R…Reginald?" _Where the hell did that one come from? In any case, it's…_

"Wrong," she drawled in a sing-song voice.

Emma sighed, about ready to bang her head on the bedpost. A small snicker came from his side of the room and she tossed a pillow in his direction.

"I half-expected the broken lamp." _If I were you, I wouldn't give me any ideas. I might do it. _

"Am I hot or cold?" Maybe if she had a clue about how close she was, she could find the needle in the haystack. A very tiny needle in a gigantic haystack. She felt like that girl in that fairytale, guessing the monster's name in order to keep her child.

"You, Emma, are hot," he answered. Emma perked up, mind spinning. This was good news. If she was hot, then that meant she was close and—

Wait. That wasn't what he meant.

Another stifled laugh arose from his bed, but Emma didn't wish to sacrifice her last pillow. Her eyes found the bent shape of the lamp. _To throw the lamp or not to throw the lamp? No, he's not worth it._

"Cute," she imitated him, burying her face in the pillow and curling into a tight ball.

"So you do admire me. I believe we are making progress." Amusement dripped from his tone. There was no winning with Gold.

"That was not what I was implying and you know it," she shot back. The air was pregnant as she listened for any inkling of a response.

"It continues to amaze me, Emma," he finally said, his voice soft and thoughtful. He was casting a line. Waiting. _Ignore it. Do not bite! That's what he wants. Willpower, Emma! Resist it, resist it, resist…oh, screw it! _

"What could possibly amaze you, Gold?" _Reeling you in, trapping you, practically roasting you for dinner on his expensive dining table with his favorite suit_.

"It amazes me…the lengths you go to just to lie to yourself." And Gold would say no more.

* * *

><p><strong>The songs on the radio are: <strong>_**In My Head **_**by Jason Derulo, **_**Candy Shop **_**by 50 Cent, and **_**Let's Get It On **_**by Marvin Gaye. **

**I think you guys will be amused by Emma's antics in the next chapter (I have most of it written up). I won't spoil anything—just know that it might be…interesting. (-; **

**Well, I daresay this story is nearly up to 100 reviews already! Thank you so much everyone for reading and loving this story so much! **

**As always, shout-outs to my wonderful reviewers (what would I do without you?): **

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Thank you for both of your recent reviews! I must say…I love Leroy. Much too fun with him, I think. He seems like the type to make crazy bets (with a drink in hand). **

**To DaesGatling: You know, I always look forward to your reviews. They cheer me up so much! Well, with all the stress Emma goes through in these episodes, I say she needs quite a bit of de-stressing. Perhaps Gold could help her with that. (= **

**To olverabonk: Aww, thank you. I'm glad you like my ideas so much! That's always good to hear. (= **

**To DragonRose4: Wow, this is similar to the Miller's Daughter, isn't it? I never thought of it that way. Yeah, Henry hasn't figured out Rumpel's story yet—not like Emma would believe it, anyway. **_**Rumpelstiltskin**_** was always one of my favorites when I was a child. Stay tuned! **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Haha, I figured out that it was you commenting anonymously. Can I just say I LOVED your review? It made me smile so much! I love to hear the parts people enjoyed—it gives me good insight. LOL I laughed when you said you were laughing in class—I hope I didn't get you in trouble! Thank you so much! And yes, that is the same brilliant DaesGatling! Also (keep forgetting to tell you) I do like the "guy hits on Emma" idea; I actually came up with the same idea before and am planning to use it. Great minds think alike, huh? (You gave me a long review and now I gave you a wicked long shout-out!)**

**To Kendra Luehr: Okay, maybe laundry doesn't come out THAT pink, but it does make me wonder what Gold's reaction would be. Then again, he has a magenta shirt. Enough said. (= LOL It would be funny if Emma accidentally (maybe sarcastically) guessed his name. "What the hell is it—Rumpelstiltskin?" "No…." (-; **

**To khan81: Yeah, funny how life gets in the way sometimes. Well, I'm glad you took some time to read it! I really appreciate it! Technically, there's a two-week span between the 7****th**** and 8****th**** episodes, so I will be using Gold/Emma's time to my advantage. It will be fun, I think. Hope you keep reading! **

**To megumisakura: Thank you for the review! I am determined to make this road trip interesting (with a few stops on the way, of course). **

**To js0718: If I were Gold, I'd have fun with the name game, too! Poor Emma, struggling to guess. I don't know what name they'd come up with for the show or if he even has a first name. /= Who knows? Thanks for reading!**

**To Muscialfan2012: Yay for giddiness! Always a delightful thing. (= Don't worry—more will be coming soon! Just hang in there! **

**To AnonymouslyYoursSeven: Thank you! I appreciate the review! **

**To Mizcamaro: Aw, Graham. Always making the ladies fight over you! (-; As for Gold…even when we should hate him, we love him I guess. At least I do. Thank you by the way!**

**To blueberry24: Hmmm….I'm not sure whether I will add in Belle or not. For now, I am looking forward to seeing how the show goes. Maybe there will be a love triangle—and a cat fight! (= You'll have to wait and see! **

**To Vessa6: Thanks for taking the time to read! I appreciate it greatly! (= **

**To AnonAg: It's good to know I'm doing a fine job of keeping everyone entertained. I think that's the most difficult part for me is knowing whether my chapter is entertaining enough—but you can't please everyone, right? I just try. And yes—I understand from the promo! THREE WEEKS! /= **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Hmm…I always thought her breaking the curse had something to do with him in general. Not a bad idea. It could certainly weaken the curse, perhaps? I'm glad you liked the chapter! And maybe you should wait for the next chapter—see if Emma is indeed warming up to Gold! **

**Phew! Gotta love the support, guys! Thank you SO much, again! It makes me smile to know so many people out there are loving this story. For that, I will continue to try my best to keep all of you entertained! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey, readers! Okay, so this chapter actually wasn't supposed to be up so quickly****…but the lov****ely DaesGatling changed my mind (I still say it was complete brainwashing!). And I think some of you may be interested by Emma's antics in this chapter. I won't spoil—you'll have to read! **

**As always, the number of reviews was amazing! Thank you so much guys—the support means a great deal to me! **

**Over 100 reviews! This calls for a celebration! **

Chapter Eight

_I've had many bad ideas before, but this one takes the cake. _

Gold was asleep, had been for a while. His breathing was deep, though he did not snore. _Something to look forward to in the bedroom. Lucky me._

Emma had lain awake on her side, waiting for him to fall asleep. There had to be a way to find out his name and she was getting desperate. _A wallet, an identification card, a license…anything. _

Slowly, so as to avoid making the bed creak, Emma sat up. One by one, she placed her feet on the dirty carpeted floor and stood. _Now comes the hard part._

Quietly, Emma tiptoed over to his bed until she was looking down at him. His face was oddly serene. _Sure, it is. The guy wouldn't lose a wink of sleep if he financially ruined a convent of nuns on Christmas Day._

_I really do not want to do this! _

Carefully, Emma leaned over Gold's sleeping form and lightly placed her fingers above one of his suit pockets. The silkiness of his suit was surprisingly pleasant…_Oh, God, what am I thinking? You see, this is what happens when I take a road trip with Gold. _

Releasing a small breath, Emma slipped her fingers inside his pocket, scrambling around. Nothing. Not even loose change. But, then, if he continuously jingled, she supposed he wouldn't be so good at sneaking up on people.

Gold gave a small moan and Emma froze, her arm stretched across him. Then, his deep breathing resumed and she fought back a sigh of relief.

Uncertain, Emma leaned farther over him, trying to easily reach his other pockets. _This isn't working. I can't keep leaning over him like this. With my luck, I'll fall on top of him. On top of him…_

It was crazy. It was disturbing. It was something Emma Swan would rather jump off a cliff than accomplish. Or so she insisted.

But maybe it would work. _Oh, the things Mary Margaret would say if she could see me now. _

Lifting one leg, Emma placed it on one side of Gold. The bed creaked slightly as she guided the other leg up, straddling his body. _I swear if he wakes up now, I'll never hear the end of it. He'll be leering at me for months. _

Emma counted to one hundred in her head before delving inside his suit, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his face. _And if he wakes up…I'll act like there's gunfire and dive to the ground! Foolproof._

Even in sleep, Gold's appearance was flawless. His suit was barely rumpled and there was not a strand of dusty brown hair out of place. _And here I figured he blow-dried his hair in the morning. He probably gets up and goes._

Nothing in those pockets, either. Emma gently placed her hands on his chest, lost in thought. There had to be something, even a driver's license. Something to give her a hint about who he was. Unknowingly, her leg pressed down on his bad leg and she felt him jolt a little against her.

"Mmm…" Gold murmured and Emma's eyes widened like a deer's in headlights. "Either this is one of my vivid dreams or you simply cannot keep your hands off me." Gold's eyes remained closed, but his hands nestled on her hips. His breathing was still somewhat deep. _Maybe…_

"Yes, you're dreaming. I wouldn't be straddling you awake, would I?" _Oh, kill me now. I can't believe I just said that!_

Eyes still closed, Gold smiled almost dreamily and rubbed Emma's hips. She stifled an expletive, especially when the rubbing began to feel good.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be. Why not come closer?" Emma paused. Why'd she ever think this was a good idea? _Nearly as bad as getting drunk and marrying like an alcoholic in Vegas._

"Love to," she muttered uneasily. Hesitantly, she leaned down until her face was close to his, her blonde hair falling on either side of her head. "Before things get…heavy…"

Emma flinched, hating herself more and more. _Thank God Regina isn't here. She'd be fighting back tears of laughter right now._

"Perhaps…you could tell me your name. I…I need something to scream in ecstasy, don't I?"

Emma prayed Gold would have no memory of this the next morning.

A smirk slid across his face as his hands rose to her breasts._ These are the vivid dreams he has? I'm sure Archie would love to psychologically analyze Gold. At the diner, over drinks, like the boys they are. With Archie's glasses steaming up. _

"Or you could simply…scream," he told her softly, his breath warming her face. His fingers held her tighter and she suppressed a gasp. "You wouldn't be trying to cheat on our little game, would you?"

Emma's lips hovered above his. Why couldn't she have fallen asleep? _Because I refuse to sleep in his bed, that's why! _

_What do you suppose you're doing now?_ Stupid internal Gold voice. Maybe she was the one who needed to talk to Archie.

_This doesn't count! This is strictly business! Totally professional!_

"I…I thought this was our little game," she said as seductively as she could, imagining the pattern of Gold's vivid dreams. Her fingers started to search inside the other half of his suit…

Gold's eyes opened, knowingly gazing at her. Gripping her waist, he rolled their bodies over, pinning her beneath him. His eyes danced with lust and glee. Emma turned her head away as his lips brushed along her ear.

"So it is. If you insist…" Before Emma knew what was happening, Gold's fingers caught her chin and his lips roughly crashed over hers. Emma was stunned for a full minute as their lips molded together. Then her muscles relaxed. _I thought kissing Gold would be worse. And it's not…that…bad…_

Her body betrayed her by responding to his lips. As he started to break it off, she decidedly kissed him back, her arms circling his neck to pull him down to her. Her teeth lightly bit down on his lower lip and he moaned. His fingers traced along her body and she arched her back to press closer to him.

_Not...that…bad…wait. I'm kissing Gold. Gold. _

Emma's leg slid between his legs and felt a hard throbbing there. The problem had returned. _What the hell am I doing? _Slowly, she brought her leg back—

_"__Holy chipping teacups!"_ Gold moaned in agony as her knee connected with a particular sensitive spot. Emma shoved him off her and returned to the safety of her own bed.

"I have no sympathy for you if you weren't expecting that," she told him coolly. Gold whistled air through his lips, shaking off the pain.

"Fortunately… I gift myself…with reading you fairly well, Emma. I…was simply enjoying our moment while it lasted." Still breathing heavily, Gold stumbled his way in the direction of the bathroom. Ready to take care of that problem again.

"Yeah, well if you had any sense you'd keep your slimy hands to yourself." Emma swept back her hair. She could still feel Gold's touch on her hips and breasts. And she refused to follow him with the intent of taking a shower.

Gold peered at her from the threshold of the bathroom.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Emma…but it was _you_ who was straddling _me_," he reminded her, arching an eyebrow. And he wasn't wrong. Gold rarely was. _And he refers to that as hooking up. Ch-ching!_

"Oh, go jerk off already!" She grumbled, hastily pulling the covers of the blanket up to her chin. No more crazy ideas. She was going to get some sleep tonight if it killed her.

"My pleasure," Gold replied before closing the bathroom door. In the next minute, there was running water—the shower. Emma glared at the bathroom door. _Is he kidding? Yep, there's goes any chance of me taking a shower in this motel._

…..

_Slam! _

Emma was rudely awakened by the sudden slamming of a door. Groggily, she glanced wildly around until she spotted Gold looming over her.

"Oh, good. You're awake," he said as he laid a white plastic bag on his bed, dropping her keys with a metallic clink on a nearby three-legged table.

"Depends on your definition of awake," she mumbled, stretching leisurely. Emma rubbed her sore eyes, the awkward events of last night crashing back into her skull. _Straddling him…kissing him…Oh, God, please tell me he doesn't remember that! _

"Someone certainly enjoyed my presence last night." He remembered. And he would never let her live it down. Emma groaned.

"What's in the bag?" She nodded toward the clumpy plastic bag. Gold upended it and out poured…_clothes. _

Emma instantly sifted through the glorious pile of clothing. Gold gently stepped out of her way, his hands calmly folded over the head of his cane. There were fine, silky suits for Gold. _God forbid he wears anything else? That's Storybrooke's own Godfather for you. _

For Emma, there were jeans and low-cut shirts. She gave Gold a look that read "are-you-serious", holding up one of the filmy blouses. He shrugged.

"I'm afraid that was the best clothing I could procure for you. There was a rather shapely red dress, but I figured you wouldn't approve." Emma sighed with relief, but halted to pull out a tight golden dress. "I happen to like gold myself. That one was a bargain."

"There is no way I am wearing that dress," Emma protested, throwing it down. "If you like it so much, why don't _you_ wear it?" Gold stroked his fingers along the silky material.

"Oh, I don't expect you to wear it…yet. Besides, I'm sure it would appear much better on you than it would on me."

While Emma was picking through the questionable clothing-_lace panties? Really?-_Gold headed for the bathroom. Emma's eyes widened with alarm.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?" Mr. Gold half-turned, face blank and innocent. Emma tried to avoid looking down…there. Tried…and she was failing.

"Shaving. Did you have something else in mind? Or do you prefer your men a little bit scruffy?" Mr. Gold rubbed a hand across his nearly smooth jaw. "Perhaps I can fill in for Santa this Christmas. Surprise little Henry."

Emma stared blankly at him. _I just got the worst mental image ever. He'd scar Henry for life. _Mr. Gold registered her discomfort, smiled, and vanished into the bathroom.

Quickly, she changed into a pair of jeans and a breezy red top, stuffing the gold dress into the very bottom of the bag. _Hopefully, we don't run into a formal event that requires me to wear it. I'd rather go naked__…__or, no…maybe not. _

It was then that Emma's cell phone buzzed, the screen bearing the name "Regina." Her brow furrowed-why the hell would Regina be calling her now? Just to bother her? Ask about their honeymoon with a wide smirk in her black office? _What if it has something to do with Henry? _

Grabbing her keys, Emma slipped out of the room to take the call. _Poor kid…he's probably suffering all alone with the Evil Queen. I mean Regina. _

"If taunting me about my honeymoon is your way of easing your boredom, I suggest you take your lacy umbrella and your apples and bother someone else in Storybrooke. Aren't you the one who pelts Archie with apples every time he walks his dog?" she snapped into the phone. Silence on the other end.

"Emma?" _Oh, crap! It's the kid! _Emma slapped her hand against her forehead, mentally berating herself. Of course it would be the kid. Regina wouldn't call her…right?

"Henry! What's going on?" _Ignore my rant, kid. I thought it was your mother. Your adoptive mother. _

"Where are you? Where's he taking you?" The kid's energetic curiosity hit her like a brick wall. Emma leaned against her car, gazing out into the open road.

"Right now? I'm in Highway-to-Hell, Pennsylvania." Probably not the best remark to make to a ten-year old. But it was true. It was quiet now. Did the kid hang up? Or was Regina there?

"Never heard of it," Henry replied, making Emma facepalm. The sun beat down on her head, roasting her.

"Never mind, kid. I have no clue where he's taking me. Guess your theory was wrong about people not leaving Storybrooke." _I told you so. There's no such thing as fairy tales in this world. Next you're going to be telling me that Gold is a magician. Presto, change-o—into the gold dress. _

_"_There has to be a trick to it. Mr. Gold is powerful, I can feel it," Henry insisted almost desperately. Emma sighed. _Why do I even bother trying to reason with the kid? There's no winning with him, either. _

"Yeah…listen, kid. You wouldn't happen to know Mr. Gold's first name?" _Fingers crossed, Emma. Say yes, say yes…_

"Nope. No one in Storybrooke knows. And I'm still trying to figure out who he is." _Damn it! The one time the kid might actually be useful. _

"Yeah, well-" Without warning, Gold's hand appeared from behind her and whipped the phone from her grip. Snapping it closed, he stuffed it into his suit. "What the hell? You just hung up on my son!"

Mr. Gold tilted his head at her, grin forming. He was enjoying this. His brown eyes were dark and unreadable beyond that. The scent of his aftershave was overwhelming her.

"I believe that is the first time I've heard you properly accept him as your son. About time, Emma." Gold swiftly cornered her so that her back hit the car. "You know, that's the second time you've tried to cheat. Pretty soon I might not let you get away so easily."

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Emma's neck. Gold's face was absent of any witty, playful mockery now-he was dead serious. And it was somewhat…unnerving.

Instinctively, her fingers dropped to her empty hip; had she been in Storybrooke, a gun would be there. Gold's eyes glinted dangerously.

"You're not armed, Emma. Though, judging by the poorly concealed bruise on Madame Mayor's face, you do wonders with your bare hands." Gold leaned forward on his cane until their bodies were inches apart. If she craned her neck forward, she could bite him. Or kiss him. "So can I."

"Give me my phone or…" Emma's voice trailed off into nothing, hand outstretched and waiting for the solidness of her cell phone.

Most people would give up the phone at the mention of "or", especially upon the knowledge that she was a Deputy about to turn Sheriff. This was Gold-such petty tricks did not work on him. A knowing smile crossed his face, telling her exactly that.

"Or you'll what, Emma?" Her hand dropped to her side and she blew out an impatient sigh. Gold tapped his cane twice on the ground, clearly satisfied. "I'm afraid if you want your phone back, _Sheriff,_ you'll have to frisk me."

Immediately, the reminder of searching him last night, of her hands roaming over him, invaded her mind. Oh, no. She wasn't giving him the satisfaction he so desired.

"I'm not Sheriff yet. Remember?" _And if Regina has her way, I never will be. Even if Graham wished it…the cow rules everything in Storybrooke._Mr. Gold stepped away, making his way to the driver's side, his eyes never straying from her face.

"I know that. But you will be," he stated, resting his cane against the car. Emma shook her head; there was no way Gold was driving today. Even if he did get aroused in her car…she'd deal with it.

_I got the keys and you don't! _She felt like teasing him like a little girl would do, complete with a sing-song voice. _Ha, ha! I got the keys! _

"Not if Regina has anything to say about it. For all I know, she could be pinning the badge on someone right now. And I'm stuck in….in Pennsylvania!" _Thanks to you, Gold. The new Sheriff might as well be Archie…and then we'd have no choice but to attend those sessions of his!__He'll turn us all into little Freudians. _

"You've still got two weeks. Two fine weeks with me. Madame Mayor will hold off selecting the new Sheriff until the final day." Emma scoffed at him. They had left Storybrooke; Regina had every opportunity now to win by the time they returned. Why chance it?

"You sound so confident. And I don't know why _you're_ over _there_ when_ I_ am the one driving," she said, digging in her pockets for her keys. Emma frowned. She was sure she had put them in that pocket….maybe they were in the other one. Of course they would be. _Come on, keys…where are you?_"I just….have to find my keys…"

"You mean these keys?"

Mr. Gold fished the keys from inside his suit pocket and dangled them in the air. Emma froze and locked eyes with those keys, glinting in the sunlight. _No…that's not possible! They were in my pocket…they were…I made sure…he couldn't have…_

"How do you keep doing that?" Emma threw her hands in the air in exasperation, about ready to leap over the hood like in those agent movies and grab the keys from his hand. Gold grinned victoriously, tossing the keys up and catching them in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, Emma…let's just say…I worked a little magic." Emma eyed him with shock as he deliberately climbed into the driver's seat, stowing his cane in the back. "And as for the level of confidence…Indeed, I am confident. Are you planning on joining me or would you rather walk to our lovely vacation spot?" Emma crossed her arms and glanced down the road.

"Well, I don't know. How far is our vacation spot? Where are we going?" Gold's fingers drummed rhythmically against the steering wheel as he started the car.

Emma suddenly had the premonition of him driving off without her, leaving her in the heat behind. _He wouldn't dare…_

"By the time you reach our destination, your feet should be quite sore. I'll be happy to rub them for you, darling. But if you decide to join me, we can avoid that problem easily." _Knowing you, Gold, you'd jump at the chance to lay your hands on me.__And with the events last night…I just might let you. _

Brushing back her blonde hair, Emma opened the passenger door and slid in. Gold smirked as the car moved away from the curb, the wind whipping through Emma's hair due to the open window.

It was still for a long minute or two until Gold's head shifted towards her.

"Regina is a very predictable woman. A woman whose main desire is to win at all costs, as our luck would have it," Gold said, speeding up. Emma glanced at him with skepticism, guard up.

"Luck? How exactly is that luck if she doesn't care about the cost in which she wins?" _Like kill Graham because he dumped her…_

It was the first time it occurred to her, but somehow it did not feel entirely off the mark. Would Regina have killed Graham for that? Yes…like a jealous ex-girlfriend, yes.

"Regina will want you to know that she's topped you, overruled you. She'll want to humiliate you in front of the town by promoting someone else in the position that was meant to be yours. But I have faith in you," he assured her.

Emma didn't know whether that was good or bad. _Remember the upsides? Gold would make a good ally. Alliance doesn't have to be the same as marriage, Emma._

"At least someone does." Henry had faith in her…as this supposed curse-breaker. Mary Margaret had faith in her, like a mother would have faith in her child.

She wanted to believe that everything would be alright, that everything would work out, but her rough childhood had broken such beliefs. Nothing was ever easy.

She could sense Gold gazing at her and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. Mind reader that he apparently was.

"Someone is a bit pessimistic." Emma felt her hard-edged walls come down just a little. Maybe an inch or two. Or ten. Not even Graham had gotten that far. _Oh, God…he might actually get lucky. _

"I'm not pessimistic. Just realistic."

…..

**Just so you know, these two might be making a couple of stops along the way to their destination, but it's all in good fun. If there's anything you guys would particularly like to see, feel free to let me know! **

**Two more weeks...until the new episode! Is it April 22****nd**** yet? *checks calendar* Hasn't changed yet. **

**Again, my love goes to all those reviewers out there! Where would my story be without you? **

**Shout-outs! Because you deserve them! **

**To Musicalfan2012: Thank you! I****'m glad you're enjoying all the tension and Gold/Emma scenes! Yeah…he just loves getting under her skin. But that's Gold for you! As for his "problem"…it's going to be a LOOONG honeymoon for him. **

**To DeasGatling: The lucky person who got to read this chappie first! Brainwashing! Oh, Emma****…so close yet so far away with the whole "fairytale" thing. **

**To valoankea: Thank you for the review! Don****'t worry—I'll be working to keep you entertained through the honeymoon. With Gemma, you never know what might happen. Glad you're liking it, though!**

**To anche: Pffft…sleep is overrated when it comes to fanfic! That's Emma for you—nearly guessing the name, but then she doesn't believe in the curse…Hope you keep reading!**

**To DragonRose4: Aww, thank you! It's nice to know I've managed to reach out to even those who read Rumbelle. I have some good stuff planned for this honeymoon, though Gold might take it "hard." LOL Gold should consider that suggestion for his suits around Emma. And oh, God…Rasputin. There's a name for him! Thanks for reading!**

**To Kendra Luehr: Thank you! Oh, Gold and his "problem"…might make this honeymoon more interesting for him. LOL Just imagine if Emma really did mean to go down on him when she said "Screw it!" That would work. ****Glad you****'re enjoying it!**

**To Twyla Mercedes: Well, can****'t say I've spent much time in seedy motels, but I guess my imagination hit the mark. As for Gemma, I have other stuff planned to try and lighten the situation between them. Of course, I see Emma as the type who finds it hard to adjust to/trust people because of her background. Thank you for reading, by the way! **

**To AnonAg: Well, I'm glad I made you laugh! That's always good to hear from my readers for this story! Thank you!**

**To olverabonk: Poor Mr. Gold, indeed. He's taking it very "hard", I think. (-; Good to know I'm keeping you on your toes! Hehe, we shall have to see what happens next…who knows what could happen between those two? Thanks for reading!**

**To A Unicorn: Haha, Mr. Gold and his apron. Well, it'd be a shame if he got his suit dirty, right? Ah, a fellow Abridged reader! Always nice. And yes, Daes is reading my fanfic (and brainwashing me into more). Oh, yes—Robert Carlyle is an amazing actor! And his b-day is this Saturday, too! We must celebrate! Thanks for the review and I hope you keep reading!**

**To megumisakura: Thank you for the review and I'm glad you like the story! Hope you keep on reading!**

**To ParanormalMoonlight: Haha, I have succeeded in making you laugh! Thank you for the kind review! **

**To Reven Eid: Thanks! You****'ll just have to see where this goes for Gold/Emma…**

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yeah, I never really like rap—I usually like music that took place before my time (70's, 80's, etc.). But for Gold's "problem", I couldn't resist throwing those in to make the situation worse! Thank you!**

**Thanks everyone! (= I'm already working on the next chapter for you!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Heads up, guys! This is an insanely long chapter. Thought I should give you that warning (though I know most of you won't mind). **

**That being said: thank you all for continuously reading my story! Every kind word means so much to me and I am eternally grateful to all my reviewers! **

**You guys have never seen my drunk Emma, have you? Well...enjoy. **

**Chapter Nine **

They had seen nothing but empty road for a while. Soft music flowed from the speakers. Emma's stomach growled noisily-she was hungry enough to eat a cow. Too bad Regina wasn't in the car.

A couple of road signs claimed that there was a town up ahead. She had lost track of where they were, but at least Gold knew where he was going. Or he was just lost and had too much pride to tell her. Emma's stomach grumbled again and Gold offered her an amused grin.

"Was that an earthquake I felt or was that just your stomach?"

Emma abruptly punched him on the shoulder, and was surprised herself by the almost playful manner. A strange smile was fighting for control of her lips. Gold laughed darkly at her comfortable-nearly comfortable-behavior.

"You're getting used to my company, I think."

Another sign advertised the all-too familiar logo of McDonald's. That was it-she needed food. The unhealthier the better.

"Mmm…I could really go for some McDonald's," she groaned, rubbing her stomach.

Gold's brown eyes switched to her as they passed a rusty sign for the supposed town up ahead. Civilization. She felt like she had been one of the deserted people on _Lost,_ stuck on that little island and forced to survive without proper food. _At least I'm sure I can avoid keeping a squirrel baby._

"McDonald's…as in _'ee-i-ee-i-oh?_'" Emma gave him a strange look. Who had never heard of McDonald's? Then, she heard Henry in her head: _It's the curse. Fairy-tale characters don't eat fast food._

"No…McDonald's as in greasy hamburgers and even greasier fries that would give an anorexic a heart attack," she replied flatly. Despite the description, her stomach still demanded the greasy food. Mr. Gold stared at her, bemused.

"That sounds…delicious. Mind you, I'm not one for greasy foods. Much too risky with my suits." Emma rolled her eyes, but could not help the light smile playing on her lips.

"You have _dozens_ of suits. Why should it matter if one gets ruined?" Mr. Gold gave an overly offended expression as he smoothed down the front of his suit. It was ridiculous—and Emma laughed.

"So says the woman who vomited all over my favorite suit," Gold countered, reminding her of their first dinner. Emma rolled her eyes, gazing out the window.

"Besides, even if you do manage to get ketchup on your suit, you'll still be the best dressed in that place," she assured him.

"Why, I believe you just gave me a compliment, darling," Gold pointed out to her. What was wrong with her today? Smiling, laughing, and now a compliment in the span of five minutes. _I'm warming up. But it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he kissed me last night. _

As they rolled into the heart of the town, those heavenly golden arches appeared in the sky. Emma flashed Gold a mischievous smile. _Oh, this will be fun._

"Much too risky, huh? We'll see." Pointing to the fast food joint, home of greasy Big Macs and heart attacks waiting to happen, she made sure Gold pulled the car in.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was your way of killing me," he told her as they strode to the entrance. The smell of salty fries beckoned her forward. Laughter pierced the air as children ran around in the outside play area.

"There are much better ways that I could kill you, Gold. By the way, only the _food_ is for sale." Gold's eyes followed the tilting of her head to the groupings of children. A dark gleam entered his eyes as he realized she was thinking of his deal with the pregnant Ashley.

"You know, I was always thinking of broadening my horizons. The world is overrun with plenty of remorseful teenage mothers nowadays," he replied, eyeing one such brunette pregnant teenager as she struggled with another child—her son.

"Gold…" There was a warning in her voice, her expression becoming serious. _Don't even think about it, _that message read. He held up his hands in surrender, taking his eyes away from the brunette.

"Quip, Emma. There's that sense of humor again. Always a pleasure," he said, holding the door open for her. "Here I thought you'd make a wonderful mother."

Emma turned to give him a startled look.

"What, you were actually planning on keeping it?" Gold shrugged.

"What did you think I was planning to do? Sell it in my shop?" Emma ignored that image—_placing the baby on a shelf right next to those creepy puppets_—and ordered enough greasy food to make a nun swear. _He should know he's paying._

….

"I desperately need to educate you," Emma declared. Gold smirked at her, brown eyes glinting darkly.

"Is that what they're calling it these days? Darling, I'm sure I'd do wonders educating _you." _The insinuation was clear…and Emma fought off a groan. _Nope, I just happen to be educating him in fast food. That's it. _

"Try one," Emma demanded, holding out a salty fry.

The two of them were sitting in a booth in McDonald's and Gold had yet to eat anything. Most of the food—fries, a Big Mac, carbonated soda—was set in front of Emma while Gold leaned back from the table.

"No, thank you, dearie," he responded, dusting off the sleeves of his suit. As far as Emma could see, there wasn't a speck on him. She dipped the fry in thick ketchup and aimed it for his tie.

"Try it or it goes on the suit," she threatened, inching it closer. Gold stared at the fry and then glanced down at his precious suit. Ketchup would not do good on such an expensive suit, would it? _Going once…going twice…_

"You wouldn't," he dared her, placing his arms on the table and bringing his face close to hers. Emma didn't flinch or move away. The fry was alarmingly close to his clothing now, a spot of ketchup dripping on the table.

"You said you can read me well. Tell me—would I?" Emma twirled the fry in her fingers, the ketchup splattering on the table. Gold gazed down at it, brow furrowing.

"You would," he admitted, accepting the fry as if it were poison. As a whole, he stuffed it in his mouth, chewing experimentally. Occasionally, his tongue appeared and licked over his lips.

"Well? What do you think?" She impatiently tapped her fingers on the table, waiting. Gold finished chewing, swallowed, face thoughtful. _God forbid, he's going to have an epiphany._

"This is disgusting," he stated, pointing to the pile of fries. Emma expected something along those lines. But there was a light in Gold's eyes that made her suspicious. His fingers carefully lifted another fry in wonder. "And yet…strangely addicting."

Emma grabbed another fry just as Gold ate his second one. _There, Gold. I won this round. Never underestimate the craving of fast food. _

"The world's greatest contradiction," she mused, smothering her fries in ketchup. Gold licked his lips again—the same lips that had kissed her…_Oh, come on, Emma. Next you'll be jumping over the table and kissing him back. _

"I suppose now I can die a happy man," he said, popping two fries in his mouth at once. Emma sighed. _Great, I've gotten him hooked on McDonald's. He'll have to send Ruby on runs to the nearest town for fries. With ketchup and never mind the suit._

"Oh? Here I assumed you wouldn't be able to die happy unless you got me in your bed," she reminded him. Funny how the idea of it came easier than it would have just two days before. _Who am I and what have I done with the real Emma Swan?_

"Are you offering?" Gold arched an eyebrow at her, questioning. "You still have two days to guess my name…and this one is nearly wasted." Emma guided her fry around in the pool of ketchup. She had momentarily forgotten about that challenge.

_R, R, R...begins with an R. _

"Oh, just eat your damn fries," she retorted, much to his endless amusement.

…..

_Georgia _

_7:15 p.m. _

The rumble of the Bug ceased and Emma's eyes fluttered open. Groggily, she lifted her head and peered around. From what she could see, it was a barren town. They were parked outside what appeared to be a tavern. A bar.

"Where are we?" Mr. Gold was settled comfortably in the driver's seat, examining her. Without lowering his gaze, he removed the keys from the ignition and pocketed them in his suit. Emma shook her head at him. "You know, I'm not going to take the keys and drive off without you."

"I know," he responded automatically. Maybe a day or so ago she would have. Now…she had to admit Gold was growing on her. "I figured I pick-pocketed you enough this week. Unless you really want me to—"

"Keep the keys," she interjected, stretching. How he managed to do that, she still couldn't figure out. But it was disturbing. Gold's lips grew into a satisfied smile.

"Georgia," he announced, tapping the spot over his chest where the keys were securely stashed. There was a distinct spark in his eyes, a challenge. _If you want them back, come and get them. _

Emma froze in her seat, her muddled mind trying to make sense of what he said. _Wait…we're in…but how long was I asleep? _

"Huh?" Not the most intelligent response in the world. Gold sighed, grabbing ahold of his cane.

"We…are…in…Georgia," he said slowly, as if she were mentally incapacitated. Emma glanced around again. _Georgia? _

"Yeah, I got that part. But _why_ are we in Georgia?" Gold stepped out of the car and went around to open her door for her. He was a gentleman in all places except for behind closed doors. She recalled him saying that in Storybrooke.

"I figured your bladder should be ready to give way since you refused to use the bathroom in Pennsylvania. For obvious reasons." Emma shoved those reasons away from the front of her mind. She still did not want to drive her own car.

"My bladder is fine," she retorted. An urgent tension entered her abdomen, as if to prove her wrong. Emma squeezed her legs together, but it was no use. She really had to go. _And when you gotta go, you gotta go. _

Emma got out of the car and her legs instantly screamed with the need to stretch. Relaxing her muscles, she came close to peeing herself right there. And then Gold would be the one to poke fun at her spoiling the car seats. _Whatever you do, do not think about water! Great, now I am thinking about water. Oh, damn it! _

"So…our rest stop is a bar?" Emma scrunched her nose at it, despite her roaring abdomen. Gold limped over to her and peered into the distance. Empty road stretched before them. The sun was nearly fallen, casting shadows over his face.

"Why, yes, Emma. Unless you would prefer that lovely tree over there," Gold motioned behind her. The "tree" was a half-dead shrub. "You might have to crouch a bit."

Mr. Gold was distinctly smirking as he started for the entrance to the bar. Emma had the urge to stick her tongue out at the dried up shrub.

"I'll take the bar," she groaned, following her husband. Was it just her worn out mind or was the term coming much easier than before?

"I thought so," Mr. Gold readily replied, gentlemanly enough to hold the door for her. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he was trying to please her. And it was making her smile. _I'm in trouble. _

Inside the bar, it was a bit cooler thanks to a lazily spinning ceiling fan. The air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol. The loud ruckus of tipsy customers pounded through Emma's skull. An ancient jukebox was wired in the corner, streaming out a bit of Loretta Lynn.

_Nice hospitality. Feels like a John Wayne movie, except all I have is Gold. Not exactly a gunslinger. A caneslinger, maybe. _

"Excuse me," Emma called out to a brunette waitress behind the bar. The girl had to be no older than seventeen and, thanks in part to her low-cut bodice, she was getting plenty of wolf whistles. _Leroy would have loved this place. Maybe we should bring him next time. _

"Yeah?" Slight southern accent mixed with the moist snapping of gum. Emma neared the bar, Gold close behind her. He had an almost possessive arm on her shoulder. _Aww, don't tell me you're jealous of a few drunken wolves? Hmm…I kinda like it. _

"Hi…is there a restroom here?" The waitress gave Emma a blank stare, her gum rolling in her mouth. "You know…a bathroom? Where people generally go to do…private things?" Nothing.

"Private things…such as enjoying another's company in an airplane bathroom, for instance. I'm sure you're familiar with that sort of definition, dearie," Mr. Gold casually announced to the waitress, gesturing to her lower torso.

Emma hadn't noticed before, but the girl was at least three months pregnant. _Okay, maybe he's not that much of a gentleman. Just when it concerns me. Next he'll probably try to get the girl to sell him her baby. Like Ashley. _

"Look, I just really need to use your bathroom. If you mind?" The girl snapped her gum again, rolling her eyes.

"Payin' customers only, sweetie," she flatly responded before serving two bearded men their beers. Emma turned to give Gold a look that read 'are-you-serious?' He deliberately shrugged, waiting to see what Emma would do.

"Okay, then. Can I just have a glass of water?" _Water…better make it quick, waitress! _The girl shook her head, grinning almost maliciously.

"Sorry, sweetie. Past seven. It's alcohol or nothin'." Emma's bladder was about ready to explode—it was getting harder to hold it in. _Maybe the shrub isn't too bad…_

"The lady will have a shot of whiskey," Gold declared, offering the waitress a charming smile. Well, charming for him. When the waitress was gone, Emma gave Gold a serious look.

"Oh, I will?" Gold managed to settle himself on a shaky stool at the bar, lounging as if he owned the place. She wouldn't be surprised if he told her he did. Half the time, it seemed as if Gold owned the world. A scary thought.

"Well, if you intend to use the bathroom…yes, you will." The waitress returned with a shot glass and she filled it to the brim with whiskey. Emma tossed it back, the alcohol burning all the way down. She set the glass firmly on the bar.

"Bathroom?" The waitress sighed and pointed to the other end of the bar. Emma nodded once at the waitress. "Thank you." She practically ran to the bathroom.

When Emma was gone, off to explore the bar's questionable bathroom, the waitress leaned over the bar. She was much more lively than a moment ago. A dazzling smile lit up her young face. She reminded Gold a little of Ruby. Minus the bump.

"Can I get you anythin', sir?" _A drink? Company? A room? _The message was clear. Unfortunately, the incident with Ashley warned him to steer clear of young pregnant women.

Gold watched as Emma's blond waves blended in with the crowd. The waitress was still there, patiently waiting for his approval. He smiled at her. She drew back, a flash of sudden discomfort covering her face. _That's better. _

"No, thank you, dear. I don't drink."

…

Emma shuddered as she came out of the bathroom. That was enough exploring for one day. Dirty had been a severe understatement—she probably washed her hands at least five times. Gold really knew how to pick the best rest stops.

_Next time I'll take the shrub, _she thought as she located Gold at the bar. Now that it was officially night, the crowd had doubled in size. Gold had a full drink waiting for her and she automatically pushed it away.

"Whoa, I think the shot was overdoing it already," she protested over the chatter and music. Gold nudged the glass closer to her.

"Just one drink, Emma. You deserve to loosen up a bit. Besides, I'll be the designated driver," he replied, holding it out to her. _Loosen up? Designated driver? _

Emma considered it. It was just a rest stop. And it was just a drink. What was one drink? She wouldn't drown her sorrows in alcohol like last time.

"Alright. One drink. And then we're leaving."

…

_Three Drinks and Two Shots Later…_

"Whooo! That one was good," Emma slurred, smacking her lips hungrily. She slammed the shot glass on the bar and asked the waitress for another. The waitress tossed Gold a knowing look. Gold, who was sitting beside Emma and missing out on the fun of drinking. _Maybe he should loosen up. It's just…one drink. _

"Loosenin' her up, are you?" Still, the waitress poured another as the latest song from the jukebox ended. Sober, Gold steadied Emma on her stool to keep her from falling backwards.

"Dear, this is the only time I can win her affection," Gold said as Emma downed the new shot like a pro, a goofy smile sliding across her lips. Gold hadn't been joking—when Emma drank, she released all the feelings she hid inside. She was the kind of drinker that always told the truth.

"Are you sure…you don't want one? We can share," Emma whispered to him, swinging her empty shot glass in her hand. Gold smiled down at her, his hand on her elbow.

"I'm the one driving, remember?" He placed a hand over his chest where the keys were located, to remind her. Emma's eyes grew wide with wonder as she reached out and smoothed a hand across his suit. He wondered if she would search for the keys.

"You know, I love your suits," she told him, running her fingers towards the collar. If she wanted to do more exploring, Gold wasn't sure he'd stop her. "I have never seen you…without a suit. Oh! Take off the jacket!" Emma's fingers held onto his suit, her eyes pleading with him.

Gold had to admit—this side of Emma was equally amusing to her hard-edged, resisting side. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. For her, he would play along.

"Very well…how's that?" Gold shrugged off the top layer of his suit and childish fascination filled Emma's eyes. It was a wondrous sight, seeing her look at him that way. She carefully reached out to touch the shirt he had on underneath.

"Wow…it's amazing," she breathed, leaning closer. "If only…if only I could see more…" Emma began to play with the buttons of his shirt and he took her hands in his own. Yes, Emma was good at telling the truth when she was drinking. _Oh, Emma. Your resistance of me is greater than I thought. _

"I believe now is not the best time for that, darling," he warned her, keeping her hands hidden in his. Emma stared down at them and her brow furrowed. She didn't shove him away or try to struggle—not like she would have had she been completely sober.

"But…you want me…right?" Emma slid forward on the stool until their lips were inches away. "You…want…me…you kissed me…at the motel…" Gold closed his eyes, wanting so much to close that space and kiss her hard in front of this crowd. But she was not in her right mind. It shouldn't have bothered him—_wouldn't _have bothered him beforehand—but it did.

"Yes, dearie. I do want you. But perhaps another time for those activities," he stated, placing her hands in her lap. Then he slipped his jacket back on, so as not to give her any more ideas of "exercise".

Suddenly, the song on the jukebox switched to a fast-paced tune of intense fiddling. _The Devil Went Down to Georgia. _Highly appropriate. Everyone jeered loudly and Emma jumped up, her face beaming brightly.

"Oh, I love this song!" Some of the girls leaped up onto the bar and began dancing quickly, feet stamping. _The devil went down to Georgia and he was lookin' for a soul to steal…he was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal…_"Ooh...I love to dance!"

One of the girls reached down and helped Emma up on the bar. Glasses went flying off the bar as their feet kicked with the music. Gold grabbed onto Emma's leg.

"Emma, I really don't think—"

"This is the best fun I've had in so long," Emma shouted, laughing as she twirled. Gold involuntarily released her leg as she weaved hands with another girl, spinning wildly. Emma threw her hands in the air, singing with the music.

Mr. Gold stood, an intuitive sense invading his nerves. As the music picked up, Emma spun faster and faster. Crowds of men cheered the girls on. One bearded man even whistled at Emma as she threw off her jacket. At least it wasn't her red leather one—she wasn't getting that jacket back.

"She with you?" The man eyeballed Emma like he was mentally undressing her as she danced. Mr. Gold gripped his cane, a surge of possessiveness claiming him.

"Yes, she's my wife," he answered coolly, a warning in his eyes. The man held up his hands in surrender, a tipsy smile plastered on his alcohol-stained lips.

"Man, she's hot," the man moaned, tossing out a twenty as though Emma was a class-A stripper in a club. "Here ya go, baby! Nice ass," he yelled, chortling. Mr. Gold clamped a firm hand on the man's shoulder. The man stared at it in surprise, the smile leaving his face.

"I suggest you move away…before something happens that we'll both regret. Or at least, _you_ will regret." The man stared at him as if he were senile and then eyed his cane. Then he laughed as if Gold had just told a really funny joke.

"Or, what, man? You gonna beat me with that cane?" The man nearly doubled over in laughter before whistling long and loud at Emma. Gold gripped the man's collar and brought him close to his face. The man stuttered, suddenly fearful of the darkness in Gold's eyes.

"I've done worse," Gold assured him through clenched teeth. The man started shaking, speechless. "Move away." The man nodded and Gold let him go. Face pale, the man vanished into the crowd. Emma never noticed the exchange—she was far too busy dancing in time to the fast song.

Gold watched her with slight admiration; Emma was a beautiful sight when she was dancing. Blonde hair spinning like gold around her, arms lifted above her head, eyes half-closed and losing herself in the music.

The music seemed to become ever faster, the girls challenged to keep up. Emma kicked and spun effortlessly. At one point, she swayed on the edge of the bar, but she was twirling too fast to notice. One of her feet struck open air and the rest of her followed.

All Gold could see was Emma falling…falling…

As the last sharp notes of the song screeched through the air, she landed heavily in his arms. Everyone cheered and clapped for the dancing girls. One of Emma's arms had circled his neck and she was holding onto him for dear life. Holding onto him and gazing meaningfully into his brown eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered to him, looking a bit more alert. Gold carefully set her down, his bad leg protesting. Emma stumbled, her eyes trained on the bar. "I want to do that again…"

"Oh, no you don't," Gold murmured as he grabbed her around the waist. _Once was enough for you, Emma. More than enough. _"I have a much better idea," he hinted as she squirmed against his body. Emma paused and glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Really?" Gold nodded, arm still wrapped around her tender waist. What he was planning to do was going to kill his leg. But it had to be done. As a matter of fact, Emma had been the one to suggest the idea not too long ago.

"Yes, I do. Watch." In one swift move, Gold ducked and thrust Emma over his shoulder, carrying her to the bar's door. His leg moaned, but he ignored it as Emma's legs swung against his chest. "We're leaving."

"Put me down! This is not fair! When we get back to…to Storybook, you are _so_ arrested!" A light smile lifted the corners of Gold's lips as he imagined the sorts of things Emma could do to put her handcuffs to good use in their small town.

"For escorting you safely back to the car? I might as well do something worth the jail time, Emma." Gold exited the noisy bar, groaning with each step. Emma's legs stopped kicking, but her fists pounded his back.

"Nope! For ruining my fun!" Gold made his way to the passenger's side and edged open the door. Slowly, he lowered Emma into the seat.

"If you really desire fun, Emma…you should just ask. In you go, darling." Gold found the keys and let them swing loosely from his fingers. Emma attempted to grab them. "Ah, ah, ah! I'm driving." Slipping into the driver's seat, he watched as Emma tilted her head, eyelids growing heavy. _Someone's going to have a nasty hangover tomorrow morning._

"Hey…I have a secret," she said softly, holding a finger to her rosy lips. Gold tore the car from the curb and Emma giggled.

"Oh? And what's that?" Emma leaned close to him and even made a show of checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was in the car, listening.

"I actually…kind of…like your company," she whispered, blushing. Gold enjoyed the way she blushed—the soft pink color warming her face. She definitely got her graceful looks from her mother—and her sense of deep honor from Charming. No wonder she was fighting him so much. _Alcohol always does the trick. _

Gold smiled reassuringly and patted Emma on the leg. Oh, the things he could get away with while Emma was drunk.

"I know. Though you certainly try to hide it, my dear." Gold pulled his hand back and winced as another shot of pain jolted through his leg. "Oh, Emma…I think my leg will be quite sore tomorrow." _And all from carrying you over my shoulder. Too bad—there are of plenty of good reasons for my leg to be sore. _

Gold wasn't exactly anticipating the sympathy that filled Emma's green eyes. Just as quickly, it was replaced with dawning realization. Had she actually struck gold through that drunken stupor and figured something out? He read that look easily. Lips parting, hand lifting to grasp a concept in her mind, eyes determined—Emma had an idea.

"I could…rub it for you," she suggested, smiling almost seductively. _Why, Emma, if you insist…_

Before he could answer aloud, her hand found the spot over his bad leg and her fingers gently massaged it, sending pleasurable sensations up his leg. Slowly, her touch curved over his thigh. Gold drew in a careful breath—he was tempted to close his eyes in bliss. It felt…._good. _

"Emma…" He moaned as she continuously massaged his leg; sometimes hard, sometimes light as a feather. God, she drove him crazy. It took all his control not to pull the car over and…finish what she inevitably started.

Instead, he concentrated on the road as best he could. Ever so gently, Gold took her hand in his own and brought it to his lips to kiss it, his tongue roaming leisurely over her skin. Emma giggled.

Reluctantly, he dropped her hand so she could return to massaging his leg. The car almost drove off the road due to the instant thrill that rocketed through him. Her fingers paused.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea—" But Gold laid his hand against hers, pressing it to his leg. Needing her to keep working her magic.

"No…don't stop," he breathed, hands gripping the wheel. Just a little more and he imagined he'd break the wheel in two. So Emma went on rubbing.

Emma laid her head back against her seat, eyes closing sleepily. She was still rubbing his leg when she fell asleep.

…..

**Phew! Told you that was long. But hopefully it entertained you guys! That's all that really counts. **

**I also figured that being fairy tale characters stuck in the limits of Storybrooke, they've never acquired a taste for McDonalds (ah, the greasy fast food that we Americans live on). Well, Gold has just been awakened! (= **

**And don't worry—I'm currently writing some real good Gemma scenes. You never know what could happen on a honeymoon!**

**Seeing as how this chapter is long already, I regret to say I will avoid making individual responses. However, a proper shout-out is still in order. Here's to DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, ParanormalMoonlight, megumisakura, valoankea, TheBigO15, Musicalfan2012, TwylaMercedes, FortunesArkHero, yuiop, and DragonRose4. You're all awesome for every review you're giving me! (= **

**Until next time, then. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! Here is a chapter to tide you over until tomorrow. As always, the reviews were amazing! Thanks for the love! **

**Now enjoy the next chapter. **

**Chapter Ten **

_Ow…head throbbing…honeymoon…perfect time to have a killer hangover. _A thousand thoughts pounded through Emma's head as she slowly awoke.

It didn't surprise her that Gold was driving or that he was lacking a hangover, unlike her. Though, a drunken Gold would have been amusing. She groaned as she sat up, rubbing her temples. _This is almost as bad as the morning I woke up in his bed. At least I have my clothes on. _

"About time you're awake. I figured we could stop for breakfast," Gold told her, glancing in her direction. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask where they were, but she wasn't sure her aching mind could absorb the information. _Ow…throbbing…breakfast…_

"I'm not hungry," she murmured, closing her eyes against the headache. It was right behind her eyes—the absolute worst. _Throb…throb…throb…_

"Coffee will help the hangover," he replied. Emma felt the pain in her skull increase. Coffee sounded good. Ruby's coffee was especially good and it made her miss Storybrooke just a little.

Gradually, she opened her eyes and noticed one of Gold's hands trying to soothe his bad leg. A flash of a memory—_I could rub it for you—_and Emma smirked.

"Is your leg really sore or are you trying to get me to rub it again?" Gold's hand paused and his brown eyes stared at her in slight surprise. It was the first time she'd ever really struck him speechless.

"So, you remember that, do you?" Emma's head spun and black spots danced in front of her eyes. If Gold was smart, he'd find a suitable place to have breakfast soon or that would be another suit ruined. "What else do you remember?" A tricky question, considering her mind was half-numb at the moment.

"I remember…dancing. And falling off…something. And I remember you carrying me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes!" Emma glared at him. How gentlemanly was that?

Gold guided the car into an IHOP on the side of the road and braked. Swiftly, he faced Emma and raised a finger before her face.

"First, you did dance—very well, I might point out. On top of a bar, as circumstances would have it," he reminded her. Emma opened her mouth to protest; never had she danced on top of a bar. Gold raised another finger, silencing her before she could say a word. "Second, you fell _off_ the bar and _I_ caught you."

"How romantic," Emma sarcastically interjected, imagining herself literally falling into Gold's arms. Gold ignored her comment, now holding out three fingers and leaning closely so that they were only inches away.

"Third, darling, I carried you out of that bar. Because if I didn't, you would have gotten right back on that bar and something worse may have occurred." Emma stared at him almost in astonishment.

"Oh," she murmured. _Gee, why didn't I think of that? _Mr. Gold's fingers tapped the steering wheel.

"Oh," he mimicked her. "Now, if we're clear on that subject…I'm feeling quite ravenous."

* * *

><p>"Let me guess: you've never been inside an IHOP, either?"<p>

Emma noted the way Gold observed every detail, his brown eyes missing nothing around him. The sweet aroma of maple syrup, the sizzling of bacon, the friendly waitresses—it must have been like Chuck E. Cheese to him. _Bet he's never been there, either. _

"You're well on your way to educating me, Emma. At this rate, I'll excel in no time," he replied, folding his hands neatly atop the red table. Emma caught the double meaning. _Everything _Gold said had a double meaning when it was directed at her.

"Why do you do that?" Emma studied him inquisitively, as if he were a walking Rubik's cube. She had never been able to solve those stupid puzzles.

Gold maintained an innocent, blank face—the man could probably deceive a lie detector.

"Do what, exactly?" _I don't know what you mean, _the unspoken message came across clear. The smell of bacon increased, distracting her for a moment. God, she was hungry. _Focus, Emma. _

"Why is there always a double meaning with you?" It sounded like an accusation and maybe it was. Gold shrugged, his eyes never faltering.

"There's only a double meaning if you're searching for it, Emma." She stared at him, trying desperately to figure him out. And all the while she was an open book to him. Gold was the only one she could never break, the one who surprised her at every turn.

"What are you insinuating?" Emma laid her arms on the table and leaned forward, matching his strong gaze. Intensity sparked between them as she leaned; she didn't know why exactly, but she suddenly pictured _Lady and the Tramp _and the spaghetti-kissing scene. Charming.

"I'm not insinuating anything. All I'm suggesting is that—"

"That I'm attracted to you?" Emma scoffed. Gold settled back on his side of the booth, a slow grin curving his lips. It was the kind of smile that made her crave a shower. _Good thing he's got a lot of money. I have a feeling I'll be running up his water bill during this marriage. _

"You see, I never said that. You did." Gold smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, a thin smirk on his lips. Oh, God, how that man got under her skin. Not that she would ever admit that to him. _Unless I'm drunk. I'm like the female Pinocchio when I drink. _

"All that happened was me dancing and…and falling into your arms…and rubbing your leg…and marrying you," Emma admitted, realizing just how long that list of intimacies was. Did most people do those things a_fter _getting married? "Okay, but that doesn't mean there's anything serious between us, Gold. I have more attraction for Archie than I do for you."

Okay, maybe that was harsh.

Gold glanced away, body becoming stiff. He licked his lips, that tongue sliding in and out as quick as a snake's.

"'All that happened?' You forgot the part where you straddled me and I kissed you. Oh, and the fact you kissed back. When you consider 'all that', Emma…we might as well have sex and be done with it."

Their waitress chose that moment to appear by their side and Emma was sure she had caught the last few words of Gold's rant. Emma blushed and buried her head in her hands.

"Umm…what can I get y'all this mornin'?" Yep, the waitress heard. And she seemed the type to enjoy the bluntness of Gold's choice of words. He flashed their blonde waitress a mischievous smile.

"Don't worry, dearie. This isn't our first date. Right, honey?" Emma lifted her head and forced a smile for the waitress. _I am going to kill him. Next time I straddle him, I'll have rope and duct tape in my hands. _

"I'll have blueberry pancakes, some bacon, sausages, and two eggs—sunny-side up," Emma ordered, whipping the menu at her a little too harshly. The waitress struggled to jot all of it down and grab the menu at the same time.

"I have a feeling our grocery budget will need increasing to accommodate your appetite, Emma," Gold commented while fixing his tie. The waitress giggled, but dipped into a coughing fit when Emma shot her a piercing look. "I happen to like girls with great appetites. Girls who are not easily satisfied."

_Not easily satisfied, huh? No wonder you married me, _Emma thought as she awaited Gold's order so that the blonde waitress would stop mentally undressing him.

"And what'll you be havin', sugah?" The waitress's back was now facing Emma and there was a hand planted expertly on her hip. _Oh, boy. This waitress is actually digging him. God help her. _

"I will settle for the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity." Emma snorted in laughter as Gold handed the waitress his menu. He arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"Sorry. I just never expected something so ridiculous coming out of your mouth." She choked on her laughter, trying—yet failing—to keep it inside.

"Mmm…but it sure is delicious," the waitress interjected, winking at Gold. "Your food'll be right out." Another wink. Flick of the blonde hair. Shimmy of the hips.

"These Southern girls really seem to like you," Emma commented, getting her laughter under control. She sipped down her coffee and felt it burn through her nostrils as she thought again of Gold's serious, accented voice saying "Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity."

"Jealous?" Emma's laughter died down and she rolled her eyes. _Yeah, right. _

"Jealousy implies that you actually care enough to feel insecure," she retorted. "Which I do not. I do not care and I am not insecure." Gold gave her a long, knowing look.

"As I said…jealous?" Not soon after Gold's order landed on their table. And it was as good as the waitress had said it would be.

* * *

><p><em>Louisiana<em>

In what seemed like no time at all, the two of them and her yellow Bug had reached as far as Louisiana. The only reason they were stopping was to rest and Gold still refused to tell her where they were going. Gold allowing her to drive would be like a blind grandma crossing the street.

"I swear if you tell me we're going to Las Vegas," she warned him, though a light smile played on her lips. The heat was stifling and Emma stripped off her leather jacket. "You'll have me dancing like one of those glitzy showgirls with the Big Bird feathers."

Mr. Gold glanced around the colorful streets of Louisiana, the melodic sound of instruments floating in the air.

"Why not? I think you did a fabulous job dancing on top of that bar in Georgia," he quipped. Only this time, he was serious. Emma was never quite herself when drunk.

The two approached a small shack that claimed to be an inn. Dozens of people hung around outside, and flowers hung from baskets over the door. At least it was much more attractive than the motel in Pennsylvania.

"In any case, our destination is decidedly _not_ Las Vegas," Gold informed her, stepping through the entrance into the cooler atmosphere beyond. His lips lingered close to her ear, occasionally brushing along her blonde hair.

Emma neared the wooden desk and rapped her knuckles on it, demanding the attention of two girls with braided, flower-decorated hair.

"We would like a room," she declared without hesitation, fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. It reminded her of when she asked Granny for a room in Storybrooke. Stunned silence. _Do I have something in my teeth? _

The two women huddled together, whispering animatedly, brows furrowing. Emma stared at them, foot tapping. Gold gently laid his long slender fingers over her hand.

"Don't worry, darling. I'll make sure the wait will be worth it," he murmured in her ear and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her body betrayed her, a curl of temptation dipping in her stomach. It was getting harder and harder to not think of "going Gold," so to speak.

The women stopped whispering and studied their two customers. Emma noticed they paid particular attention to Gold. _Yes, I know he tends to come off as creepy. You get used to it. _

"_Uno?"_ _One?_ The ladies were speaking Spanish. Emma had taken a brief Spanish class in high school while switching between foster homes, but most of it had flown out the window after graduation. You didn't need to speak Spanish to know when someone jumping bail was thinking "Oh, shit."

"Yes, one. Uno," Emma responded. The faces of the two women grew dark.

"_Bruja…es un demonio…malo…__" _The foreign whispering continued, but Emma could not keep up with the translation in her head. "_Pobre chica."_ Now the two women were looking at Emma with sympathetic, pitiful eyes.

Mr. Gold abruptly strode forward and deposited a thick wad of cash on the desk, lips drawn into a serious line. The whispers silenced, their eyes growing wide. Like Granny, these women were in need of money. Emma easily noted the desperation in their eyes.

One woman whispered the word "demonio" again. Shaking their heads, eyes suddenly drowning in sheer terror, they vanished behind a velvet curtain—the back room, Emma assumed. _That…was…odd. _

"What was _that _about?" Emma gazed up at Mr. Gold expectantly. There was a grim understanding in his eyes as he focused on emptying his pockets of more cash. She supposed money did not matter to someone like him—Gold did have a rather large estate, after all.

"These…lovely ladies…are under the impression that I am a dark demon who has put you under my spell and that I am intending to have my way with you," Gold explained, a smirk crawling across his lips. Emma glanced back at the curtain in surprise. All that? In thirty seconds? _A dark demon? Demonio…_

"Hmmm…smart women," Emma remarked, earning a sidelong look from Gold. _Quip, not serious, _she thought about retorting. _Oh, God…I am spending far too much time around him. My husband. _

"Please, Emma. I have not made a single attempt to disrespect your honor." Emma gave a dry laugh at that.

"Really? Because I vaguely remember you rolling on top of me and kissing me in a dirty motel room." _A scenario which I may or may not regret. _Gold straightened, his brown eyes burning into her green ones.

"Yes, and as I recall, that situation was your doing," he reminded her.

Emma knew he was never going to let her live that down. She imagined they'd be sitting in rocking chairs on a porch, hair going gray and he'd still clamor about it. _Oh, darling…remember that time in Pennsylvania when you straddled me in my sleep? We had some fun back in the day! _

Emma shoved the image away and peered over the desk. Were those ladies ever coming back? _Probably cowering in the corner together, praying that Gold doesn't set the place on fire. _

"A magician, huh?" Emma gave him a once-over. Gold shrugged, gripping his cane in his right hand.

"You'd be surprised what tricks I have up my sleeve."

Before she could respond, the curtain shifted and the girls reappeared with an older woman. She was tall with frizzy brown hair, heavy-lidded eyes slathered with make-up, and an elaborate pastel dress. To Emma, she looked like what a gypsy would be.

Emma smiled her warmest smile and motioned to Gold. Their eyes followed, marked by unmistakable fear.

"Umm…I think there's been a misunderstanding. This…is my husband," she explained slowly. The two young women offered her blank looks. _Spanish, Emma. They don't understand you. Oh, how the hell do you say "husband" in Spanish again? _"Uh…_Este es…mi esposa." _

The young girls blanched and then giggled, their frames shaking with bubbling laughter. Emma frowned—what did she say? "_Mi esposa?" _More giggling and the gypsy woman was burying her head in her hand.

Gold edged forward and dipped his head close to Emma's ear.

"Emma, you just called me your wife. I wasn't aware you were the one wearing the pants in this relationship," he told her, lips drawn into an amused grin. Emma blushed and her mouth dropped open. No wonder they were giggling.

"Oh, God…alright. _Este es mi…_Oh, for God's sake, he's my _husband!" _Frustrated, Emma ran a hand through her blonde hair. The gypsy woman stepped closer, dark eyes alight with something like amazement.

"This man…he is your husband?" Emma nearly jolted—this woman spoke _English? And you were watching me make a fool of myself? _

"Yes, he is. See the ring?" Emma thrust her hand across the desk, the diamond ring on her finger glittering beneath the light. The woman gently grasped Emma's hand to examine the ring and her face grew pallid. That hand instantly crushed hers in a death-like grip.

"You…you have _magic _about you," the woman uttered. Emma groaned. What, did the kid take a world-wide trip showing off his book? _Here we go…_"But this…is not black magic. It is _white._" _White? Like Snow White? _

"I do not have magic," Emma insisted, wrenching back her hand. The gypsy woman stared at her with a piercing seriousness, as if she could glimpse into Emma's soul.

"That you know of…yet. It is untapped inside you. Great magic…comes great sacrifice." The woman turned away and Emma shot Gold a look of bewilderment. His face was dark and unreadable. _Don't tell me he's buying into all this. _

The two ladies gasped as the gypsy woman handed Emma a silver key, being careful not to touch Emma's skin again. Emma nodded her thanks as the woman scooped up the money on the desk.

"We're only staying for a few hours. To rest," Emma clarified, even as Gold snickered at the word "rest." The woman shook her head, long nails wrapping the money into a small fold.

"No. You will not be able to leave until morning now. There be big celebration in the streets tonight," the woman stated as she ushered the other girls behind the curtain. Emma clenched the key in her hand and followed Gold up a narrow staircase.

"Okay, then. Celebration it is," Emma muttered over Gold's shoulder. He paused on a step to gaze down at her with a mischievous smile.

"I'd recommend the gold dress."

* * *

><p><strong>I think you guys will like the next chapter because I am writing a lot of good stuff for these two. (= <strong>

**Now—time for shout-outs because my wonderful readers deserve them! **

**To Lyn Harkeran: Thank you for the awesome review! McDonald's and Devil Went Down to Georgia—how much better can you get? Always glad to see a new fan! **

**To FallenHope19: Good to hear you're enjoying the story. Don't worry—I have most of the next chapter written up so you won't have to wait that long! (= **

**To DaesGatling: Always nice to read your reviews. No fear—it's nearly time Emma went Gold, don't you think? And after Disneyland, that would be awkward. Oh, the things Gold can do with his smile. (=**

**To Musicalfan2012: LOL, yeah…Gold is jealous! And the whole falling thing was meant to reference Skin Deep (he has a way of doing that, doesn't he?). Glad you're liking it so much! **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Somehow, Gold not sleeping much doesn't surprise me…who knows what he could be doing late at night in that pink house of his? Well, as you can see, Emma is capable of remembering some things after drinking. Oh, and thank you for the suggestions!**

**To ParanormalMoonlight: Haha, I decided it was time you met my drunk Emma. Oh, and I'm sure all that frustration will come to a head soon. Be prepared! **

**To BlackShadow14: Ooh, those could be good names for him—you know they're true! And I have no intention of stopping this story because I love to entertain my readers! **

**To Gemma4ever: Thank you! I won't stop writing because there are so many enjoying this story. We need something to tide us over during the wait between episodes, right? (-; **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: It's not bad to be an addict…sometimes. And I absolutely adore the profuse complimenting! It makes me smile so much! As for your funny thought, you just inspired me again! Thank you for the suggestions and the awesome reviews! **

**To AbridgedNerd: Yep, there goes Mrs. Gold. (-; And out comes all those feelings she tries so desperately to hide. Oh, Emma. Thank you for the review!**

**To thedoctorsgirl42: yay, I've converted someone else to the Abridged series! Thanks for the review—good to see you're enjoying the story!**

**To Yessiree: Thank you so much! You know I'll keep going as long as this story has love! (=**

**To DragonRose4: Haha, Gold eating that Big Mac would be epic. And Emma would laugh when his suit gets ruined. (-; Yeah, I figured these guys would be cut off from McDonalds and everything, so Emma should introduce Gold to that concept. As for the guessing game…you'll have to wait and see! **

**To AnonAg: Thank you! Well, I have this one relative that always tells the truth when he's drunk and I thought it would work for Emma as well. Now you never know what she could end up saying to Gold (but at least it will be the truth). I know most of you wouldn't complain about long chapters. (-; **

**To RandomWriter101: Aww, thank you! Always good to know that I can make my readers laugh! (= The wait won't be long, I promise!**

**To anche: Hehe, nice image, huh? Well, at least it's better than imagining Rumpel rising out of the water in a white dress in the 13****th**** ep (I have DaesGatling to blame for that). Glad you like it! **

**To olverabonk: I'm glad you guys don't mind the long chapters—I'm sure the next one will be just as long. And filled with good stuff. But I'm not spoiling anything! Hmm…getting Gold into some leather pants would be tricky. I wonder if Emma likes guys better in leather pants? Thank you! **

**Thank you everyone! I already have half the next chapter typed up, so the wait will not be too long. I promise! Until next time, guys! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I think many of you will be very pleased with this chapter (at least, by the end of this chapter). Though, judging by the amazing reviews, you guys are enjoying it regardless. Thank you all so much for such kind reviews! **

**Well, I hope everyone enjoys it!**

**Chapter Eleven**

"Houston, we have a problem," Emma moaned when Gold unlocked the door of their room. It was elaborate and breezy, with a balcony looking out over the lively town. It was certainly nicer than the crummy motel. Its only problem consisted of the one problem the motel lacked.

There was only one bed. _Uno. _One.

"I fail to see the problem," Gold commented lightly as he offloaded the bag that they had grabbed from Emma's yellow Bug, filled with necessary belongings. Emma was frozen inside the doorway, gaping at the single bed. It was narrow, with flower-printed covers smoothed over the pillows.

"There's…there's only one bed," Emma stumbled, gesturing to it as if it might be a mirage. Sure, she'd been getting used to Gold's presence over the course of the honeymoon. But she wasn't _that _used to him!

_Oh, dear God…there's one bed. That means we have to…share. Or one of us will have to sleep on the floor. Oh, but the bed looks so comfy…_

"Yes, Emma. I've noticed. I think it's good a time as any for a nap, don't you?" Emma's body ached from the long ride. She needed a nap. Sleeping in the same bed as Gold, however, was currently not on her list of things to do.

"Alright, I have an idea," Emma stated, crossing her arms. "Why don't I sleep in the bed and, you being a good husband, sleep on the floor?" Gold drew the blinds closed over the windows, casting shadows around the room.

"Maybe because one of us has a sore leg," he responded shortly as he removed the first layer of his suit, revealing a crisp white shirt underneath. Emma stared at the floorboards. _Me? Sleep on that floor? Way to play the cripple card, Gold._

"Are you kidding? Do you know the kinds of things people could have done on that floor?" Appearances could be deceiving. If two people's hormones were crazed enough…even in a decorative place like this, sex was not a foreign concept. Just ask the ladies downstairs.

Gold paid no mind to her discomfort. Resting his cane against the windowsill, he undid his belt and stripped down to his black briefs. Emma gawked and awkwardly turned away.

"Oh, God. Would you quit undressing? It's distracting," she protested, hands on her hips. There was a creak of the bedsprings as Gold settled on the bed.

"I'm sure it is. Much like the morning of Graham's funeral, I expect." Emma slowly turned to see him stretched lazily atop the covers. Graham's funeral seemed like an eternity ago, though it had only been less than a week. That image came back to her mind: _his smooth chest, steady shoulders…_

All that vanished as Emma's green eyes located the area of gnarled flesh on his right leg. The scar was ridged, raised and jagged against the rest of his skin. It looked like it must have hurt a great deal.

"I'm going to pretend you're staring longingly at that most useful organ between my legs instead of that nasty scar," Gold brought her attention back. It was obviously uncomfortable for him, being reminded that there was a tell-tale scar there. "It's worse than it looks. Might need some rubbing."

"What, your scar?" Emma averted her gaze from the wound, maybe out of pity or a little respect. Or because she was embarrassed at being caught staring. Again.

Gold smirked, closing his eyes peacefully.

"Sure, if that's your interpretation," he answered, patting the spot beside him. _No couch to sleep on this time, Emma. Only a floor._ "You must be quite tired, Emma."

And she was tired. Tired enough to scrub that last comment from her mind, kick off her shoes, and slip close to the bed. _Once I get into that bed, there's no turning back. I'll be going Gold._

"Now, dear, I promise not to bite…much," Gold remarked, drinking up her resistance like an addict downs just one more beer. Emma gradually sank onto the edge of the bed. Gold's fingers brushed along her back and a chill shot up her spine, her body tensing.

"I swear, Gold, if you lay one hand on me, I'll find some handcuffs and cuff you to the bed." There had to be a cop somewhere in Louisiana, right? Emma would ask the ladies for cuffs, but they might think Gold was "having his way" with her.

"Oh, Emma…if those are the types of games you enjoy playing," he hinted with glee. Emma settled back on the bed and tucked her legs close to her chest, her back facing Gold. The smirk was loud and clear.

"I mean it, Gold. Husband or not, I don't want you touching me while I sleep," she barked, folding an arm beneath her head, her blonde hair fanning across her pillow. Her eyelids were getting heavy—she was ready to crash.

"Yes, dear," he sarcastically retorted. Emma glanced over her shoulder to give him a warning look. Resting back on her pillow, her body was all too eager to accept sleep.

* * *

><p>Gold didn't snore. That much was good.<p>

Emma should have known that there would be a downside to replace that small blessing. Would have known, had she not been so tired. _I'd prefer the snoring._

The downside? Gold was the type…who snuggled in his sleep. Snuggled against her like she was an oversized teddy bear.

Emma only slept for about an hour before Gold first shifted beside her, his breathing deep and heavy. Slowly, his arm snaked around her waist, his body fitting against hers. _What the hell? What did I say about the touching? Where are the handcuffs?_

Eyes snapping open, Emma gazed down at his arm across her body. Glancing over at him, she registered his deep breathing again—he was asleep. He probably didn't even know he was doing it.

Gently, she pried his arm off her and pushed closer to the edge of the bed to avoid his reach. _There. Now, would it kill him to let me get some form of sleep? _

Emma dozed, mind slipping back towards unconsciousness…

Another creak of the bed. Before she knew it, Gold scooted across the mattress and snuggled close to her again, his chin burrowing into her neck. Emma pursed her lips. _You've got to be kidding me. The most fearful man in Storybrooke is a snuggler?_

With more force, she slapped his hand down beside him and moved even further away. Every inch she moved, he only found her body again. Gold's grip tightened around her waist, crushing her body against his. Just like a teddy bear.

_Okay, that's it. Time to bring out the big guns. _

Reaching behind her head, Emma grabbed up a pillow. Without warning, she launched it into Gold's serene face. His arm abruptly withdrew and he sat up, sputtering.

"What, are you in the mood for a pillow fight?" Gold rubbed his eyes and gazed down at her angry face. Emma thrust the pillow into his chest. "I have to warn you, darling. I never lose."

"Do I look like a teddy bear to you?" Emma bunched the pillow between them, determined to make a barrier. Gold's face became slightly puzzled, his brown hair falling across his jaw.

"At this moment? You seem as cuddly as a snapping turtle," he responded, stroking a finger along her fluffy barricade. If he was so insistent on hugging something, he could hug that pillow instead of her.

"You never warned me you snuggled in your sleep," Emma shot back, curling into the fetal position. Gold had an alarming expression of realization and then flashed a grin.

"Oh, right. That. I figured you might understand better if you experienced it rather than heard it," he said, lying back on his side of the bed.

"Why, you thought I wouldn't believe you?" Emma punched the barricade to make sure it was secure.

"Exactly. That one would _not_ have been a quip." Emma sighed and hoped to doze for at least another hour. Then the crowds would most likely increase in volume as the celebration arose. _We'll see how long that barricade lasts._

It lasted a half hour. The next time Gold attempted to squeeze her like a teddy bear, Emma squirmed so much from his fingers that she teetered on the edge of the bed. Arms flailing, eyes widening—

_THUMP! _

Gold's brown eyes peered down at her over the edge of the bed as she rubbed her soon-to-be bruised head.

"I see someone changed their mind about the floor."

* * *

><p>The celebration, held for some jolly event, was almost like Mardi Gras. Almost, minus the fountains of beer and topless women. The feeling was the same, though; the bliss of losing yourself in the blasting music, not caring what else went on in the world until the following morning beside a toilet bowl.<p>

Emma was surprisingly relaxed after nearly being snuggled to death. _Oh, if only Sydney Glass caught wind of that detail. The Mirror would have a field day. Maybe for April Fools' Day, _Emma thought, stepping onto the crowded street in the gold dress. _Oh, Gold…just wait until April 1__st__. Payback for this honeymoon. _

She snickered as the two of them joined the crowd.

"Something amusing you, dear? Or are you just happy to be on my arm?" As they passed a waitress doling out glasses of wine, Gold made sure to claim two. Emma sipped hers slowly. _Remember what happened last time I drank wine. I ruined his favorite suit. Though I'm sure no one would turn heads if I threw up tonight. _

"Wouldn't you love to know what I find amusing," she replied as they followed the direction of the tempting music. In one of the courtyards, people were already dancing. Well…stumbling in circles.

"As long as it's about me, I can live with the suspense," he said, pausing in the courtyard. Near a table, Gold leaned his cane against a chair and extended a hand to her. "Care to dance, Emma?"

Emma stared at his outstretched hand, but made no move to take it. Just sipped her wine. Gold tilted his head inquiringly.

"You don't trust me?" Those four words were mocking, daring her to take his hand. Emma was barely aware of setting her glass of wine on the table. Licking her lips carefully, she silenced her instincts and placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her closer.

"Isn't it difficult for you to dance with a bad leg?" Emma gestured to his right leg, where the crude scar lay underneath his suit.

Their bodies came within an inch of each other, moving in time to the soft notes of the music. Earlier, she may have been hesitant to dance with Gold. With the spell of the music and the starlit skies, she didn't think it was _so _bad. He'd probably never win _So You Think You Can Dance—_unless he paid the judges off, of course—but he wasn't so bad.

"Difficult…but not impossible. The pain that I endure for you, Emma," he murmured in her ear as she circled her arms around his neck. Where else was she supposed to put her hands? His arms conveniently wrapped around her hips, urging her forward. "You didn't answer my question. You don't trust me?"

Emma studied him meaningfully, her green eyes meeting his fathomless brown ones. This was almost…nice. Peaceful. _Romantic? _

"It's not just the fact that I don't trust you. And I don't; not as far as I can throw you," she insisted. _Which isn't that far at all. Can you blame me? _"It's…" Emma impatiently swept a curl of hair out of her face. The right words avoided her tongue. "It's…I have a difficult time placing trust in people. Ever since my time in the system…I don't take a leap of faith unless I know someone will be there to catch me."

Gold scrutinized her, hanging onto her every word. As the two of them swayed, one of his hands reached up to caress her face, along her jaw. Understanding filled his eyes—gone was the mocking amusement. It was as close to a normal human being as Emma had ever seen him.

"I'll catch you," he vowed softly, his thumb tracing her lips. For the first time in her life, Emma felt truly exposed and vulnerable, but she drank in the supposed comfort like a flower thirsting for the rays of the sun. Then she laughed dryly, dipping her head.

"Is that the pick-up line you use on all the girls?" _Seriously, Gold? Sounds like a line from a Nicholas Sparks novel. _Gold's fingers were still caressing her skin….and it was pleasant.

"Depends…is it working?" There was an earnest smile on his face, absent of any smirking enjoyment like he usually wore.

Emma gazed up at him, the rest of the crowd melting away. She was feeling…light-headed. And not the kind of light-headed that came from drinking too much wine. This was the kind of light-headed where someone had really dug their hooks into you, the kind where nothing else mattered except one other person. _It's this place…the wine…the music…that's all it is…_

_Then why is it so hard for me to fight back? Why don't I want to? _

"Yes," she admitted in a whisper. "Maybe." Gold smiled victoriously as he abruptly spun her around with the music and then sweeping her back in. His movements were smooth, almost graceful. _As long as he doesn't step on my foot…_

In the skies above, a number of fireworks exploded, bursting with colors of red, green, and yellow. The crowd cheered with the clinking of glasses, many pointing to the fireworks in awe, but the two of them never noticed.

Slipping his hand into Emma's blonde waves, Gold brought his lips down on hers. Gently at first, then hungrily. This time when Emma responded, she did not interrupt it. Her walls were tumbling like dominoes as she kissed him back.

"We didn't," Gold pulled away to tell her, his fingers stroking her hair. Emma's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Didn't what?" Though she supposed she already had an idea. Her walls were tumbling…and so were his. The fireworks rocketed through the sky, but Gold's voice drummed in her ears.

"Sleep together. We never did that night," he assured her sincerely. Emma's inner lie detector did not go off—he was telling the truth. Or he was just a damned good liar. But somehow…she didn't doubt him.

"Good," she answered as she tilted her head back to expose her throat, her head falling heavily into his hand. For a moment, his fingers paused in her hair.

"You would have regretted it," he stated solemnly. Something strange was happening to Emma now. Maybe it really was this place, but she willingly nestled closer to Gold, a gleam in her green eyes. _The walls are down…no sense putting them back up just yet. _

"That…and it would've ruined your chances tonight." And before he could reply, she was the one who made the move to kiss him again.

* * *

><p>Somehow, the two of them made it back to the inn and stumbled up the narrow stairs to their room, Gold occasionally hissing whenever his leg ached. At one point, he stopped on the stairs to soothe it and Emma lips hovered beneath his ear.<p>

"I could rub it for you," she whispered before his lips captured hers again. She giggled as she imagined the noise they were making and the ladies downstairs, who thought Gold was evil.

"I know you can…but perhaps we should make it to the bedroom first," he advised her, throwing open their door.

Once inside the room, they instantly picked up where they left off at the celebration. Gold's lips crashed against hers and her mind spun as she pulled him closer. Fingers roamed and the kiss deepened, that stealthy tongue sliding between her lips. Emma's hands smoothed across his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons. His own hands entrapped hers, stopping her.

"Are you sure you want to do this…Emma?" She studied the button that was clutched between her fingers, thinking. _It's this place…it has to be…_

"When I make up my mind, there's no changing it," she told him, slipping the button through its hole.

He seemed satisfied with that as he swept her up to kiss her again. His lips trailed along her jaw as she shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. Soon their bodies were doing the same, falling back onto the narrow flower-printed bed.

Emma arched her back as Gold's fingers skimmed her legs, pushing her gold dress up and off. That, too, went on the floor. _Hmm…maybe we should be on the floor. Oh, but this bed is so comfy…_

"You're wearing my panties," Gold exclaimed as he traced the lacy panties on her hips. "The ones I bought you."

"Yeah, I got that part. What did you expect me to do? Run around panty-less?" Gold smiled as he ran his hands along her bare stomach.

"It wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world," he murmured as his fingers curved along her sides and wandered over the swell of her breasts. Pleasure tumbled through her stomach as Gold laid a kiss against her skin and she ran her fingers through his hair. Abruptly, she grabbed onto his shirt and rolled him over, placing her hands on his chest. "Once again, you're straddling me."

"Shut up," she retorted before bringing her lips against his again.

Her fingers roamed over his chest, urging open his shirt. One of his legs wrapped around her waist and rolled her over again. Her head connected with the bedpost, but she only laughed it off, freeing Gold of his shirt instead. Another garment on the floor. _I'll feel bad if room service comes knocking on our door. _

Gold stared down at her with something like worry.

"Did I hurt you?" Emma shook her head, smiling as she smoothed her hands down his back, his muscles rippling beneath her fingers.

"Not yet." A grin creased Gold's lips and he bent his head to kiss the hollow of her throat. Emma moaned as they lingered there, brushing over her skin. Just tonight…she wanted him. _Only…one night. _The bed creaked as Gold fully straddled her, her legs wrapping around his back.

"You know…the ladies downstairs…are going to think you're having your way with me," Emma sighed between kisses. Gold's lips found her ear, his breath warming her skin.

"I thought I was, Emma. Or is it the other way around?" Emma actually laughed as her lips met the skin of his shoulder. Both of their breathing was becoming hitched already and Emma simply knew these walls were the thin kind.

"Yes…you are. But those ladies are probably running scared imaging how you're going about it," she said, picturing the young girls cowering in a corner.

The bed kept creaking—what if they broke it?—as Gold shifted over her, his lips roaming everywhere. For a brief instant, he lifted his head and there was a glimmer of lust in his brown eyes.

"Let's give them something to really scream about…shall we?" Soon there were no more clothes to shed, their skin blending. _Oh, God…we're really doing this. _"This might…hurt a bit, darling," Gold murmured into her ear and Emma closed her eyes in bliss. And then he thrust into her, taking her for his own.

_"Go-old," _Emma moaned as he moved inside her. Her nails dug into his back, her toes curled and uncurled in ecstasy. The desire eclipsed everything else, making every nerve and cell in her body practically explode.

At long last, she had given everything to him, had truly become his.

And then the bed broke.

* * *

><p><strong>Dun, dun, dun! Mark this the day that Emma has officially "gone Gold." And once you go Gold…you never go back. (-; <strong>

**And good news: I already have most of the next chapter finished so it shouldn't be too long a wait. Thank you for all the love, readers! **

**Shout-outs! Cheers to DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, Twyla Mercedes, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, RandomWriter101, Hippiechic1967, AnonAg, Kendra Luehr, Rayvah, yuiop, JanetJunkiie, DragonRose4, thedoctorsgirl42, Musicalfan2012, ParanormalMoonlight, FallenHope19, and Lyn Harkeran. Such awesome readers—what would I ever do without you? **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Okay, it seems I am officially under the mind control of DaesGatling (which means you my updating will be quick). You can all thank her for this fast update. (= **

**As always, the reviews were absolutely wonderful to read—as long as you guys are happily entertained, this story shall live (and I am far from done yet). So, enjoy the next chapter everyone. **

**Also, the result of the name game is slightly inspired by MoreThanMeetsTheEye96—that suggestion was very good and I found I could actually work well with it. **

**Chapter Twelve**

Emma settled back on the broken bed, which was tilted like the sinking _Titanic. _Breathing heavily, body aching, she wrapped the flower-printed bedspread around her gloriously naked form. Her heart hammered in her chest—it had been a while since she had been bedded.

And that…well, she had to admit Gold was good. Very good. And the irony that it had even been Gold, her legal husband, did not surpass her notice.

As though he knew she was silently reflecting on him, his fingers dipped beneath the covers and caressed her inner thigh. And damn it, her body was already responding. His slender fingers were like magic, hitting all the right spots.

"Perhaps next time I should go easy on you. I have a feeling you'll be quite…sore," he said, squeezing her thigh. Emma shook off his hand and curled on her side. It still shattered her mind, what she had done with Gold, of all people. What she had willingly done. _It was just this once. Just like one drink can't hurt you. Just once. _

"You're assuming there will be a next time," she retorted, tucking her hair under her and closing her eyes. The distant sounds of the ongoing celebration rose from the streets. Were people still partying out there? _It's almost like an episode of Jersey Shore. Drinking, partying, and sex…oh my!_

There was a shifting movement, a creaking of the already broken bed, and then Gold's breath touched her shoulder. A tingle shot through her as his lips pressed against her skin, his tongue running across that one spot between her neck and shoulder. Emma moaned involuntarily as his lips trailed upwards along her neck, lingering just below her ear. And as she moaned, he laughed.

_Oh, hell. He knows what he's doing to me. He's proving a point. He knows exactly which targets to hit. And that gives him even more power. Goddamn Gold. _

"Resist all you want, Emma. Now I know you inside _and_ out." Glee dripped from his voice, the kind of glee that came from achieving victory. The kind of glee that came from finally winning a drawn-out battle.

Emma scooted away from his touch. Another amused laugh, but Gold returned to his side of the bed. _At least one of us is satisfied. No, wait… I mean…oh, hell. Maybe I should just quit thinking tonight. _

_Yeah, well…he doesn't have to smirk about it. I'm surprised he's not texting everyone with my phone and spreading the news. And this is what I'll have to endure in his bed every day. The touching, the snuggling…_

"Is your name…Richard?" _Or Randy? Or Ray? Or half a dozen other names that start with R that I have not guessed yet? _

"Still playing that game until the end, are you?" _Just admit it, Emma. You've lost. It's over. You'll be snuggling with him in his bed, and performing your wifely duties in his large estate._

"Just answer the question, Gold," Emma replied in a tired voice, bringing the covers over her shoulder. One thing about Gold—he was incorrigible in his attempts to break her. Lightly, one of his fingers traced the curve of her spine. Emma elbowed his chest—not too hard, just enough for him to get the hint.

"I've just given you the most pleasurable night of this honeymoon and still you refuse to use any terms of endearment…_darling_." Emma rolled over and leveled her gaze at him. She waited. "Wrong."

"I thought so," she murmured. Even so, it was still disappointing. She was running out of ideas for names that started with 'R'. "Ronald?" Gold grimaced with immense displeasure, lifting his body on one of his elbows to gaze down at her.

"As in…the clown from McDonalds?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Emma sighed, sinking her head into her pillow and glaring at the white ceiling. _R…R…R…_"Might as well be…" Nothing. No name came to her tongue. Her head was officially empty of 'R' names. Gold's brown eyes traveled longingly over her skin.

"I believe you'll find my bed quite enjoyable, dear," he smugly taunted her. Emma glanced at the old clock resting on the bedside table. It was 11:58. Two minutes until the third day was gone. Emma huffed.

"What the hell is it? Rumpelstiltskin?" _You see? That's what I've resorted to—Henry's theory. Yeah, right. That's a laugh. Good one, Emma. Now, he'll quip about it…_

It was silent. Tense and silent. The clock ticked away…the hands finally reaching 12:00. _Well, that's it. Gold won. _

"You guessed my name," he admitted, no longer as smug as before. Emma bolted up, the covers falling away. Her mouth fell open. _What…what did he say? _

"Excuse me?" Emma stared down at him in shock, not processing. Gold shrugged, completely resigned.

"A deal's a deal, dearie. You guessed my name. You should be happy. Now you may sleep wherever you wish," he relented, though he obviously wasn't happy about it. He sounded rather…disappointed. Emma sat frozen, thinking she must have heard wrong.

_You guessed my name. _The last one she had guessed was Rumpelstiltskin. Surely, it couldn't be…_No, that's ridiculous. I was being sarcastic. He must have meant a name I said earlier. Which means…_

Emma turned and punched Gold on his bare chest. Hard. His eyes flew open in surprise, staring at her as if she lost her mind.

"You jerk! Your agreements are always honored?" Emma mimicked his Scottish accent and punched him on the chest again, fuming. Gold stared at her quizzically.

"Yes, they are. We made a deal. You guess my proper name or else you would sleep in my bed. In simple terms…you win," he advised her. Then his lips descended into a frown. "I'm finding it difficult to see what problem you have with your victory."

Emma grabbed up the sheets and hugged them to her chest. She pointed a finger at his face.

"The problem, _Gold_, is that I guessed your name and you never told me! I got it right and you…you just…you let me keep guessing! When did I get it right?" Gold stared at her strangely, an odd smile quirking the corners of his lips. Realization dawned on Emma's face. "It _was_ Robert, wasn't it? I knew it!" Emma landed back on the broken bed, which rocked from side to side. Gold was practically struck speechless.

This was the last thing he had expected, besides her actually hitting the bull's eye through her petty sarcasm. But of course, she did not believe in the curse. Rumpelstiltskin was a fairy tale character to her, nothing more. Someone who would never live inside her world. He might as well be as real as the Tooth Fairy.

His Storybrooke persona would have to suffice.

"Are you satisfied?" Gold gazed down at her, his hair cascading across his face. Emma's green eyes grew bright as emeralds.

"Well, I'm satisfied about your name," she said, relaxing her muscles. Gold grinned mischievously as his fingers grazed along her stomach. His head bent over hers until their lips were inches apart.

"That sounds like a challenge. And as your… _loving husband_…I must keep you satisfied," he purred, hovering just above her. Emma's heart jumped into her throat, but she made no move to push him back.

"Gold, the bed is already broken from our first adventure," she reminded him, allowing the bed to creak and rattle for emphasis. Gold eyed the bottom of the bed, where their feet slanted downwards. A dark gleam flashed through his eyes as he met hers again.

"Why not break it some more?" Gold's lips trailed along her jaw, deliberately avoiding her lips. Then, he retreated from her, just as Emma prepared herself for him to kiss her. "Or perhaps that's not what you desire—"

Before he could finish, Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, his lips meeting hers. As he began to respond, he placed his hands on either side of her head and kissed her back roughly. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.

"I hope you realize what you're doing, Emma. Everything comes with a price," he whispered to her, bringing a hand to caress her jaw. Emma rolled her eyes.

"For once in your life, Gold…shut up," she retorted. "I figured I should enjoy your company before all my logic returns." And with that, she kissed him again and lost herself in Gold. And the _Titanic_ officially sank.

* * *

><p>Mr. Gold laid awake in their broken bed, mind restless. <em>Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…ninety-nine bottles of beer….honestly, what is the purpose of this game? <em>

The sounds of the celebration had died down hours ago, leaving nothing but the ticking clock and the occasional car driving by. Emma dozed beside him—apparently he had worn her out. Her chest rose and fell lightly under the flower-printed covers. A piece of her blonde hair lifted as she breathed.

Gently, he swept her hair aside and gazed down at his lovely curse-breaker, his golden swan. His wife.

She had guessed his name. Sarcastically, yes, but she had guessed it. For all he knew, this would be the one and only time she slept next to him in the same bed. _Unless I take my cane to that couch. I never told her I wouldn't find other means of getting her in my bed. _

Drawing back his fingers, his brown eyes stared at the ceiling above. _Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall…_

He wanted her, had been craving her since he crossed paths with her in Granny's inn that fateful night. This honeymoon had been nothing but tension and frustration for him. Except for the McDonalds; that was fun. But tonight, all that frustration had exploded. She had truly become his. And yet…

Emma Swan did not trust him. _And I don't, not as far as I can throw you, _she had told him. He knew that tomorrow she was likely to throw her walls up once more, that they would be on opposite sides of those walls. She did not trust him.

Oh, but he needed her to trust him. He needed her on his side for the upcoming battle she was meant to face. It was one of the reasons he'd put the idea of marriage in her drunken head—so that he could chip away at those walls. _Though, you'd probably need a pick-axe from the Dwarf Mines to break those walls. _

It was just one of the reasons. As for the other…

He sighed, closing his eyes to picture a different beauty holding a chipped cup. _Belle…_

Maybe he was hoping this "marriage" to Emma would make him forget, just as the spinning wheel had done. Maybe he was hoping…

_Hoping what? That she'll fall in love with you? That's she'll be happy with you? _A merciless voice mocked him inside his head. It could have been the Dark One rearing its ugly head—it hadn't done that since his time in that other realm.

His eyes inevitably glanced at Emma as she slept peacefully. Could his curse-breaker ever learn to love him? Would she ever smile at him the way Mary Margaret Blanchard smiled at that hopeless David Nolan?

_No, it will never happen. Why are you fooling yourself? Sure, she's lusting after you. Any road trip is bound to do that. Once you step back into Storybrooke, she'll come to her senses. Lust is not the same as love. _

Deep inside, he knew the words were true. Lust was not the same as love. And "twoo wuv"…well, he never had the time of day for such a foolish, lovey-dovey concept.

Still…sooner or later, Emma would drift away from him again, maybe even convince herself that this night of passion didn't mean anything. Just a moment of weakness; didn't every person have them? _Ninety-seven bottles of beer…why must there be so many bottles in the first place? _

_Ninety-six useless fairies on the wall, ninety-six useless fairies…I blow one up into fairy dust…ninety-five useless fairies on the wall. _

Emma released a soft moan and rolled over, her head coming to rest on his chest. Her fingers clawed and scrabbled over his skin as her body nestled close to his. And through it all, she slept unawares. _And she calls me a snuggler. Or perhaps I'm educating her. _

Lips pressing into a solemn line, he gently stroked her head as her breath fluttered against his skin, delicate as a child's. He wondered if she could ever bear him another child. He wondered if it was forming inside her right now, a result of their spark of passion. _And I do want to be a father again….is that too much to ask of her? Surely I'm more fertile and satisfying than that idiot Charming. _

Things would change again once they returned to Storybrooke and he wasn't just talking about their relationship. In his mind, he was already anticipating how he would place Emma into the Sheriff's position. Oh, how he needed Emma to trust him, to take that leap of faith. He needed her close to him.

Too bad what he was planning to do would banish any chance of earning her trust.

_Ninety-five useless fairies on the wall…_

* * *

><p><em>Mmm…that feels good…<em>

Fingers delved into her hair and stoked her head. Shifting her body, she found the perfect spot, nice and warm. She was waking up, but she refused to open her eyes just yet. _Ten more minutes…_

Lips pressed into her hair and those magic fingers hugged her waist.

"Good morning, Emma," that velvety voice whispered to her, nudging her awake. But she didn't want to wake up yet—not when she'd just found the most wonderful spot! She moaned and buried her face further in…what exactly was she laying on? _Oh, well…I don't care…it feels so comfy…_

More rubbing, this time across her hips. Emma smiled in her sleep.

"That feels nice," she murmured, wishing it would never stop. A low laugh and those magical fingers squeezed her thigh playfully.

"I'll bet it does," came the smooth reply from Gold. _Mmm…yes it does…_Emma's mind slowed, logic fighting to be heard. Gold.

Suddenly, the memory of last night's events crashed back into her head. _Gold. The celebration. The dancing. Kissing. Breaking the bed…and now…_

Emma's eyes flew open and she realized she was practically sprawled on top of Gold. And liking it.

"Oh, God," she exclaimed, abruptly jumping up from the broken bed and shaking herself off as though Gold had cooties. "What did I say about the snuggling?"

Gold folded his hands behind his head, appearing quite pleased with himself. He was probably congratulating himself on a job well-done last night. _Oh, God, look at the bed. It's completely ruined. _

"This calls for handcuffs, I believe," he remarked, a hungry look shining in his eyes. "Although, you are five times the snuggler than I could ever be. First straddling, then snuggling…next you'll be kissing me in your sleep."

"I seriously doubt it," Emma argued back, placing her hands defiantly on her hips.

A sudden rapping sounded from their door. It was probably one of the ladies, checking to make sure she was still breathing and not a sacrificed lamb or something. Emma glanced at the door and then back at Gold. Maybe if she ignored them, they'd go away.

"You seemed to enjoy my touch last night," Gold continued, leering at her in a way that would have sent young women running across the street to avoid him. Emma crossed her arms and pouted. It had been a moment of weakness and it was probably never going to happen again. That was what her walls were for—she couldn't afford to be vulnerable and hurt.

"Yeah, well, that was last night. This is the morning after and things have changed." Another knock at the door, this one more urgent. Emma sighed and reached for the door knob.

"Um, Emma….I wouldn't…" Gold sat upright in bed, the covers falling away and revealing his bare chest. The bed groaned, one of the splintered legs cracking dangerously. _He'll need to pay for that. Or cast a spell, according to these women. _

"I can handle them," she insisted, pulling open the door.

It was one of the Spanish-speaking ladies, holding a silver tray of food. Her eyes widened, about ready to pop out of her head at the sight of Emma in the doorway. _Is it that much of a surprise that I'm not possessed and breathing fire? _

"Yeah?" She rudely greeted, impatient for the girl to leave. It wasn't like she could understand her anyway. The girl began trembling as she gaped at Emma, then looked past her to Gold and the broken bed. "Uh, we'll pay for that—"

The tray clattered to the floor, food splattering on Emma's feet, glass breaking. Then the girl tossed her hands in the air and ran down the stairs, pale as if she'd seen a ghost. Emma stared after her in confusion. _Okaaay…_

"That…was weird," she commented. She glanced down at the tray on the ground. Muffins, eggs, orange juice…_Probably a peace offering so Gold doesn't turn them into snails. _"Great. And that was probably breakfast—"

Emma eyed the food on her toes…and then gasped.

_"Gold!" _Emma spun to glare at him, heat flushing her face in embarrassment. Gold was burying his face in a pillow to stifle his laughter, his body wracking with the effort.

She…was…naked. Not a stitch of clothing—how could she have forgotten? She had been so distracted by Gold… No wonder the girl high-tailed it down the stairs. _If this were Vegas, this would be considered normal for most. Along with being tied to the bed. And handcuffed. _

"Oh, Emma…I tried to warn you," Gold said, controlling his giggling. Emma swept up the clothes that were scattered over the floor. Shirts, pants, Gold's suit…God, there were clothes everywhere.

"Maybe you could warn me a bit better next time? Like say 'Hey, Emma, by the way, you're naked.'" Emma unfurled her black lace panties from one of the bedposts and located her matching bra halfway across the room. And all the while, Gold remained comfortably in bed, watching her rush around.

"Emma?" She paused in retrieving her gold dress—she would _never _wear that again—to glance in his direction. There was a slight upturn of his lips. Gradually, as though choosing his words carefully, he opened his mouth—"You're naked."

She threw her hands in the air in frustration and headed for the bathroom. She only turned back to him once and he was surprised to see a little bit of a smile on her lips as well.

"I don't know about you, but I think we overstayed our welcome," she said, pointing to the floorboards. The women downstairs should be on the verge of having a heart attack by now, once they heard about Emma in her naked glory answering the door.

Gold moved to the edge of the bed, grabbing his cane which had been tossed carelessly aside in their moment of passion. It was as good a time as any to get dressed, unless he wanted the women to get a glimpse of him as well. Besides, there were many more fascinating places than Louisiana.

"Agreed." Emma poked her head out of the bathroom, a thoughtful look on her face.

"We just agreed on something," she pointed out. Gold smiled—he didn't think it'd be proper to remind her that she had also partly agreed in last night's festivities. _It takes two to tango, Emma. _

"Indeed. Miraculous what a night of passion can do for two people…eh, Sunshine?"

* * *

><p>"This should cover the bed," Gold stated as he laid a roll of cash on the registry desk in the foyer of the inn. The two young women were standing behind the desk, practically trembling as Gold withdrew his hand. <em>"Gracias," <em>he said smoothly, causing their eyes to fly open wide. _Their hair will start turning white with fear, what with Gold speaking their language, _Emma thought as she watched their skin drain of color.

The girl who had carried the tray that morning glanced over at Emma and blushed. Emma arched an eyebrow—the girl was probably still recalling the sight of their naked tenants. _Well, better here than in Storybrooke. I can only imagine what Regina would say if I answered the door sans clothing. _

"Ready, dear?" Gold was holding out his arm to her and Emma fought the urge to smile as she accepted his arm.

"Yes, before you scare these girls to death," she agreed, allowing him to guide her to the door. Gold held it open for her and he gazed back at the girls with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"That sounds like another challenge," he hinted. Emma grabbed ahold of his tie and nearly dragged him to the Bug.

As soon as they left the inn, the curtain was swept aside by the young girls' mother, the gypsy. A sympathetic expression was etched into her already lined face.

"I'm going to pray for that girl."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, here's the bad news: it's finals week. Bleh. Good news: my finals are almost over and it won't be too long before another update. Hang in there, guys! <strong>

**A shout-out to all my beloved readers: DaesGatling (to whom this story exists in the first place), olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, Musicalfan2012, RandomWriter101, Twyla Mercedes, pixie-loves-night, Kendra Luehr, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, hippiechic1967, Lyn Harkeran, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, thedoctorsgirl42, AnonAg, DragonRose4, GwenCooper456, FortunesArkHero, and ParanormalMoonlight. **

**Thank you all so much! **


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Okay, I need to start this off with some good news. I'm done with finals! *Is doing a happy dance* And that means…more Sunshine for my lovely flowers (in this case readers). **_

_**On that good note: enjoy the next chapter, everyone! **_

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

_**Texas **_

"God, I'm hot," Emma moaned as she constructed a paper fan out of an old newspaper. "And wipe that smirk off your face. You know that is not what I meant."

"I never said anything," Gold replied, keeping his eyes on the road as Emma freed herself from her jacket and began to fan herself. No need to repeat that disastrous scenario that was his arousal. Especially in this heat.

"You didn't have to. I think I'm getting pretty good at reading you," she said as she wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Her long hair was tied back, but it still brushed against her neck. _Okay, if I ever live in Texas, I'm chopping off my hair. It's not helping at all. _

"Is that so? Humor me: what number am I thinking of?" Emma briefly laughed, cradling her fan in her lap. Studying him, she tossed a couple of numbers around her mind. Then she smiled.

"Six-six-six?" _Appropriate, isn't it? It's probably one of his favorite numbers. _

"An appropriate response…but no. I was actually thinking of the number 3. A magical number, don't you agree?" _Third time's the charm…death comes in threes…three days to guess my name._ "And just because I opted for silence does not make your observation any less true."

Emma snapped the fan down to give him a look that read "that's-so-typical-of-you." Another bead of sweat slid along her neck. _I'm sweating everywhere. I'm even sweating in places I didn't know could sweat. _

"I hope you realize that you're only making yourself hotter by waving that pathetic newspaper," he advised her, motioning to her paper fan. Stubbornly, Emma ignored him, continuing to fan herself. If only her air conditioning wasn't busted. If only she had the money to fix it. _I'd ask Gold, my oh-so caring husband, to lend me the money, but then he'd ask for a price in return and I ache too much from our last tryst._

"I suppose you have a better way of cooling me off?" Emma arched an eyebrow as Gold's eyes traveled leisurely over her body.

"If only it worked that way," he mumbled regretfully. "Though, if you're willing to take the risk of dehydration—" Suddenly, Emma perked up in her seat as they passed by a sign.

"Ooh…there's a Friendly's up ahead," she pointed out enthusiastically. Gold matched her eyes with a blank look. Emma stared at him in utter disbelief. "Were you gagged and stuffed into a closet when you were a kid?"

Mr. Gold put on a pained expression, his lips thinning into an anxious line. His fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white as bone.

"If you must know…yes, I was. My childhood was not an entirely happy one. There were some days I barely glimpsed the sun. Shut away from the world…I've made a point of avoiding the mention of my troubling, traumatic childhood." After a moment, Emma's skeptic face contorted with pity and sympathy. _Great. Now I feel like Regina. A raving, selfish bitch. _

"I'm sorry. I didn't know…"

"And you say you're learning to read me well. It seems I'll have to educate you much…much…_harder."_ Baffled, Emma's mouth dropped open. Reaching over, she swatted his arm with the crummy paper fan.

"That was low," she shot at him, crossing her arms. Gold smiled with amusement and shrugged.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he responded wryly. It was practically his mantra; how often had he dealt with desperate people? Emma flung her fan at the windshield, giving in to the stifling Texas heat.

"Yeah, they do. I'm hot and I'm desperate." Gold's lips curved into a smile. _Oh, Emma. I could only wish. Those walls of yours would put Hitler to shame. _

"Duly noted. Honestly, Emma, all you have to do is ask." Emma frowned in puzzlement. The light bulb clicked on as she realized the double meaning behind her own words. This time, she swatted the back of his head with her bare hand. "Wonderful. I have myself an abusive wife."

"Gold, I need ice cream," she insisted, gesturing to the Friendly's restaurant looming up ahead. "It is hot as hell. You're cruel if you drive by it. Or inhuman." _Inhuman is not far from the mark, darling. _

Gold decidedly slowed the Bug, turning it into the parking lot.

"Well, I'm never one to turn down ice cream," Gold said as he killed the engine. The car ticked as the engine cooled. Emma sighed with relief—a beautiful sound. The last time he'd heard it was in Louisiana.

_Plenty of times, actually. This heat is doing us no good now. Maybe next time, we should travel to Alaska and be forced to conserve body heat. Of course, we'd have to leave little Henry at home. _

"Tell me, Emma," he called out to her as she started up the ramp leading to the entrance. "Would you scream for ice cream?"

Emma gave him a no-nonsense look as she held the door for him.

"Gold, one more comment like that and I'm knocking your cane out from under you and you'll go rolling down that ramp. And I will laugh while enjoying my ice cream," she retorted, swinging the door with the palm of her hand. She inched her leg back threateningly.

"Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I allow my wife to enjoy her ice cream alone? My lips are sealed," he assured her. He even dragged his fingers across his lips, pretending to lock them.

Emma released the door, causing Gold to grunt as he caught it with his elbow.

"That's more like it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Texas <strong>_

_**Friendly's**_

_Only Gold could make eating ice cream distracting. _

Emma and Gold occupied a red vinyl booth, each with their own ice cream cone. For Emma it was vanilla; for Gold it was chocolate. With chocolate sprinkles. And Emma's was halfway melted, neglected due to the fact that Gold was…distracting.

It was that tongue of his. The way it snaked and slid across the ice cream, shaping the creamy mixture…_Just ignore it, Emma. Eat your damn ice cream. _

And she tried. Emma took a few licks of the vanilla ice cream, only to pause when Gold's red tongue chased a drop of chocolate ice cream that dribbled down toward his knuckle.

_The man is treating it like a work of art. Just eat it, already! _

Gold was putting so much concentration into lapping at the sides of the cone. Emma was too busy watching him to notice the streams of vanilla ice cream hovering just above her hand.

That tongue darted in and out and all around. That same tongue had done unexplainable, marvelous things to her in Louisiana. It was almost as magical as his fingers.

A waitress passed by and paused near their table. _And here comes the Southern waitress again. How does he attract these women? It has to be that tongue. Or the money. _

"Hon, would you like a napkin?" The waitress pointed to Emma's sticky hand. Her vanilla ice cream was melting fast, dripping onto the table. Emma cursed under her breath. _That tongue is nothing but trouble! _

"No, I'm fine," she insisted, waving the waitress away. She wiped the few drops with her palm and rubbed it off on her jeans. She could feel Gold's eyes on her-that man knew exactly what he was doing. And he was enjoying it as much as the ice cream.

"Such wonderful ice cream going to waste," he commented, his mouth closing over the tip of his ice cream cone. That tongue reappeared to lick the creamy residue off his lips. Emma scrunched her nose childishly at him.

"Oh, would you hurry up and finish your ice cream?" Emma swallowed the majority of hers to set an example. And then her throat and mind froze as a chill settled over her body. _Ow, ow. Brain freeze! Way to set an example, Emma. _

"Is it a crime to savor ice cream?" Gold's tongue traced a full circle around the cone, mocking her. His brown eyes-as rich as the chocolate treat-never faltered from her face. Emma rubbed her forehead-_brain freeze-_while taking a small bit off the top of her cone.

"No…but when I become Sheriff, I'm half-inclined to make it one," she said, abruptly making the decision to even run for Sheriff. "And it'll be your fault." Gold smirked at her, eyes gleaming.

"I thought you weren't interested in becoming Sheriff," he reminded her nonchalantly. Emma slurped down her ice cream.

"Well, I am. And just because you'll be the husband of the Sheriff doesn't mean you'll get off easy," she warned him. Gold leaned back in his seat and she could feel his foot nudge hers underneath the table. _Husband of the Sheriff, eh? Handcuffs and all. _

"Of course not. I expect you'll have my shop searched every other day. At least it'll give you the excuse to stop by." _Excuse? God knows I'll need an excuse every time I walk into my own husband's shop. Otherwise, people might actually think we like each other. _

"Don't be getting any ideas, Gold. Unlike you, I-" Emma gestured her ice cream cone at him…and stopped mid-sentence as most of her melted ice cream splashed onto the front of his suit.

Her mouth dropped open in bewilderment. Gold paused in licking his treat to gaze down at the mess on his tie. _Oh…damn, I did not mean to do that! There goes another suit. _

"That's the second time you've ruined one of my suits while we were dining, dear. Are you making a habit of it?" Gold searched for a couple of napkins, but the metal dispenser on their table was empty. Sighing, he slid out from the booth and held out the remains of his ice cream to Emma. "Mind my cone."

Gold made his way to the bathroom and Emma could only stare at the two melting ice cream cones. Most of hers was gone-it had taken the leap onto Gold's suit. Her throat was starting to become dry again and the ice cream was taunting her. Melting away, leaving her mouth dry as cotton.

Emma checked over her shoulder. No sign of Gold yet. And that chocolate ice cream looked tempting. _Yeah, right. I am not putting my mouth of any place Gold's tongue has been. _The seconds ticked by…a drop of chocolate falling onto the table…_Okay. I'm desperate. Just one tiny lick…_

Bringing the ice cream to her lips, Emma couldn't resist licking it multiple times. Closing her eyes, she savored the taste of the chocolate on her tongue. _Oh, that is good. _

There was a creak of the seats and Emma's eyes shot open, preparing to explain why she was licking Gold's ice cream. Instead, there was a nice-looking guy there. Judging from the guffawing of a couple of other guys in a corner booth, they'd pressured him into walking over here. Emma gazed at him with curiosity.

"Umm…hi?" The boy raked a hand through his hair and glanced up at her sheepishly. He had shaggy blonde hair and wide blue eyes. He kept fidgeting; obviously he was nervous about speaking to her.

"Hey…your, uh…your ice cream is melting," he managed to choke out, gesturing to the chocolate ice cream in her hand. Emma stared down at it and then gave the kid an odd look. The kid was meek. _He reminds a little of Archie…which means…_

"Did you come over here to tell me that?" Emma leaned forward in her seat. Actually, this guy wasn't too bad looking at all. She could probably get used to him. Except for the fact that she was 28 and he looked to be somewhere around 18 or 19.

"No…no, I came over here…to ask you…" He stammered through the sentence, blushing and lowering his gaze respectfully. From his booth, his friends burst out laughing, knocking their fists against the table at his humiliation. "I…wanted to ask you…would you go on a date with me?"

More laughter from his friends. Emma eyed the guy sympathetically. _Poor kid. He's really shy. Must be hard for him to find a girlfriend. _

"Well, I'm kind of…"

"Excuse me. You happen to be in my seat," the accented voice came from close behind her. Gold was back. _Uh-oh. Perfect timing. _

The kid's eyes shot up and his fingers wrung together on top of the table. Nervously, the kid leaped to his feet, banging his knee against the table. He hissed in pain, hopping on one foot.

"Oh…uh, sorry. Is she…are you her father?" Emma closed her eyes, set the cones on the table, and buried her head in her hands. Heat warmed her face and it wasn't because of good old Texas, either. _Dear God, he will never let me live this down. Thanks a lot, kid. _

"Wrong. I'm her husband," Gold answered sternly, his hand coming to lay possessively on Emma's shoulder. The kid stumbled back, face becoming white as ash. Emma raised her head to offer him an apologetic look. _Don't blame me. Blame my husband. He has his insecurities. _

"Oh, man…sorry…I didn't know—" Gold stepped forward and lifted Emma's hand, all the while staring the kid down.

"The ring wasn't obvious enough for you, dearie?" Emma's lips pursed as her gaze dropped to the diamond ring on her finger. The kid glanced at it and he shoved a hand through his hair.

"I swear…I didn't even notice it—" Gold dropped Emma's hand swiftly and shifted his weight on his cane. Something in Gold's face silenced the kid like a gun to the head.

"No, you were much too busy admiring the merchandise. Sorry. Not for sale," he advised the kid in a dangerous voice.

The boy nodded frantically and rushed off to his friends, who were watching the scene in awe. Emma watched the boy go, sorry that he had to be eaten alive by Gold.

"This place certainly lives up to its name. I've nearly gotten three marriage proposals during my trip to the bathroom. One of those proposals happened to be inside that bathroom." Emma shook her head, imagining a random guy using a urinal and asking Gold to marry him. _And I thought I'd seen everything on this honeymoon. _

"You've probably just cost that boy two years' worth of therapy," Emma told Gold as he settled into his seat as if he actually owned it. She noted that he'd succeeded in washing away most of the ice cream on his suit. There was a light smirk on his face as he laid his hand over Emma's.

"Did you hear? That boy thinks _I _am your _father,_" Gold stated, caressing her hand suggestively. His thumb traced circles over her skin before he lifted her hand to his lips, his tongue skimming across her skin. Emma crossed her legs as a steady warmth dipped into her stomach.

"Yeah, I heard. Now would you stop putting on a show for him?" Gold reluctantly dropped her hand and retrieved his chocolate ice cream.

"Cheating on me already, darling?" Emma scoffed at that. Not that there weren't better guys out there than Gold…but Gold just happened to have magical fingers that worked wonders on her body, as she knew from experience. _Right. I'm in love…with his fingers. _

"Please. I'd feel sorry for any guy I cheat on you with. God only knows what you'd be capable of with that cane," she replied, tapping her foot against his cane. Gold set it against the seat.

"I'm not worried, Emma. I'm sure there's very few people in Storybrooke who'd be willing to cross me," he said confidently. And he was right—everyone was too afraid of him to willingly do something to get on his bad side. Including saying "no" to the monthly rent.

Gold started to lick his ice cream, but stopped to study it suspiciously. Then he glanced back up at Emma with a knowing smile.

"You licked my cone."

* * *

><p>Once they returned to the Bug, bellies full of ice cream, Emma's phone began to chirp from the back seat. She had completely forgotten about it—it was still hidden inside one of Gold's suits.<p>

"I've got it," she announced before Gold could reach into the back seat. Squeezing between the seats, Emma scrambled through the clothes to find the source of the ringing. _I'm surprised it's not dead yet. Come on, phone! Keep ringing! Live, live! _

"I certainly appreciate the change in perspective," Gold remarked as the only thing he could see of Emma was her butt wiggling around while she searched. Emma groaned._ I swear if it's a flimsy telemarketer, I'm going to reach through the phone and strangle them. _

"You're not helping," Emma berated him, her legs banging against the dashboard. One of her feet knocked against the power button of the radio and suddenly music blasted through the Bug. _I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk. Get you love drunk off my hump. My hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps. _

Emma's head shot up and crashed into the roof of the car. The world spun a million ways in the matter of two seconds. _Ow…throbbing…This just isn't my day._

Gold eventually snapped off the radio just as Emma located her phone. Rubbing her head, she slouched back down in her seat. Miraculously, it was still ringing. The ID read "Regina." _Hah! I know better now! It'll be Henry. And I'm not going to make the mistake of saying something inappropriate again. _

Gratefully, Emma answered the phone and sighed.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I'm missing you right now. When I get back there, we are definitely splitting a hot chocolate at Granny's. Extra cinnamon." Silence on the other end. Emma frowned. _What did I say this time?_

"Miss Swan? Or rather…Mrs. Gold? I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your…kind offer." Emma stiffened. _Oh, hell. You mean it's actually Regina? _Emma's face grew red. Gold coughed in the way that was really meant to be a stifled giggle.

"No, see, I thought you were—"

"In any case, I despise cinnamon in my hot chocolate. A nasty mixture, in my opinion," Regina briskly cut her off. _Well, no one asked your opinion, you hag! Now, let's try this one more time, shall we?_

"I thought Henry might've—"

"And if you think that trying to get in my good graces after assaulting me is going to help your chances in filling Graham's role as Sheriff, you are sadly mistaken. I'd rather hire Leroy."

Emma tilted her head into her hand as Regina droned on. _Does the woman ever shut up? She could make a nun commit murder. 'Graham' this and 'assaulting me' that. I swear…wait…_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _I_ assaulted _you?_ Excuse me, _Madame Mayor_, but it was _you_ who punched _me_ first, remember?" There was a harsh snort of disgust. Emma gritted her teeth angrily.

"Please. I slipped and you just happened to misinterpret it," Regina brushed the accusation off. Emma gaped at the phone. _Is she serious? Is the woman delusional? Are you sure it's Henry who needs therapy? _

"_What?_ Slipped? Misinterpret? What's to misinterpret? Your_ hand_ collided with my _face!"_ Emma screeched into the phone. _And I thought Gold was impossible to reason with._ There was a distinct clinking sound, like ice-cubes tumbling into a glass. Was Regina seriously pouring herself a drink?

"It's not like you can _prove_ anything, Deputy. The only witness was Graham. And he's dead," Regina reminded her coldly. Emma bolted up in her seat, frustrated.

"You know what your problem is, Regina? You are paranoid! I am not trying to prove anything! I'm just making a point—"

"Of course you were," Regina snapped.

Emma wasn't sure if the mayor meant that she _was_ only making a point or if she was, in fact, trying to prove something. She really didn't care for Regina's theatrics. Brushing a hand through her hair, Emma bit her tongue against the oncoming obscenities. _With my luck, Henry will be eavesdropping._

"Is there a particular reason you called? In case you were wondering, I'm on my honeymoon," Emma mocked her, much to Gold's amusement. One of his hands reached over to deliberately caress her leg. _And you're stuck in that miserable town with a son who isn't really yours and doesn't give you the time of day. Boo-hoo. _

"Yes, well. I was just calling to remind you about the two week notice for the Sheriff's position. I'm curious as to whether you'll even be back by the end of that period," Regina mused. Emma could almost feel her smirking on the other end. "Because I was just looking over my notes and I might have a candidate or two in mind who'd be more than happy to fill Graham's shoes…"

Emma internally moaned as Regina began gloating about her range of power and her possible political measures._ She's doing it again. She just won't shut up! I refuse to listen to her ranting._

And all the while, Gold's fingers were working their magic. And that was when the idea hit her. _If there is a God, please don't let Henry be listening to this conversation during the next thirty seconds. _

Gripping the phone, Emma imagined that wondrous night of passion in Louisiana while Gold's hand stroked her leg. _You want theatrics, Regina? Get ready. _

"Oh! Oh, God! Oh…oh, _yes!"_ Emma gasped into the phone, feigning ecstasy. "Don't…stop…_Go-old!_ Oh…Oh, I'm so…so sorry, Madame Mayor. I'm a little…oh, oh, God….busy at the moment. I'll have to call you back. Oh…Sweet Jesus, _yes!"_ Emma hastily hung up the phone and smiled. _I personally think that deserves an Oscar in its own right._

Gold leered at her, his palm squeezing her thigh intently.

"Now, why is it so difficult for you to be that enthusiastic during our lovely adventures in bed?"

* * *

><p><strong>Could you simply imagine Regina's expression on the other end of that phone? (-; <strong>

**Also, I wish to thank all those that are continuing to give this story much love! Shout-out time! **

**To DaesGatling: Ah, you and your fabulous mind control. Never fails. As always, thank you so much for the review (and the "help"). (= **

**To Iwannabegoldnrumpeled: Haha, laughing is always a good thing—it means I'm keeping you entertained. And yes, Gold is extremely talented in that area. He knows what he's doing, I'm sure. (-; **

**To Musicalfan2012: You see how much Gold distracts her? He's got her answering the door naked! But thank God it wasn't in Storybrooke. Awkward! And a Golden Swan pregnancy…well, it wouldn't be impossible. And gives her all the more reason to stay with him. Aw, Henry would have a half-sibling due to Emma's lovely marriage to a guy who is actually older than her father…O_O (*The awkward moment at the family get-together when you realize your son-in-law is older than you…and has far more fangirls*) Thank you, though! **

**To anche: Ugghh…so glad finals are over! Good luck with yours and thank you for the review!**

**To olverabonk: Well, when I heard Robert Carlyle say "Sunshine", I just had to use it somewhere in here! He always has the best lines in that show! And don't worry—DaesGatling's mind control has been on full-force and is winning…dun, dun, dun! Thanks for reading!**

**To Twyla Mercedes: Thank you! You know, it only takes one time for THAT to happen, right? Oh, yes, there should be fireworks. Enough for the 4****th**** of July, I believe. (=**

**To ParanormalMoonlight: You'll find out soon where their main destination truly is (maybe even as quick as the next chappie)! Oh, I'm sure that adventure in bed will not be the last. Not if I have my say! (= Thanks for reading (and laughing)!**

**To thedoctorsgirl42: Ah, it feels good to be done with finals! And thank you for the kind review—I really appreciate it! And with Gold and Emma, you never know what could happen!**

**To pixie-loves-night: Yes, we shall pray for Emma. We shall pray that she once more "goes Gold." And since I am writing this…she shall! Only Emma would be distracted enough to answer the door naked. I recall in the second episode that she was only wearing a tank top and panties when she answered the door for Regina…O_O LOL Thank you for the review!**

**To Lyn Harkeran: Hehe, I'm glad you enjoyed it! Always good to know I'm keeping my readers highly entertained! **

**To Hippiechic1967: Thank you! And I suppose we shall see what is in the cards for these two concerning children. Who knows? Though, I could easily imagine Gold with a daughter this time around. **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Once again, thank you for the suggestion! I couldn't resist. Cheers for Besties! **

**To RandomWriter101: So many questions…but you'll have to wait and see! And now every time I listen to "Arms" I think of these two! (-; **

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yeah, I actually added in the "99 Bottles" at the last minute. And since Gold/Rumpel despises fairies…well, that's self-explanatory. Oh, the workings of Gold's mind, huh? And the "twoo wuv"—that was like a package deal. I love it whenever Rumpel says that. Thanks for reading! **

**To KendraLuehr: Thank God finals are over! Now I can focus more on this story and please my readers! Thank you for the review! Oh, the things Gold does to Emma—gets right under her skin until she's answering the door naked. Well, at least it was Emma and not Gold himself. I'm sure those ladies would die of fright then. (-; **

**Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Yeah…I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter. I rewrote it like three times. But I hope you guys enjoy it anyway. That's all that counts. **

**Chapter 14**

_**Phoenix, Arizona**_

"Are we there yet?"

Emma slouched in her seat and rested her head against the window, eyes closed peacefully. She had lost track of the days on this crazy adventure of a honeymoon, but she was certain it was just outside of a week. _This is the craziest week I've ever spent and that's including Vegas. _

Gold calmly laid a hand on her leg, nudging her for her attention.

"You'll be grateful to know that, yes, we are here," he announced. Emma bolted up, eyes scanning madly around their main destination. And her jaw dropped, her heart swelling with recognition.

"This is our destination? Phoenix?"

Emma gazed out the window and couldn't help feeling a little nostalgic at the familiar surroundings. She had always moved around, but Phoenix was one of those places she had stayed longest. And it wasn't because she'd had a belly the size of Earth at the time, either. Phoenix was one of those places she'd somehow grown attached to, one of the places she thought she'd never see again.

It was almost…touching.

"I have it on good authority that you enjoyed your time here. Apart from the inside of a jail, that is. I figured you might want to see it again. Perhaps gain a new perspective." Emma tore her eyes from the window—she was practically pressing her nose to the glass—and looked to Gold questioningly.

"On whose authority? Regina's?" Gold chose not to answer. He didn't have to. Emma threw back her head and gave a dry laugh. "That's just typical."

"What? That I keep my enemies close? Regina's not the only one with power," he replied cryptically. _I wonder if Regina shares the same view. God knows she's practically a tyrant. Now that I'm on this honeymoon, she's probably rounding up an army of anti-Emma followers. _

"Or ulterior motives," Emma grumbled. Gold offered her his most exasperated expression, pointing a finger accusingly at her.

"You think I had ulterior motives for sleeping with you?" Emma narrowed her eyes at him, alarms going off in her head. First and foremost, he made it sound like just another tryst, something that just…happened. _Well, when you pose the question like that…_

"Sleeping with me?"

"Would you prefer a different phrase for our heated night of passion? Having sex? Making _love? _I would say 'popped your cherry', but with Henry in the picture, no one's likely to believe that."

Emma was quiet in the passenger seat, mind wandering. Wandering…to the one thing she grew to dislike about this place. A dull throb purged her heart, but she barely felt it behind her walls.

Gold must have registered her anxiety for he reached over and laced his fingers through hers, bringing her hand up so as to lay a kiss on the back of her hand. And she let him.

"Only Regina uses sex as a weapon, Emma," he advised her, squeezing her hand meaningfully. She pulled her hand away, dropping it in her lap.

"Why did you bring me here?" Gold sighed and studied her the way he did while they had danced together in Louisiana. Like he understood the reason for her walls and could be taken for a normal, feeling human being.

"I wanted to allow you to return to a place where you were somewhat happy," he said softly. Emma was taken aback by his sincerity. Truth be told, it was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for her. She could practically hear her walls crumbling again.

"Thank you," she whispered as she gazed out the window again. Then she smiled. "Well, it's safe to say I've found my happy place. Where's yours?" Gold's brown eyes flickered to her and then away again. There was a solemn expression on his face.

"I don't believe I have a…happy place," he admitted hesitantly. It sure wasn't Storybrooke, that was for sure. It was no longer in that other realm, either; hadn't been for quite some time. Centuries, even.

Emma stared at him sadly and shook her head.

"Please. Everyone has to have at least one happy place. Otherwise, we'd be hopelessly depressed and miserable and probably walk off the Empire State Building." Emma mulled it over and then snapped her fingers. "I know exactly where your happy place is."

Gold glanced at her with rising interest, curious as to her sudden epiphany.

"In your bed?" If ever there was a happy place, that was it. Emma playfully shook her head again. She shifted on the seat to look at him directly.

"Okay, that's one place. I know another one," she hinted, smirking. Gold gazed absently through the windshield, wondering what type of place she could have come up with. His shop? Perhaps.

"Do share, dearie," he urged her. Emma nearly made him squirm for a full minute. _Tell me, tell me, tell me! Louisiana? It was exciting breaking that bed. Or McDonalds? Those fries were quite fascinating. _

"Friendly's," she revealed. "I thought you had a soft spot for ice cream." Gold couldn't help the small smile that teased his lips. This was the most comfortable Emma had ever been around him and he savored it like a fine wine.

"Among other things," he murmured, his eyes deliberately focusing on her. They worked their way down…down…and Emma pretended to be too busy gazing out the window. She would let him look. Wonder filled her eyes as she drank in the sights.

"I haven't seen this place since…" Emma's smile drooped as she recalled that last time. There were too many memories here, ones that she hadn't considered in quite some time. It didn't take Gold long to catch on.

"Since…Henry?" Emma nodded. Her lips thinned into an anxious line as the memories swarmed her. She wondered what Henry was doing right now in Storybrooke. Flipping through his book? Drinking hot chocolate alone? Wasting the days at his "castle", debating whether she'd even come back?

_Poor kid…born in jail next to a drunken guy who wouldn't quit singing "Walking on Sunshine". Kind of reminded me of Leroy, actually. _

Registering her slight depression, Gold slowed the car and braked alongside the curb. He'd recognize that desperate, broken look anywhere. How many times had he glanced into the mirror and seen it staring back at him? _Look at you, you poor man...All lonely and broken. You deserve much better than this place. _

"Quite difficult…being away from your boy, isn't it?" Emma glanced over at Gold and all he could see in her eyes was worry. Already she had grown attached to Henry. _Oh, the bond of a parent and son…it's not easily severed. _

"I can't leave him. I can't just walk away now, not when I've seen that he's not getting his best chance. Not with Regina, anyway. I have to know he'll be okay," she said, her face stern. "Even if it's not with me."

Gold's mind wandered to the time he had spent with Bae after becoming the Dark One. Would he have just as readily given up his son if it meant he were given a better chance? Had that magic bean been the best chance for Bae?

It left him with an empty hole in his chest, one he knew would never be easily filled. Just thinking about Bae made him want to….made him want to…to curl up in a ball and drown his sorrows with a tub of ice cream like most women did in chick flicks after having their hearts broken. Watching sappy movies like _"Sleepless in Seattle." _

"Who was he?" Gold changed the subject slightly, if only to chase Bae's image from his mind. Emma was puzzled by the sudden turn of questioning. "Henry's father," Gold clarified. She made a round 'O' with her lips.

"He…he was nothing special," she murmured, shrugging. Perking up in her seat, she turned to Gold so she could tell him the story. She never told anyone, really, but it was bubbling up inside her, threatening release. "I worked for a little while in a diner here. He was there most nights and we got to talking. Seemed like a nice guy."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Gold intercepted, residing to gazing absently through the window as the story unfolded before him. Emma gave a low nod of her head. "Take David Nolan, for example. Seems real charming, except for the air of hopelessness. Nothing we can do to fix that."

Emma ignored him.

"One night, after my shift ended, he offered to buy me a drink," she explained and Gold imagined that he could easily take up where she left off with the story. It was quite clear in his mind, already. The memory of Emma dancing on a bar in Georgia didn't help matters.

"How pleasant," he remarked. "I hope he realized your problem with alcohol, dear." Emma rolled her eyes, but continued on without regarding Gold's commentary.

"Anyway, he brought me to a cheap bar," she painted the picture for him. Gold smirked—oh, yes, he knew exactly how this story would pan out.

"Pity. I would have brought you to a French restaurant with fine wine, roses, delicious food, and candlelight. And then when you were tipsy enough and heady from a blissful night, I would have escorted you home. Particularly to a bed with silk sheets," he stated, enjoying the scenario that played out in his mind. Emma stared at him purposely, waiting. "As you were saying?"

"So he brought me to a bar. We had a couple of drinks before heading back out to his car. It was then that he first kissed me and…you get the picture," she sighed, a blush gracing her face. _Oh, the good old days of back seats. _

"Indeed I do. Emma…how old was this man?" She averted her gaze, weaving her fingers together.

"I had just turned eighteen a month before that. He was…almost in his late 20's," she admitted reluctantly. "It was just that once." Gold touched a finger to his lips, lost in bothered thoughts.

"Sometimes once is all it takes," he murmured. His brown eyes flickered to her abdomen and away. _Once…and we've managed it twice already. _Emma swept a strand of hair from her face.

"Yeah, I know. After that, he never came to the diner again. When I found out I was pregnant, I looked him up, so I could tell him in person. And—" Gold suddenly held up a hand, demanding her attention. Emma's brow furrowed with annoyance.

"Let me guess: that man didn't want your boy, did he? Turned you away like a beggar woman," he speculated and knew he'd hit the mark when Emma frowned, regret flashing through her eyes. Gold's hands curled in disgust. What father could turn away his own son?

"When I knocked on his door…a woman answered. She was his wife. There were kids playing around in the living room, at least three. He came down the stairs, told his wife he'd deal with me. It was one of those perfect families, with the wife cooking in the kitchen and the kids all straight-A students that wanted to be lawyers…"

"And you never fit in," Gold finished for her. Emma's green eyes grew distant as she relived that moment in time. _Standing on his doorstep, the Stepford wife humming in the kitchen…_

"He told me never to bother him about the pregnancy again. He even paid me off so that I would leave, so he could return to his perfect lifestyle with his perfect family and never mention his affair again," she choked out through gritted teeth. "And the rest is pretty self-explanatory."

A dark, dangerous look came over Gold's face—one that was quite menacing. Emma wondered if it had actually been a good idea to tell Gold that story. His knuckles turned bone white as they gripped the steering wheel, his nostrils flaring with anger.

"Does this man still reside in this area?" Gold's voice was strained and she couldn't miss the intention there. _At this rate, we'll both end up in jail—Gold for killing Henry's father and me for beating sense into Gold for killing Henry's father. _

"What, are you going to run him over like a crazed maniac?" She could clearly imagine Gold behind the wheel of her car, eyes wild as he found his target. _He'd probably drive over him three more times for good measure. Probably yell out something neurotic like "Kiss my bumper!" _

"If the car happens to accelerate, is that a problem?" Emma shook her head, mentally berating him. She abruptly turned in her seat to garb ahold of his arm to go about driving the brewing madness from his mind.

"Gold, it was ten years ago. It doesn't matter," she insisted. He looked like he was still considering it—_driving the guy down, into a pole—_but then his face became serene and he forced a smile. Emma saw straight through it, but she never said a word. As long as he didn't commit murder, she didn't mind about the rest. "So, let's find a place to stay."

"As you wish," Gold murmured as he started the car again and pulled away from the curb. Emma released a sigh of relief, feeling as if she'd just managed to dodge a speeding bullet.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Storybrooke<strong>_

It was one of those slow days in the diner. Ruby lingered behind the bar, painting her nails red even though her Granny yelled at her three times because of the smell.

There were only a handful of people, anyway. Mary Margaret, reading a book; Sydney Glass drinking down a tumbler of light alcohol after a long day; Leroy drowning himself in alcohol like he always did. _It amazes me that a complete drunk like him can even make it home. One of these days, Emma's going to find him sprawled in the middle of the street. At least it's better than the top of Graham's car. _

She finished one hand and blew on them just as Leroy wandered up to the bar, eyes glassy. Ruby scrunched her nose at the stench of alcohol on his breath. _And Granny complains about my nail polish? Leroy's breath is like tear gas! That's it—I'm cutting him off. _

"Hey, sister. How do you think that honeymoon's going?" Ruby gingerly started painting the nails of her other hand. She gave him an irritated look.

"Do I look like a mind-reader? How the hell should I know?" Ruby leaned against the bar as Leroy finished his drink. _I hope you liked it, Leroy. Because that's the last one you're having until tomorrow morning. _"Anyway, I am so winning that bet. You watch. Emma'll come back pregnant—guaranteed." Leroy grumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, right. And pigs will fly out of my—" At that moment, Granny came bustling out of the kitchen and caught that last statement.

"Leroy! One more word like that and I'll have you washing dishes in the back!" Leroy stared down into his empty glass until Granny disappeared again. Ruby chuckled as she gazed admiringly down at her nails.

"Someone got yelled at," she teased, flicking her nails. Leroy shot her a grumpy look. _Serves you right. Better not cross Granny—she'll bring out the shotgun. _

"It'd be nice if we could know how it's going. You know, so we'd get an idea on who'd be winning," he suggested, setting his empty glass forward. Ruby ignored it.

"Why don't you call Emma? I'm sure she'd love an excuse to be distracted from Mr. Gold," Mary Margaret appeared beside Leroy, green eyes wide and bright. "Here's her number." She jotted it down on a scrap of paper that acted as a bookmark for her book. Ruby snatched it up and moved towards the phone.

"Alright, I'm calling her."

* * *

><p>Emma stepped out of the bathroom and wrapped a towel around her head. That shower had been exactly what she needed—hot and soothing, it had eased all her tight nerves.<p>

Gold was resting on their bed, his arm draped over his eyes. _Wonder if he's dreaming about beating Henry's father over the head. 'Say hello to my little friend.' _She dabbed her hair down with a towel as she studied him. _Sadly I'd prefer him to the Stepford life any day. _

Crossing over to the bed, she settled on the edge of the mattress. _To think our honeymoon is almost over. It was actually…fun. _

Just then, her phone buzzed. She dropped the towel on the bed. _That's probably Regina…again, _she thought bitterly. Carefully, she leaned over Gold's body to reach her phone on the bedside table. Quickly, she snapped it open.

"Henry?" _Please be the kid, please be the kid, please be the kid…._A heavy pause.

"No, I—" A female voice. _At least now I know the perfect way to get rid of her. _Settling back on the bed, she pressed the phone to her ear and—

"Oh, oh…oh, yes! Oh, God! Yes…the ca-ane!" Gold suddenly lifted his head with a dazed, confused expression. Probably wondering what he had done this time to make Emma moan while sleeping. He even touched a hand to his cane to make sure it was still there by his side. She mouthed the word "Regina" and he nodded in understanding.

"Oh, Emma…if you simply ask, I could service you properly and make this attractive phone call much more…realistic," he said, patting her leg. "I had a feeling you liked my cane."

In Storybrooke, Ruby was staring at the phone in her hand with an elated, amused smile. Emma's moans were coming through nice and clear. Mary Margaret blushed and hid her face with her book. Leroy's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"I knew that cane wasn't just for walking," he exclaimed. Ruby started laughing as the moaning increased in volume. _Oh, I am so winning that bet easy. _

Just then, with Emma's moans at full-pitch, Mother Superior walked in and approached the bar, about to order something. She heard the moans and her face went as white as a ghost. Ruby bit her lip and Leroy whistled innocently. Mary Margaret pretended to be deeply transfixed by her book. _Yep, we're going to Hell now. _

"Some of us would appreciate it if you kept those activities behind closed doors," she scolded Ruby, whirling on her heel.

"Uh, sorry, Mother Superior," Ruby called after her. She cradled the phone next to her ear and couldn't help the onslaught of giggling. "Wow, sounds like you two are having fun. And you just helped me scare off a nun."

On the other end, Emma gaped at the phone as she realized it was Ruby. The gossip of Storybrooke. _And I just gave her a whole show. It'll be around Storybrooke in no time. And I have to apologize to a nun. _

"Ruby! I thought you were Regina," she retorted, sitting up straight in bed. Gold was staring at the phone in frustration, having realized who was on the other end.

"Mhm. So, on a scale of one to ten…how is he?" Emma raked a hand through her damp hair. She glanced over at Gold, wondering if he'd heard that question. His face was blank, giving away no change or sign that he'd caufght on.

"Ruby, I am not in the mood for games. Eight," she admitted reluctantly and Ruby squealed on the other end. Gold seemed bemused.

"Our night of passion only scored an eight? My, I'll certainly have to try harder next time," he hinted, moving to sit on his edge of the bed.

He smoothed down his clothes and held out his hand for the phone. Emma hesitantly dropped it into his palm. _That'll be another person in need of therapy. Pretty soon we'll have the whole town visiting Archie. _

"Ruby. Yes…I would just like to inform you should you share this conversation with anyone, I will be tempted to raise your rent another one hundred dollars. Glad to see we can come to an understanding, dearie." Gold handed the phone back to her and stood, heading for the bathroom.

Emma rolled her eyes—it was just like Gold to threaten people like Ruby with the notion of rent. And it actually worked.

"Well, isn't he charming," Ruby muttered, a simmering anger in her voice. "We…_I_ was just checking up on your little honeymoon. To see if you two killed each other yet. You know, if you do kill him, you could probably get his money and then find a better husband in Las Vegas and buy a mansion—"

"Uh, right. I'll…keep that in mind. Ruby, I'm going to have to let you go," Emma vaguely claimed, feeling a headache already coming on due to the waitress' excited manner. Ruby finally said goodbye, but not before mentioning a bet and that she'd better win.

Emma stared at the phone in surprise. Gold paused in the doorway of the bathroom, registering her shock.

"Something wrong, darling?" Emma scratched her head and figured she should have expected this from Leroy and Ruby.

"Um…I think they're shipping us."

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, Phoenix! I figured it would be interesting for these two since that is where Henry was born. Dun, dun, dun! <strong>

**As always, I'd like to thank all those that reviewed! You guys are awesome! *Hands out plates of cookies* **

**And here come the wonderful shout-outs! Grr…can't wait until tonight's episode and after that it's the finale! Le gasp! **

**To DaesGatling: Your mind control never ceases to amaze me, especially since I'm really dying to write that other fanfic now…And where would this story be without you? (= So thank you for that. And I can just picture Regina attending therapy with Henry. "It all started with that phone call…" **

**To olverabonk: Yes, I am done with finals! Isn't it wonderful? And who could resist Gold's marvelous charm? More good stuff should be coming along for these two. And of course that is the perfect way to get rid of Regina (I imagine her face to be something similar to the moment where she realized Gold was screwing her over in the 19****th**** ep). Thank you for reading!**

**To El loopy: I'm glad you like it so much! Thank you for the review! **

**To RandomWriter101: Well, I certainly try to make each chapter just as good as the last, if not better. Poor guy—getting eaten alive by Gold because he just wanted to talk to Emma. And I would say the honeymoon is almost over now that they've reached their destination. But I still have good stuff planned for them in Storybrooke. And Leroy as Sheriff? Oh boy…(-; "Sir, have you been drinking tonight? Oh, well…so have I!" **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Aww, Gold's getting much love from the Southerners. Hehe, I've been imagining Gold's marriage proposals ever since writing that. And I could not resist adding in the phone bit. Thanks for the review!**

**To thedoctorsgirl42: Agreed—the foolproof way of getting rid of Regina. Awkward...and I'm glad you enjoyed it. (= **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Like she said, only Gold could make eating an ice cream distracting. And of course he knows what he's doing—that man has an ulterior motive for everything! Thank you for reading!**

**To anche: Yep, me, too. I'll be going past Friendly's and Sunshine will be stuck in my head. Just remember Gold when you eat your next ice cream cone! And I appreciate the review!**

**To iwannabegoldnrumpeled: Oh, Emma. Licking Gold's ice cream cone. As if he wouldn't notice! Or perhaps…he intended it to happen…dun, dun, dun! Glad to know I'm entertaining you! Thank you!**

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yes, I am so glad to be done with finals! And you wonder why the kid is in therapy…and imagining Regina's face is always amusing. Thank you so much for the great review!**

**To ParanormalMoonlight: Well, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of laughter. We all go a little mad sometimes. (-; Don't worry—more will be coming soon! **

**To m: Haha, I'm glad you liked it. And thank you for reading!**

**To The Green Eyed Cat: Oh, yes. I would most certainly pay to see Regina's face after that phone call! I'm glad you liked it and I appreciate the review so much!**

**To Lyn Harkeran: Isn't Gold absolutely amazing? And he doesn't even have to try, either. Perfect way to get rid of Regina when she calls! Just imagine what Emma could do if she shows up in person. (Flashback to Louisiana and answering the door naked) (-;**

**To DragonRose4: LOL, that is funny. Thanks for reading! Oh, Emma…the things she says on that phone. **

**To lexiblack09: Thank you so much! **

**To Musicalfan2012: Thank you—good to see that you're enjoying it! We all know Emma cannot resist Gold's charm easily. (-; **

**Thank you all for reading! I'm currently writing to pass the time waiting for the next episode of OUAT. **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hello, fine readers! I just finished writing this up and decided I would update instead of waiting until the weekend. So, enjoy! **

**I would warn you that this is a long chapter, but I already know you guys love that kind of thing. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

_Phoenix, AZ_

"Okay, since we're here in Phoenix, would you mind letting me drive _my _car?"

Emma leaned against the hood of her bug, clad in a tank top and jeans. It was sweltering outside. She extended a palm to Gold. He looked like he was about to refuse to hand over the keys, but decidedly dropped them into her waiting hand. _That's what I thought. No more pick-pocketing. _

"I suppose you've earned it," he said as he slid into the passenger's seat. Gratefully, Emma climbed into her car and started the engine.

She readjusted her seat, taking the time to move it back and forth until she was pleased. She rolled down her window, used one of the visors as a shield to block out the Arizona sun. She even brushed something off the front of her shirt.

"Will you be giving birth in this car, while we're at it?"

Gold was obviously impatient. _Good. Let him wait. I am going to enjoy this moment, driving my own car…_

Emma's phone chirped from the cup holder where she placed it. Frustrated, she banged the heels of her hands against the wheel. _I've never heard my phone ring so much as when I'm out of town. If that's Leroy calling to tell me he accidentally set something on fire again, I'm having him banned from the diner. Let's see him get drunk then!_

She reached for her phone, but Gold snatched it up first.

"Hey! First you take my car, then my phone. What's next?" Gold smirked as he checked the phone.

"I figured I should save you the trouble of embarrassing yourself further," he replied. Emma's mouth dropped open in protest.

"That is…not fair! I was planning on checking the caller ID this time," she insisted. Whatever it was, she knew it was a text message. Gold's eyes scanned over it and he did not appear happy. "How bad is it?"

"It seems, in our noticeable absence, the Mayor has mastered the skill of texting. Her rage practically jumps off the screen." Emma made to take the phone away, but he held it just beyond her reach. _If this is a lure to get me to straddle him again…_

"Sorry, dear. If you recall, there is a law that prohibits texting and driving." Emma gawked at him. Was he serious?

"Gold, I'm not driving. The car isn't even moving," she pointed out, gesturing to the idle car. Sure, the engine was on, but she had yet to pull away from the curb. Gold was immovable.

"Yes, but I fear that your fury will cause you to practice road rage. You'll crash our car into another unsuspecting vehicle and you will blow us to smithereens. Is that what you really want?"

Emma held out her hand again, demanding her phone. Sighing, Gold laid it gently in her hand and watched her as she read the text.

_Mrs. Gold, your inappropriate, vulgar behavior over the phone has led me to seek peace of mind from Dr. Hopper. I hope you're satisfied. And I mean that in the professional sense. _

"Hah! Peace of mind. Translation: therapy. For Storybrooke's sake, I hope Archie can help her with anger management as well," she said, smirking. _Now, why would this make me furious? _

"Patience, Emma. There's more." She scrolled down and realized he was right. It went downhill.

_Furthermore, I would like to inform you that my son now requires additional, extensive therapy due to that hideous charade. I hope you realize you've scarred him for life. At this rate, it would only be reasonable for you to pay for his extra sessions. Why not just hand it to your sweet husband? _

"_What?" _Emma bolted up in her seat, hand nearly crushing the phone. _Extra sessions? Pay? What has she told him while I'm not there? _

"Ka-boom," Gold muttered under his breath. Angrily, she tossed the phone in his lap and ripped the car from the curb.

"Do me a favor, Gold. Tell her the only one who needs therapy in that town is her. Tell her…tell her she desperately needs to get laid. Preferably starting with Archie's couch," Emma grumbled. He lifted the phone and began clicking the keys. _This is great. Now I'll have to deal with Henry and explain this to him. _"It's a good thing you let me drive."

Gold's eyes glanced at her for a brief moment before he continued typing out the message to Regina.

"I beg to differ…but is there any particular reason?" Emma breathed out through her nose in frustration.

"Because I have a surprise for you. We're going somewhere where _I _can have some peace of mind," she replied cryptically, their destination circling in her mind. Gold watched her intently, apparently curious.

"I'm dancing with anticipation. Oh, dear…" Gold murmured. Emma slowly turned her head towards him as he stared at the phone. _Do I want to know? _

"That didn't sound pleasant," she remarked. Gold lowered the phone and eyed her tensely.

"According to your phone, I sent that lovely message 'to all contacts.'" Emma slammed on the brake. The car lurched forward roughly, though her body was sharply restrained by her seat belt. She whirled to Gold, eyes wide.

"You did _what? _As Deputy, I have nearly every number in Storybrooke saved on my phone. That means…" Her words trailed off as she came to terms with what that actually meant. Gold caught on and finished for her.

"Everyone in Storybrooke should be receiving that message." Emma glared at her phone, which she was sure would be buzzing nonstop pretty soon. _I'll have more hate mail than Lindsay Lohan. _

"I. Hate. Technology."

* * *

><p><em>Mrs. Gold, I do not appreciate your comments. Quite frankly, it will do nothing to help your bleak situation with my son. And what do you mean by "occupying Dr. Hopper's couch"? I'll have you know my sex life is wonderful. Or it was until Graham died. Pay for the damn sessions…or else. <em>Regina. That one was expected.

_Emma! I know I've had some trouble getting over David, but do you really think that calls for therapy? And one one-night stand was enough for me. Dr. Whale's already forgotten about it. Or…that's what he told Ruby. _Mary Margaret, regrettably.

_Oh, please, Emma. I've already seen Archie's couch and…well, it's not as impressive as it looks. Is this about my bet with Leroy? He's the one who'll be needing therapy! Just wait until you see what I'm gonna have him do!_ Ruby.

_I'm already in therapy. Dr. Hopper's still helping me get my memory back. And he tells me I might have insecurities. As for getting laid…I'd rather not talk about it. How's Mary Margaret? Is she okay? Could tell her again that I'm sorry? _David. And the list went on and on.

"A piece of advice, Emma?" Gold registered her growing anxiety, though she tried her best to hide it. Still, she couldn't help glaring at the phone. Another buzz. Leroy.

_Listen, sister. Just because I drink all day, set things on fire, crash cars, and end up in jail does NOT mean I need therapy. And I don't need AA, either! Ruby's already suggested that and I told her exactly where she could stick that opinion. Just for that I'm washing dishes. So don't tell me I got issues. And what the hell do you mean 'get laid'? On Hopper's couch? And I'm the one with issues!_

"Only if it's free of charge," she retorted. Gold leered at her—he couldn't promise that.

"Shut off your phone. The problem will still be there later on," he advised. He was right; she turned it off and buried it in her pocket. "Now, if I may be blunt, where are we?"

Emma smiled as the two of them trekked up a short path.

"Copenhaver Castle," she declared, gesturing to the old, elaborate castle that loomed over Phoenix. People tried to buy the million-dollar castle, but right now it was empty. "I always loved this place. Every time I came here…it felt like I was a little bit closer to home."

He understood the reason instantly. It was a breath-taking castle and it subconsciously reminded her of the little time she spent in her true world, the Enchanted Forest. In that way, it gave her a peace of mind.

"Nothing is more alluring than the stories behind the castle, of course," he replied as they paused on a balcony. "And I might have a story to share with you."

Emma leaned on the railing of the balcony.

"Seriously? A story?" Gold gazed down at her. He leaned his cane against the balcony and rested his palms on the railing. She opened up to him…so he would try his best to do the same. Except it would be done by his rules.

"I happen to be quite the spinner of tales, among other things," he said reassuringly. She'd be lying if she claimed she wasn't intrigued.

"Huh. I thought spinning a web of lies was always the spider's job. And by spider I mean Regina."

"Indeed it is. Although, my stories are often closer to the truth." Emma considered it—a story coming from Gold would be nothing short of interesting.

"Let's hear it," she agreed as a light breeze drifted across her skin. Gold nodded once and opened his mouth to begin.

"Once upon a time…" Emma moaned. Gold stopped to stare quizzically at her.

"One of those stories?" Hadn't she heard enough with Henry's theory? Gold's face was oddly serious.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Emma, but oftentimes reading a fairy tale may shed light on our own complex world. Now…if I may?" He waited to see if she'd protest and then started again.

_Once upon a time…there was a man who seemed more than an ordinary man. _

Emma rolled her eyes. _Spinner of tales, hmm? _

"Wow. I think I like this guy already," she mockingly interrupted. Gold smiled.

"I thought you might. Now…"

_In truth, he was the most powerful man alive. Even more powerful than a king. Anything one could wish for—wealth, good fortune, a cure for illness—this man could conjure it. It seemed nothing was beyond his reach._

"Lucky him. Now if only he could cure cancer and wipe the crime off the streets, then we'd all be happy. Oh, and send Leroy to AA." By now, Gold had the good sense to ignore her ramblings.

_Except for one minor detail. Despite his incredible power, this man was cursed. _Emma gave Gold a skeptical look.

"Doesn't seem like a curse to me." Gold pointed a finger at her.

"With great power comes great sacrifice, dearie." Emma stifled a dry laugh.

"So you're quoting _Spiderman?" _Gold waved his hand impatiently and went on with the story.

_Cursed, yes, by a most wicked, magical condition. _Emma couldn't fight the grin sliding across her lips.

"Herpes?" Gold tossed her a look that warned her she was being immature. And she supposed she was. She just never took fairy tales seriously.

"For once, darling…shut up," he shot back. She pursed her lips, but let him continue. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted."

_Immortal though he may be, he was consumed by darkness and black magic until he was nothing more than a monster bound by a simple dagger that bore his name. _

"So…what? He's some kind of evil genie? Let me guess: his day job involves "poof, what do you need? Poof, what do you need?'" Mr. Gold gave her a warning look. "I know, I know." She 'zipped her lips.'

_And so this man did not believe that anyone was capable of loving him. One day, the monster's great power was called upon during a time of war. A provincial town was being threatened, doomed to crumble to ash like all the others before it. _

_'Help! Help! We are dying! Can you save us?' The townspeople pleaded with—_

"Okay, wait. There is no way they sounded like that," Emma interceded, laughing at Gold's over-exaggerated gestures. "This monster must have an impressive sense of humor to listen to that."

_The townspeople pleaded with this magical man to no avail, for they had little to offer him in return._

"Hmm…this guy sounds a lot like you," Emma pointed out. The two of them began walking along an adjoining terrace. Gold smirked.

"That certainly explains why you're so fond of him." A week or so ago, Emma would have torn that statement to shreds with denial. Today…well, she was sure Regina was more deserving of her anger than Gold.

_Upon this day, the man came across a beautiful maiden—the King's only daughter. Rich, luscious brown hair, cerulean eyes as modest as cornflowers, ivory skin as delicate as porcelain, and gentle lips as red as fresh blood. This maiden was the town's crown jewel, destined to be wed to a noble soldier._

Emma huffed under her breath.

"That sums it up to…not me?" Gold stopped in his tracks to study her. To her disliking, a rosy blush heated her face.

"Is someone jealous?" Emma scoffed.

"Absolutely not." Gold arched an eyebrow, daring her to be honest. "Okay, maybe a little. I'm guessing this…maiden…didn't love her fiance." Gold nodded, proving her correct.

"It wouldn't be much of a story if she was, would it?" And they walked on as the breeze picked up with his words.

_'My price is her,' the man ruefully declared, desiring the lovely princess. At first the King refused, for how could he part with his only daughter? Besides, the man was a 'beast' and would surely corrupt her innocence. _

_But the maiden understood that there was no other means of saving their beloved town. Bravely, she accepted the deal, despite his warning that it was a lifelong sentence. 'I will go with you forever,' the princess insisted…and so she did. _

_Soon after their arrival at his castle, the beast threw the princess into the dungeon, which was to serve as her living quarters. She was to act as a caretaker—dusting the castle, washing the floors, preparing meals, tending to the monster's every whim. _

Emma held up a hand to stop him, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Hold on. Every whim? Don't tell me these are my wifely duties?" Gold snickered, brushing a hand along her back. "And here I half-expected the monster to demand her in his bed. That would be you."

_Her only mistake was chipping one of his teacups. Otherwise, this man of magic took pride in selecting such an efficient caretaker for his dark castle. Months passed and soon spring enchanted the land. And with it came something extraordinary. _

_For the first time in centuries, the princess awakened a yearning inside this beast. He was growing to like the company of his captive and he was able to recall some of that lost humanity. And this beautiful maiden appeared to grow comfortable in her captor's presence, showing a fondness where there had been none before. It was not love, but there was hope for what could be. _

"Kind of hard to love someone who tosses you in a dungeon. Or in my case, marries you while you're drunk off your ass," Emma stated. She noticed that Gold's eyes were somewhat dreamy, as if he were living this story in his mind.

_And it was this notion that scared him beyond reason. For how could it be possible that such a beautiful princess would truly love a monster? And how cruel would that monster be to lock this enchanting rose away, subject to his selfish loneliness and darkness? _

_And so the monster scattered the girl to the winds. He requested her to travel to town to fetch some straw…and never did he expect to see her again. _

Gold was quiet a long time. Emma frowned.

"That's it? Some story." Gold held up a calm hand to silence her. His eyes were darker than usual and it seemed he wasn't truly seeing her.

"It's not over yet."

_But the girl did return with the straw the man had requested. It was a marvelous, astounding thing. _

_Unbeknownst to him, the girl had crossed paths with a dark, powerful Queen. A Queen who sought nothing but the ruin of his power._

"And here we go with the Evil Queen," Emma groaned, picturing Henry's leather book in her head. "I'm starting to think she's Storybrooke's version of the devil. Kinda like when you tell kids that the Boogeyman will get you."

_And this Queen knew the key to ridding this magic man of his power—she told the naïve maiden as much. In his curiosity, the man asked the beautiful princess why she had willingly returned to him. Innocent and alluring as she seemed, she placed a kiss on his lips. _

_And almost instantly, there was a change within the monster's dark heart. The suffocating magic drained away, the brutal mask lifted to reveal the man he once was. The monster's power was vanishing. All due to one kiss. _

_The maiden insisted that any curse could be broken. And rage swept through the man for her knew then that he had been deceived. The possibility of her love…it had been a trick. _

"But what if it wasn't? Maybe this guy just has self-esteem issues. He should talk to Jiminy Cricket," Emma suggested. The two of them slowed on the terrace and Gold was far beyond hearing. His eyes were far-off, unseeing of the area around them.

_'Don't you see? This means it's true love,' the princess pleaded with him. Her words were hopeless lies. The monster found it impossible for anyone to love him. _

_'No one can ever, ever love me,' the monster growled at the princess and he locked her away in the dungeon. In his rage, he destroyed everything he could touch, such was the agony of his betrayal. The only object he could not bring himself to destroy was that chipped cup. _

_After coming to his senses, the powerful monster ventured into the dungeon to face his captive. That one that had burdened his heart. _

_'What are you going to do with me?' Despite his rage, the princess remained brave. And then the monster took the only reasonable course of action, the easy path. He released the princess from captivity.' _

"Sounds like a coward to me," Emma commented, brushing her blonde hair from her face. "Running doesn't solve anything."

"Perhaps running was the only thing he knew to do," Gold surprisingly replied, resurfacing from his fog momentarily. Just as easily, he slipped back into it.

_But the girl would not leave him without having a final word. Brave…always to the end. _

_'You are a coward. You think that I cannot love you,' she told the beast. 'You've made your choice…and you will regret it. Forever. And all you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup.' _

_After that, the princess fled the castle, leaving the beast to wallow in his grief. He never saw her again, would never know if she truly did learn to love him. Not long after, the evil Queen appeared at his castle, pleased with the travesty. She had come to report the result of the princess' return to her town. _

_She should have been gladly accepted back…but she was not. Her father…he declared her tainted. He shut her away in a tower, starved her, cleansed her from that wickedness. It became too much for the princess to bear and she…she gave in. The beautiful princess, marred by her torture, leaped from the top of the tower…and died. According to the evil Queen, that is. _

Emma stared at Gold with fascination and growing worry. The more he went on, the more he gritted his teeth angrily. His fists clenched, his voice rose and became marked with anguish.

"Obviously she lied. I wouldn't have taken her word for it," she remarked, shrugging. Gold's face was unreadable now—cold and fierce. It was actually kind of scary.

_Left alone with only his curse, the beast treasured that chipped cup for it was the only object he had as a reminder of her presence there. He mourned for the love that could have been had he not…had he not been such a coward. _

_In the end, he was doomed to succumb to the darkness that scorched his heart and lose all touch with his humanity. _

It was tense after Gold finished. Emma had no clue how to respond to that.

"That…that was depressing, Gold." His brown eyes swiveled to her, losing that glassy, daydream look. His hand reached out to grasp her arm, as though he required comfort and this was the only way he could ask for it. _His stories are close to the truth…but by how much? _

"Not all stories have happy endings, Emma." His voice was pained and she wondered if there had been a girl who tried to love him. Sadly, she smiled up at him and edged closer to him.

"Not all stories are finished," she stated. "It's true, I enjoyed Phoenix. But my son is where I need to be right now. In Storybrooke." Gold rubbed his hand across her arm and then down her back. He forced a smile, though it was nowhere near his eyes.

"Ah, I see. In that case…" He trailed off to bury his lips in her hair. Emma nodded and they started back in the direction they came.

"I'd say it's about time we head home."

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><p><strong>Thank you everyone for reading. The reviews were wonderful, as always! I'm so lucky to have such amazing readers. <strong>

**And I have a new story out called "Of Dreams and Regrets" that is also partly inspired by DaesGatling. It is about Dark!Snow and Rumpel. It'll probably be in the same mood as Sunshine, so I hope you'll enjoy that as well! **

**And of course I have to personally thank my readers. Here's to DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, Twyla Mercedes, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, .Serenade, valoankea, DamnationOfTheDead, BlackShadow14, RandomWriter101, thedoctorsgirl42, Lyn Harkeran (thanks for the reviews for my other stories as well), megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, Musicalfan2012, yuiop, Slyshindi, anche, and FranzF. **

**Only a few more days until the OUAT finale. And I already have a good deal planned out for the next chapter or so—you can probably expect another chapter in a couple days actually. (= **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I told you all I'd have another chapter written up in a couple of days. It's from waiting for the finale—it's the only way I can stop thinking about it, ironically. TWO MORE DAYS! Gah! **

**Is anyone else going crazy over this or is it just me? **

**I think you'll like this chapter (well, you guys like every chapter, but this one is good). **

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>

_Storybrooke_

"Heading home" not only meant Storybrooke; it meant a cabin located in the middle of the woods. Emma figured it was one last stop before returning to normalcy in the community.

"Let me guess: this is your cabin," Emma mused as the two got out of the car and approached the cabin. It looked like it had come straight out of _Friday the 13__th__. _Not exactly uplifting by any means.

"Dear, is it not yet clear that I own everything in this town?" Gold limped to one of the dusty windows and peered inside. Emma understood the reason and grimaced. _Don't tell me people actually sneak out here to…hook up? _

Emma's boots thudded on the low porch, echoing among the trees.

"Gold, what exactly do you do in this cabin?" He smirked down at her as he opened the cabin door for her.

"Use your imagination," he replied before stepping inside the cabin.

Emma didn't want to use her imagination because she already detested the possibilities it presented. _Stowing away babies from his deals? Plotting strange schemes to top Regina? Crying where no one will see? _

Emma lingered on the porch for a moment. The chirping of the birds and whisper of the trees were the only sounds around. It felt like she was stuck in the middle of a forest in a quiet land.

"Great. The two of us in a little cabin isolated in the middle of the woods where no one can hear me scream," Emma murmured.

"I'm counting on it," Gold's voice floated over to her from inside the cabin.

She rolled her eyes at him and inevitably entered the cabin, kicking the door closed behind her. Gold was standing before a fireplace, frowning as he swept a hand across the mantle and gray dust coated his fingers.

"So...now what?" Emma glanced around the cabin. She already had a good idea of the kinds of activities Gold would like to do there. Then her stomach growled like an avalanche.

"Well, I certainly can't leave my wife with such a ravenous appetite. We'll be making love. I mean, _lunch,"_ he proposed, starting for the kitchen. And it was a nice kitchen area, too—the cabinets were stocked with plenty of food and there were enough tools to cook for a buffet.

"We? As in…I'm helping you cook?" Emma was hesitant about that.

Usually she stuck to easy things like McDonalds and microwavable dinners. The last time she cooked, she nearly set the building on fire. Domestic duties just weren't her cup of tea. _Fair warning, Gold. You might lose your eyebrows. _

"No, I imagined I would ask my cricket friend to aid me with the task and you can make yourself comfy, darling," he retorted sarcastically, checking through the cupboards. Emma followed him into the kitchen area. "Kick back. Enjoy some _Call of Duty. _And I'll do all the work."

"You have a cricket friend? Any other odd details I should know about you, Gold?" He made a show of thinking, drumming his fingers against his lips.

"Only that I am a grand supporter of Casual Fridays. You're not one to break tradition, are you, Emma?"

"And by 'casual', you mean…" Gold set out a bowl on the table, but she still noticed the way the edges of lips curved upward. "I'll remember that anytime we're having a fight. Then those will be the days I work late at the station."

"You would leave your husband home, lonely and longing?" Emma opened the fridge and grabbed lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, and dressing for their salad. She juggled all of it until she reached the table and dropped it in a pile.

"Without any guilt," she agreed. Then another thought occurred to her. "Hey, Gold…how exactly did you entertain yourself on Casual Fridays without a wife?" Gold brought out a sharp knife and ripped open the bags of lettuce and carrots.

"Well, if you have to ask that, Emma…" Instantly, she blanched as a disturbing mental image crossed her mind. _Thank God I'm not using a knife yet. I think I might've chopped off a finger. _

"We're discussing this before lunch—why?" Gold shrugged as he expertly sliced the carrots, popping one in his mouth to chew. Emma prepared the lettuce and dumped it into the bowl, using her hands to toss it about.

"You asked. I answered. Simple as that." Gold finished cutting the carrots and made to scoop them up. Emma quickly swatted his hands away.

"If you think I'm letting _your_ hands touch _our_ food, you're more delusional than I thought," she snapped, pouring the carrots into the bowl herself. Gold smirked and dropped the knife on the counter.

"So I take it you'll be making lunch then?" Gold circled the table and started for the fireplace. He settled on a couch in front of it and stretched out his legs. Emma paused.

"Wait. You did that on purpose," she accused him, nearly dropping one of the cucumbers on the counter. Gold's head peered over the back of the couch.

"Did what?" He was playing innocent. Emma knew better—by mentioning "Casual Fridays" and all that it entailed, he had driven Emma to the point of taking on the task of making lunch by herself.

"Don't 'what' me. You know exactly what you did just now," she retorted, but went on making the salad anyway. As long as she didn't chop off a finger, she'd be reasonably fine. "Just so you know…I'm a horrible cook. Don't expect me to make dinner every night for you."

"I would never dream of it, Emma," his accented voice murmured from the couch. "I'll do the cooking. You'll do…everything else." And Emma sliced half the cucumber as if she were murdering it.

* * *

><p>Lunch was quiet.<p>

Emma and Gold sat on the couch with bowls of salad. Only their crunching and scraping of forks struck the silence between them. _We'll have to get some firewood before it gets dark,_ Emma thought emotionlessly as she thrust another forkful of Italian-soaked lettuce in her mouth.

"At least it's been confirmed you can arrange a salad," Gold said, pushing his fork through his lunch. Emma didn't respond—she was losing herself in thoughts of Henry again. She did that on the way home, too.

_What if the kid really did listen in on the conversation? No, Regina's probably lying to jab at me. But…what if? I promised him Gold wouldn't win. I promised. _

She wasn't aware that she'd stopped eating until Gold set down his fork and bowl on the couch and slid over to her. He rested a hand on hers, urging her to look at him. She did, but only because the touch had startled her back to reality.

"Henry will be fine," he assured her. Somehow, Gold's ability to know what she was thinking only made it worse. Emma collected up their bowls and abruptly stood to bring them to the sink.

"I wasn't worrying about Henry. I was thinking of…" Her brain fizzled as a mental image of his little face swam in her mind. Her heart slightly clenched.

Now that they were so close to the community of Storybrooke, she just wanted to go to him. If only to make sure the kid was alright under Regina's cruel glare.

"Yes?" Gold demanded her answer. There was a hint of mockery in his voice. He knew she was about to lie, to say the issue with Henry wasn't digging under her skin. Emma allowed the bowls to crash into the sink. Luckily, they didn't break.

"I was thinking of…of Leroy. He's probably been trolling the streets while we were on our honeymoon and I know he's going to wind up in that jail cell, drunker than an Irish person on St. Patrick's Day. Especially after Ruby's done with him and this stupid bet they have going on," she blurted out.

Gold carefully stood and approached the kitchen area. The tapping of his cane stopped within a few feet of Emma, though she didn't turn around.

"I'm sure Leroy would appreciate your concern. Why not worry about that a_fter _you've become Sheriff?" Gold must have left his cane on the table because the next thing she knew his hands were rubbing her arms.

Emma's lips drew into a thin line. Why was it so difficult to admit she missed the kid? _I'm not ready to be his mother or anyone's legal guardian…but that doesn't mean I don't care. _

"How about we take a walk?" Gold slowly turned Emma around to face him. She fought to keep her face blank and calm.

"You want to walk in the woods with that sorry leg of yours?" Emma motioned to his leg. Gold leaned over to retrieve his cane from the table.

"I can manage. Fresh air would do your mind some good," he insisted. Emma wanted to stay in the cabin, to curl up on the couch and absorb herself in thoughts of Henry. Or maybe she could run to him. But what kind of end to their honeymoon would that be?

Despite her reluctance, she nodded, sweeping a hand through her blonde hair to tie it back.

"Fine, but if you trip over a root or something, I'm not helping you up," Emma scowled as she pulled open the cabin door. Gold quickly followed, taking a deep breath of air once outside.

"Always a comfort to know I have such a caring wife," he murmured as they started along the path leading deeper into the woods.

"You must have agreed for some reason," she hinted, kicking aside some broken twigs. On their way back, she would make a note of collecting some extra wood if they were going to make a fire in the fireplace.

"That I did," Gold replied, his cane digging into the dusty ground. Emma studied him, wondering what that reason might be.

"And…?" Gold smiled down at her, flashing his teeth.

"Figure it out." And he was the one to walk ahead while she lingered behind with construed thoughts.

* * *

><p>Gold was right about most things. That fact was still true as Emma kept up with his pace along the trail of the woods. The fresh air and gentle cull of the birds soothed her nerves and opened her mind a little. She could actually <em>think. <em>

She thought about Henry, about what she would possibly say to him especially if he _had _listened to that phone call. She knew the last thing she wanted now was to lose him.

She thought about Regina and all she would do if this was another twisted lie. That woman had some issues, that was for sure.

She thought about the time she'd spent with Gold, how she could be drawing closer to him with each passing second when she never would have given him a second thought upon the earlier days in Storybrooke. How she might be…okay, that was going a little far.

"Dare I hope you're thinking about me?" Gold matched her pace, tilting his head to peer at her through the loose strands of her blonde hair. "Admit it, darling."

"Admit what? That I have a lot on my mind?" Emma brushed aside the loose strands, tucking them behind her ear. The grass was soft under the soles of their shoes, but the hill was starting to curve downwards, towards a cliff. Emma stepped back on the trail, just in case.

"Despite your previous assumptions, I am not the worst company in the world," he clarified. Emma was silent for a long moment.

"You are not the _worst_ company in the world," she complied and somehow meant it. These last few days with Gold were…surreal. And not just because they slept together. _Okay, maybe that has a little bit to do with it. But it's…nice. _

"Glad to hear it. We'll reserve that title for Regina," he proposed lightly. Emma nodded as they came to a rough turn in the path.

"I second that," she said. Regina was most definitely the worst company, at least in Storybrooke. Emma smiled at that. _Henry would probably agree. She is supposedly the Evil Queen, after all. _

Emma was still smiling when it happened. The ground was slippery under their feet, what with the downhill lurch.

Gold's foot came down on the edge of the hill and suddenly it slid from beneath him. Unsteadily, his arms spread out to try and prevent his fall and he grabbed onto Emma's arm. Emma stumbled forward and dropped to the ground, causing Gold to lose his grip on her.

Just like that, his body was tumbling down the hill, his hands holding onto his cane for dear life. Emma quickly jumped up, but it was already too late.

As she watched, Gold's body reached the edge of the cliff and vanished over it.

* * *

><p><strong>Dun, dun, dun! Such a nasty cliffhanger. *Is grinning evilly* <strong>

**Don't worry—I've got the next chapter planned out already (and half written up). You won't have to wait long, I promise. Might be after the finale, though. **

**Or…if you prompt me, I **_**might **_**be able to get it up on Sunday (in celebration for the finale). We'll see. **

**Shout-outs are in order! **

**To DaesGatling: Yeah, I like the idea of Gold and Emma being "open" on their honeymoon. Though I don't know if Emma would consider almost being blown up in a fire affectionate. **

**To FortunesArkHero: And we all thought EMMA had problems with phones. Good move, Gold. Not exactly the text many people want to receive. "Attention: you need to get laid." LOL Thanks for the review—glad you like the story!**

**To RandomWriter101: I always love reading your reviews—they're very good! Typical Emma reaction to Gold's story, plus interrupting it…and for once the poor man tries to be open with her. Thanks for reading!**

**To MonkeesDoctorWho1987: Yeah, that's what the kid gets for eavesdropping while Regina's talking to Emma. Thanks for the review!**

**To Fairy Demon26: Thank you! And yes, I got that from Aladdin! I was watching it with my sister while writing up that chapter and it just clicked with me. I couldn't resist, especially since Rumpel does seem similar to a genie. "Poof! What do you need?" (-; **

**To MoreThanMeetsTheEye96: Awesome! I missed the long, complimentary reviews from you! They always make me smile, especially since you seem to be enjoying my story a lot. Hehe, I had fun writing David's text, but that's only because I love bashing him in general. Too much fun. I blame the Abridged. (= **

**To FranzF: Thank you! I appreciate the review! And I know you asked me in a review for one of my other stories about the Abridged. It can be found on LiveJournal by DaesGatling and it is a brilliant parody of OUAT. A must-read! **

**To Lyn Harkeran: Oh…my…God…that has to be one of my favorite pieces for OUAT. "Rumpelstiltskin In Love" is just…amazing. And it made that scene absolutely emotional, too! Thanks for reading!**

**To limbosplaything: Haha, of course they're being shipped! Thanks for reading!**

**To DragonRose4: Oh, God…Archie's reaction to that text would be amusing! Thanks for the review!**

**To megumisakura: Glad you like the story. Thanks so much!**

**To Musicalfan2012: Don't worry; I plan for this story to go on for a while yet, so we'll see what happens to these two. Maybe Gold will actually love Emma. **

**To thedoctorsgirl42: Aww, thank you! I appreciate the kind review! **

**To DamnationOfTheDead: Well, I think it'd be hard for Rumpel to get over Belle in general. But maybe Emma can change that. You'll have to wait and see. Thank you for reading! (-; **

**To ParanormalMoonlight: I know, I love that story for Rumpel/Belle but it is very sad! Poor Rumpel/Gold. As for them falling into bed two more times….covered! Now you'll just have to wait to read about it! **

**To Twyla Mercedes: Ah, I love how Regina can be so over the top sometimes—it makes her fun to write. And I just kind of like the idea of these two opening up, but with Gold it's certainly tricky. He's not one to fully trust someone easily, I think. Thanks for reading!**

**To olverabonk: I think she should give up on technology in general. It doesn't seem to work for her very well. Ah! Waiting for the finale is driving me up the wall! Is it Sunday yet? **

**Thank you everyone. Hopefully I'll be able to update by Sunday. If not, enjoy the OUAT finale! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Okay, I must tell you that I have been writing this up since posting the last chapter, all to please my LOVELY readers! And this chapter (not exaggerating) is incredibly long! But hopefully you guys enjoy it. **

**Consider this the finale of the honeymoon in celebration of the finale for OUAT. Le gasp! Will Gold make it? (Okay, maybe I'd be heartless to kill off my favorite character) **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

_"Gold!"_

Emma was on her feet and running down that hill in mere seconds, her heart pounding in her ears. Dropping to her knees, she peered over the edge of the cliff. _Oh, God…_

"Emma," Gold choked out as he gripped his cane with both hands. His cane had snagged on a root that was jutting from the side of the cliff. Bits of rock and dirt fell as Gold struggled to hold on.

"Okay, I'm going to help you up. Just…hold on," she called down. She tried to hide how nervous and scared she was, but her voice broke. He was hanging a few feet below the lip of the cliff.

Emma laid flat on her stomach, digging the toes of her boots into the ground. Carefully, she reached her arm down. It reached a little past the head of his cane. _Come on…stretch! This…isn't…working!_

And it was then that she noticed the length of the drop over Gold's shoulder. She couldn't even see the bottom; it was simply narrow and foggy. If Gold slipped, there was no getting him back. _I'm going to end up a widow, I know it! And I'm not even thirty!_

"Would it…be too much…to hope that you have…your phone?" Emma jerked back to reality as she remembered her cell phone, which she had tucked into her leather jacket.

Immediately, she scrambled for it. First in one pocket, then the other…it was gone. Emma cursed under her breath as she scanned the grass for it. _I. Hate. Technology! There! _

It was lying on the grass, near the path; it must have fallen out when Gold dragged her down. And it was starting to ring.

Emma glanced down at Gold. His face was strained, his feet kicking against the wall of the cliff for support. His hands refused to release the cane. But now she could see that his hands were sliding down the length of the cane, forcing him to climb it like a rope in gym class. And the more he climbed, the more the root was tugged from the cliff—it wouldn't last long.

That phone could either be Gold's saving grace or the pitfall to his death. And Emma had to choose fast.

"Gold…stay right there," she shouted down to him, dashing up the hill for the phone.

"Where else am I supposed to go? McDonalds?" _Just don't fall into that endless trench, _she felt like retorting.

Emma snatched up the phone and answered it before the ringing stopped. She carefully slid back down to the edge of the cliff. _Don't say anything stupid, Emma. Gold's life is depending on it. _

"Hello?" _Good start. _There was a pause and she was afraid the person may have hung up. And then—

"Miss Swan? Oh, sorry. Mrs. Gold. Force of habit," came the cool, clipped manner. Emma nearly lurched over the cliff.

"Regina! Oh, I have never been so happy to hear your voice," Emma exclaimed with relief. Now if she could just convince Regina to send out help, it could probably be there in a matter of minutes.

"To put it bluntly, Emma…we're screwed," Gold muttered. Apparently, he wasn't as enthusiastic. Emma juggled listening to Regina and trying to reach Gold again. _For God's sake, say something! We don't have all day! We don't even have twenty minutes. _

"If you're going to start "getting busy" again, do give me some warning. That way, the next sound you'll hear is a click as I hang up," Regina returned. Emma bit off a sharp reply—this may be their only source of help.

"No! No, listen! Gold and I are near a cabin in the woods. He slipped and he's hanging over a cliff," she hastily explained.

Gold had stalled falling as he found a thin ledge to balance on. It was so thin, though, that only his toes balanced there. Still, it gave them time.

Emma tried grabbing onto his cane, but then realized that the cane would break off from the root. _In which case, both of us fall to our deaths and we'll end up on an episode of "Unsolved Mysteries." _

"And how is that working for you? Splendid honeymoon you two are having," Regina replied icily, practically giggling. Emma gaped at the phone.

"Oh, God. She's actually finding this amusing," Emma cried, picturing Regina's smirk as she sat safely in her office.

Gold was unsurprised.

"Who would have thought the Mayor would be overjoyed that her two _favorite _citizens were hanging over the edge of a cliff?" Fury pumped through Emma. Why did the Mayor have to be such a…such a…

"Listen, _bitch!_ You get help out here _now!_ The minute this call's over, you call an ambulance. Call Dr. Whale. Hell, I don't care if you call Pongo, just _do it!"_

It was silent on the other end. Emma leaned farther as Gold started slipping dangerously close to the end of his cane, his feet teetering on that ledge.

"Or you'll do what?" Regina was actually shrugging it off. Emma knew it was a lost cause. But, damn it, she couldn't just walk away. She couldn't leave Gold to die.

"Or I'll…I'll take Henry back," she dared to pin Regina with her greatest fear. Gold groaned as he slipped farther…

"Emma…threatening Regina…will only give her…more reason to…" There was a click in Emma's ear. Regina was gone. "…do that."

Emma quickly punched in Mary Margaret's number. Another shrill beep—her phone had a low battery. _You've got to be kidding me. Live! Just one more call...please…_

"Hate to…interrupt…but I…I…"

And that was when the root snapped.

Emma tossed the phone and lurched forward, grabbing ahold of Gold's cane before he took the long dive to "Never-Never-Land." Her body went forward sharply, almost over the cliff. Her muscles pulled tightly and she shrieked in pain.

"_Hello? Hello? Emma?" _

Faintly, Mary Margaret's voice came from the cell phone, which was now settled near Emma's boot. Everything hurt as she struggled to arch her body backwards, towards safety. _For such a lean, reasonably short man, Gold sure is heavy!_

Emma rapidly tapped the phone with her boot. _Hit 'speaker.' Hit it. Come on…_she willed her boot.

"_Hello?" _This time, Mary Margaret's voice boomed louder.

"Mary Margaret! Oh, God," Emma gasped as her boots scraped the ground, her body sliding towards the edge of the cliff.

"_Emma? Where are you? I can barely hear you!"_ Emma dug her boots into the ground and pulled back with all the strength she could muster. _Come on! Just let me get him close to the edge; then he can pull himself up!_

"Near the cabin…in the woods! Gold slipped…he's hanging over a cliff! We can't…hold on much longer!"

"_Emma? Emma…where—"_ Another series of beeps and Emma knew with a sickening feeling: her phone was dead. And Gold was hanging by a thread.

"Okay, Gold…this is crazy…but you need to give me your hand!" Emma allowed her body to lean further down, her hands sliding over the cane. Gold stared at her like she had three heads.

"Emma, if I grab onto you…there's a chance the two of us will fall. And die," he reminded her, glancing over his shoulder at the drop. _As if I had forgotten! Here I was daydreaming that we were sipping martinis on a beach!_

Emma wasn't aware that she was crying until then. The tears dripped, salty and bitter, over her lips. She wasn't ready to die. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to Henry after having found him again. She wasn't ready…to let Gold plummet to his death.

"I know. But you have to trust me. There's nothing else we can do," she cried out, pleading with him to understand. The measures were too desperate. His face softened.

"Emma…let go. It will…be alright," Gold urged her. His palms were growing red from holding onto the cane so hard. Emma cried harder, shaking her head.

"No. No, I'm not leaving you," she immediately insisted and she meant it. Even if it resulted in her own death…Walking away would mean cowardice and she would never forgive herself.

"Emma….you can tell them I slipped. That I could not hold on long enough. It wouldn't be lying…based on technicality, of course…"

"Just trust me, Gold," she yelled down, desperate for him to listen to her. Somehow…both of them would walk away from this. But never less than two.

"Let go," he repeated.

"_Trust me!"_

Emma swiftly removed a hand from the cane, extending it to Gold. All at once, they started rapidly slipping. Gold made his decision and leaped for Emma's hand, his cane tumbling down into darkness.

Emma groaned as she shifted her weight, inching backward on the cliff. Her hands readjusted until she was gripping Gold's forearms. His feet scraped along the wall of the cliff as she pulled back, pulling him up…

With one last heave, Emma and Gold managed to climb over the edge of the cliff. Gold sprawled over Emma's body, both of them breathing heavily. If someone had come across them at that moment, the first impression they would have gotten is that they were about to make love. And Emma didn't mind thinking that, as long as they were breathing.

For a long time, they stayed there like that—just breathing, their bodies close together. Gold's fingers traced the line of her jaw as she gazed back at him. It was as if she were afraid he would disappear, that she would wake up and he would have tumbled from her grasp over that cliff.

"Don't…_ever_…do that to me again," she whispered as she lay beneath him, lungs gasping for air. Gold dipped his head and his lips kissed her forehead. He didn't say one word in return.

Finally, Emma found enough strength to get to her feet. Gold winced as he dragged his bad leg—it must be killing him now. Slinging Gold's arm around her neck, she picked up her dead phone and the two of them started the trek back to the cabin.

"That is the last time we take a walk after lunch."

* * *

><p>Once inside the cabin, Emma helped Gold over to the couch. He lay down on it and closed his eyes in relief. Her muscles screamed with discomfort, but she ignored them—Gold was probably in more pain than her. <em>And we have no firewood. The fire is going to have to wait. <em>

"Are you alright?"

It was a silly question after having nearly escaped with their lives, but Emma needed to ask it. Gold lifted his hand and then let it drop weakly back onto the couch. He gritted his teeth against a new wave of agony.

"I've been…worse," he muttered.

Emma knelt by the couch and blinked her sore eyes as she studied his bad leg. It had scared her more than she cared to admit, seeing Gold vanish over that cliff. _Don't ever do that to me again. Ever. _

"If I didn't know any better…I'd say you cared."

"I do," she blurted out and Gold's eyes snapped open. "Gold…we spent nearly two whole weeks together. Something…changed. And I'm never one to care for people because I always end up getting hurt. I mean, look what happened today."

She gave a dry laugh, but it fell apart into pieces like that root.

"Something changed. Take off your pants," she demanded. Gold smirked. Even meeting Death's door didn't alter him much.

"Oh, Emma…you're never one to beat around the bush, are you?" Maybe it was the heady sense of having almost died tonight, but Emma shakily laughed instead of snap a reply.

"Not like that! I meant take off your pants so I can examine your bad leg. You know, to see if you're about to die from some fatal wound?" Gold sighed and slid out of his pants, letting them crumple to the floor. Emma's eyes instantly latched onto the rigged scar on his leg.

Emma carefully reached out to touch it, but Gold caught her by the wrist. His eyes were filled with desperation.

"No one has ever…touched it before," he explained. Even when they'd been breaking the bed in Louisiana, Emma had never once physically touched his scar. She wasn't afraid to, either.

"Let me," she replied, her fingers hovering over it for permission. Gold eyed her fingers cautiously and then nodded, settling his head back against the pillow. Emma gently slid her fingers along the scar. Gold drew in a breath. "I'm sorry. Did I—"

"No," he murmured, holding up a hand to calm her. "You didn't hurt me, Emma. It felt…good," he admitted, his eyes falling closed again. Emma smiled and stroked his scar for a while, his breathing becoming deeper with time.

It figured that it took a dance with death to really bring out her sensitive side to Gold. But it felt…right. _Something changed. _

A wild notion entered her mind, but she could do nothing to chase it away. Pausing with the stroking, Emma leaned forward over Gold. She didn't stop until her lips met his and she kissed him briefly. His hand came up and buried into her golden hair as he kissed back.

Slowly, his eyes opened like Sleeping Beauty awaking from her slumber.

"Thank you," he whispered. Emma continued to graze his scar with her fingers, sensing that it calmed him.

"For rubbing your scar…or saving your life?" Gold smiled—and it was an earnest, blissful smile. He actually looked…happy.

"Both."

* * *

><p>Every half hour, Emma would moisten a cloth and place it gently over Gold's bad leg. The damp coolness of the cloth soothed his leg a bit, he said. She had also found a couple of pain pills in the bathroom, which helped to alleviate some of the pain.<p>

He had no terrible injuries—just incredible soreness in his leg—but Emma was certain by now that if he did have them, she'd do her best to soothe those as well. _I've gone from being his wife to being his lover to being his bedside nurse. Somehow, I think that's backwards. _

Emma fixed the cloth over his leg again and flexed her sore muscles as she knelt beside him. Gold had fallen into an uneasy sleep—he often tossed, turned, and instinctively winced every time Emma touched his scar the wrong way.

As she soaked his leg, she hummed. _God, I'm as giddy as I was on that bar in Georgia. Amazing what flying over a cliff will do to a person. _

Gold's lips twitched as she hummed and she wondered what he dreamed about. _Probably a dream where he can actually outrun a tractor. A dream where he's taking that chainsaw to Regina's tree.'Heeere's Goldie!' _

And, giddy as her mind was, she couldn't stifle the giggle that rose in her throat as she pictured Gold chopping the tree and yelling in victory.

"Something amusing, dear?" Gold moaned and opened his eyes to gaze at her. Emma readjusted the cloth, shrugging. A smile was glued on her lips.

"Oh, I'm just imagining the hell I'll give Regina. Starting with her apple tree," she replied. Right now, she'd love nothing better than to take an axe to the tree herself. Gold's eyes fluttered closed again.

"Sounds like a plan," he murmured. It was quiet as Emma's back leaned against the couch, watching the dying flames in the fireplace.

She'd managed to slip out and find some firewood while Gold was asleep. That was hours ago. The pile was slimming quickly and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. A storm was coming.

"I've never heard you sing before. Not even in the shower," Gold spoke again, albeit softly. Emma blushed—she could imagine Gold hanging around outside the bathroom door on the off-chance she'd sing. _I just hope Gold hasn't discovered YouTube yet. _

"I was _humming_," she corrected, resting her head against his leg.

"I know. Now I wish to hear you sing," he requested. Emma never sang in front of anyone. Not even at one of those silly, embarrassing school programs where your parents snapped millions of photos of you dressed as a snowflake.

And yet she was considering it.

"Maybe if you tried asking _nicely_," she taunted him. Slowly, his fingers threaded through her hair and grazed her neck. A thrill shot down between her shoulder blades and she whirled around. "Not like that."

Gold sighed and let his hand settle on the couch again.

"May you sing for me, Emma?" She stared at him deliberately, waiting. "Please?" _That is more like it. The man can be taught. _

Emma leaned her back up against the couch once more. And then, eyes focused on the dying embers in the fireplace, she began to sing the song that had played in her head.

_Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep_

_I'm tired and I want to go to bed_

_Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep_

_And then leave me alone_

_Don't try to wake me in the morning_

'_Cause I will be gone…_

"You truly would make a wonderful mother, Emma," Gold commented as he shifted into a more comfortable position. She knew him too well now; he was casting a line. And, like the fool, she was biting.

"Why is that?"

"Because you are putting me to sleep with that lullaby," he replied in a tired voice. Emma tilted her head and gave him a serious look. Nurse Ratched probably couldn't compete.

"It is not a lullaby. And sleep is the best thing for you right now." _And a hospital, but my phone is dead and there's a storm coming. We'd never make it very far. _

"Depends on your definition of sleep," Gold retorted and Emma lightly elbowed him in his good leg. "You've stopped singing." Emma's head perked up.

"What, you wanted me to keep going?" Gold grinned and moved his hand closer to the edge of the couch. Emma guessed what he wanted and laid her hand over his for comfort.

"I…liked it," he admitted. Emma smiled and nodded.

_Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep,_

_I don't want to wake up on my own anymore_

_There is another world, there is a better world_

_There must be_

* * *

><p>It had started to rain. Nobody in Storybrooke knew that better than Emma Swan.<p>

Arms full of firewood, Emma came bursting through the cabin door with sopping wet clothes, tangled blonde hair matted to her forehead. _At least I'm not wearing white this time,_ she thought miserably as she slammed the cabin door and slid out of her boots.

Emma dropped the wood in a heap on the floor. Brushing the dirt off her jacket, she settled cross-legged against the couch and began to feed the flames. All the while, Gold observed her from where he lay on the couch, his leg still throbbing.

"Where exactly did you go to retrieve firewood? Through the river to grandmother's house?" Emma shot him a dark look, tossing in another piece of wood. The flames crackled, the heat toasting her skin.

"Well, you obviously weren't going to be making the trip anytime soon. How's the leg?" Gold soothingly rubbed it, settling back on his pillows. At least he wasn't the type who moaned profusely about his aches and pains. He just…endured.

"Sore…but I'll manage. Unless you would care to rub it for me?" His knee nudged the spot between her shoulder blades.

It wasn't a sharp jab, but Emma winced slightly. Stretching her muscles, she registered that they were tight as barbed wire. _That's what I get for saving Gold's life. The rain certainly doesn't help. I can barely lift an arm without aching. Now I know how Gold's leg feels in the rain._

He must have noticed her discomfort.

"Or…we could easily switch gears and _I_ could rub _you."_ Gold shifted on the couch, hissing only when his leg shrieked in pain. His legs flanked Emma's body, one on either side. Emma leaned her head back into his lap and stared up at him curiously.

"What are you doing?" Carefully, he urged her head forward once more, his hand coming to firmly rest on her shoulders.

"Rubbing you," he stated with a hint of amusement.

His fingers began to caress her, massaging her shoulders and neck. His thumbs made tiny circles in the skin of her neck and slowly inched down…down between her shoulder blades. It was so relaxing—Emma's eyes fluttered closed and she moaned peacefully.

Gold's breath suddenly warmed her ear as he leaned forward. He swept her blonde hair to one side to better reach her neck.

"Take off your jacket, dear," he told her, pinching the red leather.

In a second, Emma's hands had unzipped the jacket fully and shrugged it off. His hands impatiently tossed it aside and delved into her skin again, releasing the tension from her muscles. _Oh, boy…if ever there was a reason to be married to Gold, it would be his magical fingers,_ she thought pleasantly as those fingers deeply caressed the nape of her neck.

Gold was shifting forward again. She could feel his fingers pause in their work, could feel his breath on her shoulder now. If she had turned her head, opened her eyes, she knew she would see Gold's lips hovering above her skin. And then his lips pressed down, gently kissing her shoulder.

The feel of his lips grazing her skin momentarily called her mind back from the abyss of wonder she'd fallen into.

"Gold," she warned him, tilting her head to the side to try and block his lips. Gold's laugh, low and dark, rang in her ear. His fingers slightly squeezed her shoulders.

"Tell me to stop, Emma," he replied softly, his hands dancing over her skin again. Her head was lolling like a drug addict's, endless warmth sparking along her nerves as Gold's lips tasted her neck. "Say it." Another kiss; Emma was losing all practical sense now. _Say it…oh…._

"Gold," she repeated, this one more of a moan. _Ooh, those fingers feel so good_. Coupled with his lips sliding along her body….the flames in the fireplace were no match for the fire burning in her brain.

"In any case, we need to get you out of those wet clothes. I'll let you decide how," he whispered, his hands lowering to tug insistently on the hem of her tank-top. It was wet, the fabric clinging to her body.

Instead of protesting, Emma lifted her arms—not caring for the ache—and allowed Gold to remove her tank top. All that was left were jeans and a bra. His fingers dipped along the small of her back, nearly sending her over the edge.

"Tell me to stop, Emma. That's all it'll take. Just…one…word," he breathed into her golden hair. Emma scrunched up her toes and half-turned to face him.

Kneeling before him, she placed her hands on his legs and brought her face up to almost meet his. Almost; her lips lingered an inch away from his. It was too much—it was Louisiana all over again. Only this time, her walls may just stay down.

"Please," she whispered and waited. Gold smiled victoriously and traced a finger down her jaw. His golden swan.

"That's my girl," came the smooth reply an instant before Emma's lips collided with his own, demanding to be satisfied. His hand supported the back of her head as the kiss deepened hungrily.

Emma roughly grabbed onto his suit and dragged him down to the floor with her. He gritted his teeth against the jolt of discomfort in his leg, but what was pleasure without a little pain?

Gold's lips traveled everywhere—down her neck, down her arms to her wrists. It was there that he paused to stare at something. Emma knew what it was. His eyes flickered back to her face in wonder.

"I was unaware you had a tattoo, dear," he said, pointing to the delicate black flower on the inside of her wrist. Emma remembered the exact day she'd gotten it.

"Yeah. I got it in Phoenix, right before I left. Regina said I didn't have roots. But she wrong. If ever I had roots, they were in Phoenix…with Henry," she replied, just as Gold's tongue traced the flower. "Why…why did you decide to marry me?"

It was an odd, unexpected question, spoken between kisses. Gold's lips trailed upwards, along her neck as he considered it. _Because perhaps it's 'twoo wuv'…because I know how to manipulate the chess board in Storybrooke…because I'm lonely…_

And then an irresistible answer found its way to his sharp tongue.

"I found myself in need of a caretaker for my rather…_large_ estate."

He had to stifle a boyish giggle as he anticipated the weight of his words in her head. Emma placed a hand on his chest and rested her head against the floor. She had that concentrative expression—she was mulling it over.

"So…let me get this straight. You married me so that I would clean your pink house? A _maid?"_ Gold stared down at her, bemused. Lightly, he brushed a curl of hair from her face. _Oh, Emma. You are in need of a tutor again. _

"Not quite, darling. You're thinking of the wrong estate. The one I'm referring to is much more fun. An estate that you happen to be begging for at this very moment." Emma's green eyes sparkled in the seductive light of the fire. _Caretaker…rather large estate…_

Understanding caused her eyes to drop down, down, and then she blushed, her mind catching up all at once. She gazed at him with startled eyes.

"Really? Is that what you prefer to call it?" Emma muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "Wow…and I thought I'd seen everything about your creepy side. Well…at least it isn't something disturbing like…like…_Princess Sofia."_

Emma burst out laughing then, circling her arms around Gold's neck.

"And you say I am the creepy one," he retorted.

Gold crushed his lips to hers before she could get a chance to reply to that. And just like in Louisiana, the two of them came together as one and Emma was secretly grateful that no one was around to hear her scream.

* * *

><p>Somehow, the two of them landed back on the couch…only to repeat the process of exploring and desire-fulfilling again. And again.<p>

Now, the two of them lay breathless over each other, limbs hopelessly entwined and entangled underneath the blanket that Gold had wrapped around them for warmth. _As if we need it now, _Emma thought with a satisfied smile. Every part of her ached…but she didn't mind.

Emma rested her head on Gold's chest and he combed his fingers gently through her blonde hair. At this point, if there was a way she could stay like this forever, she would.

"Another round and I think my leg will permanently give out," Gold sighed. Emma slowly shifted her body so that she could look at him, her elbows placed on his chest.

"You really scared me today," she admitted, her lips trembling slightly. Gold's fingers brushed along her face. His finger traced the edge of her lips and Emma playfully nipped his finger like a fierce kitten.

"Thought you might lose me? Here I imagined you and the town would rejoice about that." Emma laid her face on his chest again and his lips buried into her hair.

"The town, maybe. But I wouldn't wish death on anyone," Emma said, curling her toes under the blanket. Gold's fingers paused in stroking her skin. _Please, the town would have a parade since most of them owe him money anyway. It'd be like that huge dance in Scrooge after he dies. _

"Not even me?" Emma turned her face up to his again. She smiled.

"Not even you." Gold brought his head forward to kiss her. It was a soft, sweet kiss that deviated exponentially from their more hungry kisses, but Emma liked it. _I wonder if he'd ever been in love. _

"How shall I repay you for saving my life? Let me see…I owe you a favor?" Gold's face was thoughtful as he worked to find a reasonable payment. Emma shrugged.

"You can make it up to me…by giving me a massage. Until I say stop." Gold's head dropped back to the pillow as he mulled it over. _Be glad I'm not asking for a favor. Otherwise, you might end up like Leroy. _

"Sounds fairly pleasant. Agreed."

Gold detached himself from Emma's body and decidedly straddled her from behind so as to reach her shoulders. Emma crossed her arms under her chin and closed her eyes as Gold's fingers smoothed along her shoulder blades.

"Oh, you can do better than that, I think," Emma teased him as his fingers rubbed her neck. She could almost feel Gold's smirk at full-force.

"If you insist, Emma," he replied, delving his fingers deeper into her skin until she moaned. Slowly his fingers made their way to her lower back, her mind swimming from the pleasurable feeling of it all.

And then the cabin door burst open.

At first Emma thought it might have been the wind…until she lifted her head to see a shocked Mary Margaret, dripping wet from the rain. She was carrying a flashlight and was frozen at the threshold due to the scene before her.

Rushing up behind her was David Nolan, who also froze, bumping harshly into Mary Margaret's back. Emma buried her head in the pillow to hide the heat coursing through her face.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Emma exclaimed, though her voice was a bit muffled by the pillow. It took Mary Margaret a couple of seconds for her brain to restart.

"Uh…um…you called…and said you were hanging off a cliff! So David and I…we came to help you," she explained, eyes dropping to the floor. Emma lifted her face again and she noticed that Gold's fingers hadn't stopped massaging her. _Oh, great. This is a sight for Christmas cards, isn't it?_

"I'm not sure Emma's into that kind of thing. You might want to give us a moment, dearie," Gold answered, wrapping the blanket tighter around them for emphasis. _Unless you want to see everything, _Emma inwardly groaned.

"Yeah, uh…Mary Margaret, let's give them a minute…to, uh…finish up," David mumbled as he backed away out of the cabin. Mary Margaret nodded and followed quickly behind. Instantly, Emma was scrambling for her clothes.

"Guess our honeymoon is officially over," Gold stated as he gathered his clothes as well.

And all the while he was smiling. You would never have guessed that, just a few hours ago, he had nearly tumbled off a cliff and met his doom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Phew, that was a long chapter. But it's all for you guys! <strong>_

_**Note: Emma does in fact have a black flower tattoo on the inside of her wrist. I thought it'd be interesting to point that out. I noticed it better in "Red-Handed" than any other, I think. **_

_**Another note: The song Emma sings is "Asleep." I was listening to the Emily Browning version (from "Sucker Punch") while writing. **_

_**So I hope all of you enjoyed that really long chapter. Is everyone ready for the finale yet? **_

_**Now a shout-out (because I can never forget my lovely readers): To DaesGatling, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, Musicalfan2012, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, RandomWriter101, megumisakura, m, jaltax, ParanormalMoonlight, thedoctorsgirl42, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, foxfireOUAT, The Green Eyed Cat, Lyn Harkeran, and DragonRose4. **_

_**You guys rock! Enjoy the finale tonight! **_


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: And, alas, we are back in Storybrooke. As always, the reviews were spectacular and this story continues to get so much love! Thanks, everyone! **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 18 <strong>_

It was hot and stuffy. And it smelled of alcohol, antiseptic, and sickness in general, clogging her nose until she could almost taste it on her tongue. _And to think the last time I was here I was owing Gold a favor. _

"I hate hospitals," Emma mumbled as she impatiently waited for Dr. Whale to return with the results of their examinations.

She'd been poked, prodded, had her vitals checked twice, and had some blood drawn. She'd even had one of those popsicle sticks pressed onto her tongue and now the terrible wooden taste wouldn't leave her mouth.

All she wanted was to go home. _Home…to our pink little house. _

"As do I," Gold replied and for a second she imagined he'd read her thoughts about going home. No, he was just agreeing—he, too, had a disliking of hospitals.

Gold occupied a chair in the corner, rubbing his hands together in agitation. There was a dull beeping in the hallway, the clicking of heels as nurses walked by the exam room, and the incessant crying of a newborn.

Emma could still recall the time Henry was born, the time she'd held him in her arms before he'd been whisked away out of the jail cell. Her heart had never felt so full. What was it like to share that with another person? To bring a child into the world together?

"Do you think…that will be us?" Gold's eyes switched to her, cloudy and tired. His ears picked up the sound of the newborn that had triggered Emma's question. His face filled with unmistakable longing.

"I certainly hope so after our nights of passion. Though, I think I might be getting a bit aged, dear. My…estate is not what it used to be." Emma smiled and drummed her fingers along the examination table where she sat.

"This is coming from the guy who encouraged me to participate in almost five rounds of passion. I think your estate is in perfect, working condition," Emma replied. It was Gold's turn to smile.

"Thank you, dearie," he said softly. "Are you ready…to be a mother yet?" Emma frowned and shook her head, sliding her gaze away to the door.

Why did it always take doctors an eternity to come through that door? Were they sitting behind screens, listening to the types of personal conversations their patients had when they weren't there?

"Hell no," she shot back honestly. "I'm not ready. I'm still reeling from Henry. But it doesn't mean I'm going to say 'definitely not' to the possibility of having another one. It's just…not the right time."

He didn't say anything in response. He only nodded silently just as the exam room door flew open and Dr. Whale appeared, sucking on a candy cane. It was then Emma remembered Christmas was not even two weeks away.

It was odd—she'd never shared Christmas with anyone before. Christmas inside foster homes was…fake. As if she were just an outsider observing another family's time together. And she'd never spent enough time around people to care enough to offer gifts.

But this year, it would be different. No doubt she'd be spending Christmas Day with Henry or even Gold. _Which means I still have to get the kid a gift! What do ten-year olds like? Correct that: what does my ten-year old like? Better yet…what does Gold like? _

Dr. Whale glanced at both of them and balanced the act of sucking the candy cane and checking over their results.

"Well, I can place safe bets that you two aren't dying, aren't about to die, and…you don't have breast cancer." Emma stared at Dr. Whale and she began to wonder if the man even took his job seriously.

"That's quite a relief," Gold mocked him from his chair in the corner. "Here I was afraid I'd have to endure another mammogram."

Dr. Whale's face blanched and he seemed at a loss for words. Emma's body nearly shook trying to hold back the sudden quake of laughter. _Leave it to Gold to render others speechless. _

"Uh…right. Would you…like a cane?" Dr. Whale tilted the candy cane toward him in emphasis. Gold spread his hands wide, pointing out his obviously empty hands.

"I'd love one." Emma quelled the laughter, even though her face was beet red.

"Sorry, doctor. That one's too short for his purposes," she said, joining in on the fun. Dr. Whale was baffled by the two of them, his mouth opening and closing but no coherent words coming out. "Okay, so are we free to go or what?"

Dr. Whale sent a dark look towards Gold and then flashed a grin at Emma. It turned her stomach—it was a white, wolfish grin that practically undressed her.

"Just to make sure…perhaps I should check you over one last time. You said your muscles were aching?"

Dr. Whale circled the table and placed his hands on Emma's shoulders, having chucked the candy cane in the trash on the way by. Gold's eyes narrowed as Dr. Whale peeled back Emma's jacket to inspect her neck and shoulders.

"Well, _doctor,_ I almost went over a cliff trying to save my _husband,_" she deliberately told him, hoping he'd get the hint. _Now take your slimy hands off my skin. _

Dr. Whale never bothered to look at Gold as his hands ran down Emma's arms. She squirmed away from his touch.

"So, what were you two doing before you came in? It was storming out there…"

Dr. Whale tilted his head forward and Gold shot him a piercing glare. The man was trying to sneak a peek down Emma's shirt. Emma noticed too and pulled her jacket tighter around her. _Does this hospital ever hire any other doctors besides this one? _

"Yeah, storming like a bitch," Emma mumbled. "But don't worry. Gold and I found shelter. In a cabin…in the woods…_alone."_ Dr. Whale absently nodded, fixing the collar of his shirt. Gold leaned forward in his seat.

"I can tell you that Emma was moaning profusely," he interjected. Dr. Whale's cold eyes finally landed on Gold. His lips set into a critical line as he studied Emma curiously.

"Moaning?" Gold smirked.

"Oh, yes. Emma was moaning almost endlessly, but not for the reasons you might think. I took quite good care of her during the storm. We spent most of the time on the couch. _Most _of it, anyway. The other remaining portion was spent on the floor. Ending with a pleasant massage, of course. As for the intense aches…I'm sure you're capable of drawing conclusions, _doctor." _

By this time, Dr. Whale had distanced himself from Emma and was now staring at the floor intently. He cleared his throat and made a faint note that the two of them had the cue to leave. He rushed through the door like his shoes were on fire.

Gold stood and ambled over to Emma, who offered her hand for support. He gladly took it, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Okay, I was not moaning _that _much," Emma protested as they traveled through the halls of the hospital. Gold glanced down at her and clung to her waist possessively as they passed the red-faced Dr. Whale.

"Believe me, Emma…your moans easily drowned out the storm."

* * *

><p>The euphoria of the honeymoon was fading fast, the events of the cabin becoming as tasteful as a passing dream. In fact, that marvelous euphoria was slipping through her fingertips even as the yellow Bug turned onto their street and rolled to a stop in front of their pink house. <em>Back to reality, <em>Emma thought somewhat sadly.

Emma remained still as stone inside the car, Gold seated beside her as she studied that pink house. She was reluctant to step out of the car because she was afraid the euphoria truly would vanish like waking from a pleasant daydream.

But at the same time, she knew she would accept the transition back to reality. You could only live in a daydream so long. _But sometimes illusions are better than reality. Henry's book proves that—the kid is living in a fairy tale to escape the dullness of Storybrooke. _

A chill descended on her skin as the heat left the car and she stealthily rubbed her arms for warmth. She hoped Gold didn't notice.

"We'll have to get out of the car at some point, Emma. With my sore leg, I doubt the backseat is the best place for me to warm you up." Emma's hands ceased rubbing. That man noticed everything. Especially when it concerned her.

Emma scrunched her nose at the pink house.

"Would it kill you to paint the house a more reasonable color? Like…white?" Gold's toffee-brown eyes focused on the house as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Then his gaze swiftly returned to her.

"Sure, darling," he murmured. Emma stared fixedly at him.

"Why does that sound like a _'no way in hell'_?" Gold slipped the keys in his pocket and smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, averting his attention.

"Perhaps because it truly is. White is not my choice of color," he replied. Emma gestured to their lovely home.

"And pink is?" She snickered, not even bothering to muffle it with a hand. Gold's lips became tense and serious.

"It is _salmon. _If you must know, the Mayor's home is white. I refuse to have my estate bear the same shade as that unpleasant abode," he explained crossly. Emma shook her head in disbelief.

"First of all, admit it. It…is…_pink!_ A blind person could point that out. Second, if you and Regina are indulging in a game of 'my horse is bigger than your horse', her horse is winning. Third, I am not living in a house that looks like it was made for the Sugar Plum Fairy."

That last word caught Gold's attention. He stared critically at the house and sighed. He held up a finger in response to each of Emma's points.

"_First: _I assure you, dear...my house is _salmon_ and I will never admit otherwise. _Second:_ there is the fine, familiar moral that 'slow and steady wins the race.' Against the Mayor, I never lose. _Third..._Which color would you prefer it? Besides white."

Emma eyed the house for a long, silent moment. Then, she shrugged.

"Paint it…red," she suggested. Red she could handle. Gold nodded once and patted her leg.

"Red it shall be," he agreed as he opened his door and edged out of the car.

Without his cane, he was forced to lean a hand against the car for support. Emma figured she'd save him the trouble and get out of the car herself. Gold seemed impressed.

"And I didn't even need to threaten you with the notion of carrying you over my shoulder," he teased. He extended the crook of his elbow and Emma entwined her arm with his as they started up the path.

"Just so we can return to that hospital with Dr. Ego? No thanks," she said. Gold laughed darkly at that.

"Fear not, Emma. Our good doctor has been fruitlessly pining after Ruby for quite some time. Persistent, I'll give him that. He would not dare look at my wife in such a suggestive manner…_again._"

Gold unlocked the front door and allowed it to swing open. The two of them crossed the threshold together.

"If he did, I'd say he's lucky to be working in a hospital," she replied, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the banister. _I'm not sure which one of us would handle Whale, but I can bet it would definitely be one of us._

Gold approached a hallway closet and opened it. He scrambled inside it for a brief instant and then revealed a cane. Emma quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"What, do you stock up in case you happen to lose your cane while hanging over the edge of a cliff? Or do you just have a cane for every day of the week?" _Oh, God, don't tell me he has a bejeweled cane in there, too. I can only imagine what he'd use that cane for. _

Gold tossed her a look that plainly read '_don't be ridiculous, Emma.' _All the while, he tried out the replacement cane, getting a feel for it.

"The first unwritten rule of being crippled—always keep a spare," Gold advised, running his palm lovingly along the length of the cane. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Oh, really? What's the second rule?" She took a step closer to him, strumming her fingers along the beams of the banister. Gold tapped his cane on the hardwood floor and seemed satisfied with it.

"Learn how to multi-task with your cane. Good for many invaluable uses, I'd say." Emma gave a wry smile.

"Such as…incorporating your cane in the bedroom?" Gold paused to fold his slender fingers on the head of his cane.

"Actually, I was referring to using the cane as leverage for out-of-reach objects and emergency issues during a rousing game of golf…but that scenario works just as well."

Emma tilted her head in curiosity.

"_You _play _golf?"_ In her mind, she pictured Gold wearing one of those goofy golfing outfits and yelling "Fore!" and had to hide the amused grin inching across her lips.

"As a matter of fact, the DA once invited me to a game of golf," he mentioned casually. _Probably because he was hoping you'd strike a deal with him and lose, therefore weaseling out of owing you money. And the poor fellow would be stupid to believe it'd actually work. _

"And?" Gold deliberately kept her guessing for an unnerving minute.

"And…I won. Needless to say, the DA never proposed a rematch. He did have a lovely wife, though. Always cheered for me." Emma's eyes widened and it only took him a heartbeat to understand her interpretation. "Not like _that_, Emma. Haven't you heard? The only one I truly 'cheer' for is you," he assured her, making air-quotes around the word 'cheer.'

She was unaware that she had come closer until his body was half an arm's length away.

"I'm honored. Is there a third unwritten rule in that twisted mind of yours?" Gold flashed his teeth at her. There was a devilish glint in his eyes and she deciphered the message flawlessly: _Oh, dearie…I thought you'd never ask. _

"Of course there is. Very simple, really. Always know when your cane is no longer necessary." Just like that, the cane tumbled from Gold's fingers and clattered noisily to the floor. His hands gently smoothed across her arms, drawing her closer.

Swooping in, Gold placed a rather passionate kiss on her lips. Instantly, Emma reciprocated, her hands dancing along his chest. The heady sensation of Gold's mouth on hers was much too tempting.

Which was why she regretted to be the one to break the kiss.

"First things first: I need…" Gold hardly hesitated in trailing his lips down her neck. _Oh, boy, that is distracting. _"…to do laundry, otherwise…" Her brain fizzled as Gold's teeth grazed the lobe of her ear, his breath warming her skin. _Need to…do…laundry…_She placed a hand against his chest and urged him backwards. "Otherwise, I will have nothing to wear."

Gold lifted his head to give her a purposeful once-over. She felt exposed and vulnerable, like his brown eyes could see directly through her clothes or something. Straight into her soul, even.

"I fail to understand the issue at hand, Emma. Less is more," he stated, stroking the hem of her shirt. Emma lightly punched him on the chest and wiggled out of his embrace. "Very well. I'll be meeting with the painter personally. My favorite suit is still upstairs in the closet. You should be able to recognize it."

_Considering you nearly ruined it before, _the unspoken string of words sliced through the air. Emma huffed, blowing a strand of flaxen hair from her forehead.

"What do I look like? A maid?"

Gold bent to retrieve his cane and she could have sworn he took his sweet time doing it so she could get a full glimpse of the man that was entitled to her. She blushed just as he turned around and she felt like she had been caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"No, dearie. Just my wife."

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, Emma dashed downstairs to retrieve the clothes from the dryer.<p>

Sometimes, it was a pain not having permanent roots and many things because it meant either lounging in old, worn clothes or wandering around the house in a bra and panties. _Lacy_ bra and panties, since being Gold's wife naturally meant he would provide her with the best he could offer.

So she opted for the worn clothes. Knowing Gold, especially with the all too recent memory of the cabin, the two of them would find it difficult to leave the house if faced with that latter option.

And there was still Henry to deal with. She could bet the kid wasn't hiding in their black-silk-sheeted bed.

Emma threw open the dryer and pulled out her jeans, shirts, and her red bra and panties. She dropped them in a laundry basket and then reached in for Gold's white undershirt and charcoal suit.

And as she did, her eyes widened like a deer's in headlights. _Oh, damn. _

Gold's favorite suit—or at least part of his favorite suit—was pink. Her eyes immediately lowered to the red bra, panties, and one crimson long-sleeved turtleneck piled in the basket. _Oh, damn. Domestic duties are so not my thing. Maybe…maybe he won't notice it. Yeah, right. At least it matches his house. It'd be perfect for Christmas cards. _

Maybe she could fix this. She just needed to switch over the laundry—

Gold's firm footsteps sounded on the stairs and she shoved the ruined suit behind her back. Gold eyed her suspiciously as he approached her. Having just taken a shower, he was clad in a black bathrobe. She knew that underneath it, the most he'd be wearing was undergarments.

"Emma, where are the suits I laid out on our bed?" _Our_ bed. Suits. Emma inwardly groaned.

After placing this batch of clothes in the dryer, she'd re-entered the bedroom to find the suits laying on the bed, as well as the one he'd shed before hopping into the shower.

She'd assumed the suits were to be washed. And in the washer they went. And in the washer they were right now. _Which means his favorite suit might very well be the only suit he has to wear. Oh, damn it. _

"Being the good wife, I figured you wanted them washed," she said, motioning her head to the washer. Gold glanced at it, but did not seem upset. Yet. _Oh, just wait until you see what's behind my back. Maybe he'll head upstairs and I can fix this. _

"How very considerate of you. The painter will be here in a matter of minutes. My favorite suit, if you please." Gold extended his hand, waiting for it. Emma froze, his words reverberating around her head. _A matter of minutes. Favorite suit…_"Is there a problem, dear?"

Emma licked her lips and hoped there was nothing in her face that would reveal her mistake.

"No, there's no problem. It's…in the basket," she jerked her head toward the basket. Gold never even checked it. A knowing smile crossed his face.

"Is that so? For having the ability to tell when others are lying, Emma, you make a poor liar yourself." Gold nudged the basket out of the way and inched closer to her. Heat coursed through her face and she squeezed the suit into a ball behind her back. "What's in your hand?"

Emma revealed a hand, wiggling her fingers to show there was nothing there.

"This hand?" Gold leveled his gaze at her, silently warning her he had no time for games.

"The other hand," he demanded. Emma pulled her hand back and quickly switched the suit behind her back. When she revealed her other hand, that one was empty now as well.

"See? Nothing." Gold leaned forward, his eyes surprisingly serious and dark. Emma frowned and clenched the suit tight in her grip.

"_Emma…" _

There was a clear warning in his voice as he extended his hand again. She knew she had no choice. Averting her gaze, she carefully placed the bundle that was his suit in his hands. It was unbearably silent as he inspected the damage.

It felt like an hour had passed by the time she peeked at his expression. He was clearly unhappy; the edges of his lips were turned down and he could not stop staring at the shade of pink.

"Whoops," she murmured, shrugging. Gold lowered the suit and released a stressed breath through his nose. Finally, his eyes trained on her again.

"Emma, what do you suppose I wear now that I am suitless? I doubt the painter would be as excited by my bathrobe as you." She shook her head, racking her brain for an answer.

"We could at least try the suit," she suggested, much to his obvious dismay.

"I think I'd prefer the bathrobe."

* * *

><p>After a good deal of arguing, she managed to convince him to try out his new and not-much-improved favorite suit. As he spread his hands apart from his body, waiting for her opinion, Emma studied him like a stylist would study a customer.<p>

"It's…it's not _that _bad," she choked out. Before she was even done with the sentence, a laugh was threatening to rise out of her throat. She had never seen Gold wear pink before, but it was…enlightening. "It'll work for Valentine's Day."

Gold forced a cold grin.

"Trust me, Emma. This suit will _not_ be on my body on Valentine's Day." _Or, if the right cards are played, any suit for that matter. _There was a sudden knock on the door. Gold's grin vanished. "That'll be the painter."

Emma's eyes bugged as she followed his suited form to the door. She trailed behind him and the stairs tormented her like a splendid glass of water in the desert. _Maybe I could just…_

"Good luck with the painter," she muttered quickly, her foot finding the first step. Gold spun and caught her arm, dragging her back down until she was standing beside him.

"Oh, no you don't. It was your poor domestic skills that caused this mess and now you shall bear it with me as my lovely wife," he breathed in her ear as he answered the door.

Emma didn't even try to smile at the kid—which was in fact what he was. No older than nineteen, she imagined. He had heavily-lidded, tired eyes and was wearing white overalls, complete with a white cap decorated with a red diamond.

"_Painting the pink house red, painting the pink house red," _the kid was softly singing under his breath before he noticed them.

His eyes scanned Mr. Gold's suit and a goofy grin appeared. Emma buried her head in her hand as the kid scratched his head.

"I don't get it. Do you want me to paint the house or that suit?"

* * *

><p>That night, after mulling over the disaster that was the meeting with the painter and having selected a satisfying shade of red for the house, Emma lightly knocked on Gold's bedroom door. Her arms were full with the laundry basket, filled to the brim with his washed—and thankfully <em>not pink<em>—suits.

Through the door, she heard his rich voice offering her permission to enter and she did, after first awkwardly grabbing the doorknob. She stumbled into the room to find Gold nearly ready for sleep. She shifted the basket in her arms.

"I, uh…finished with the laundry," she stated the obvious, her gaze staring pointedly at the pile of clothes in the basket. "Thought I should bring it up to you before you complain about having to go naked to the shop tomorrow."

Gold grimaced at her hint of a quip and tilted his head toward the closet, where she could store the clothes for now. She silently did that while Gold remained perched on the edge of his bed, watching her movements.

When she was finished, Emma raked a hand through her hair and bit down on her lip—she was never good at swallowing her fierce pride.

"And…I'm sorry for the mess today. It'll never happen again," she promised, heading for the door. She could feel Gold's eyes burning into her back.

"I expect it won't, Emma. You're a smart woman. Never make the same mistake twice, I imagine," he said softly. She wondered if he were referring to her mistake with Henry now. That's what it had been—giving him up had been a mistake.

Emma paused on the threshold of his room and weaved her fingers together. In truth, there had been another reason she had come to his room. And Gold had not offered another word after that, even as she was meaning to return to the couch downstairs.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her husband. He was watching her admiringly.

"Look, I know I won the bet. I can sleep wherever I want," she started and Gold straightened slightly, attentive to her every word. He half-smiled as he settled the covers over his lap.

"That was the deal. And I am never one to break my word. You may sleep wherever you wish." Emma nodded. She should have been satisfied with that. _Something changed. _

"Right. Would you mind…if I slept in here? The couch is…not the most comfortable place."

They both knew there were other bedrooms in the house, but they also both knew that she was not intending to sleep in any of them. Gold smiled and patted the empty spot next to him.

Emma crossed the room and slipped into the bed, her back facing Gold. There was a groan of the bed as Gold moved, the light went out, and then it was just the two of them together. Almost instantly, Gold snuggled close to her, his body fitting perfectly with hers, but she didn't mind tonight.

Lightly, he lifted her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"The couch was uncomfortable, hmm?" Emma took back her hand and Gold wrapped his arm around her waist instead. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"It was! And we both know your bed is the most comfortable in the house," she retorted, burying her face in the heavenly pillow beneath her head. Gold brushed her hair out of the way and laid a kiss on her shoulder now.

"Oh, yes. I know." The warmth of Gold's embrace lulled Emma to sleep and she promptly drifted off in his arms, but not without one last kiss on her forehead. "Good night, Emma."

* * *

><p><strong>Another long chapter to satisfy my readers (and…do my ears deceive me? My readers are thirsting for more!) <strong>

**Thanks again for the fabulous reviews! Here's a shout-out to DaesGatling, olverabonk, Musicalfan2012, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, KendraLuehr (Hey! You recognized "How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days"—rock on!), megumisakura, Notsureyet18, Twyla Mercedes, dontleavetonight, RandomWriter101, the doctorsgirl42, sailorbebe, yuiop, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, The Green Eyed Cat, DragonRose4, lexiblack09, ParanormalMoonlight, FranzF(glad you found the Abridged!), and FallenHope19. **

**I simply could not ask for better readers! Thanks so much, guys! **


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: I know you guys mostly enjoy the long chapters, so here is another one for you. And here we go! **_

_**Chapter 19**_

When Emma awoke the next morning, well-rested and less achy, the first thing she did was stretch her arm towards the spot beside her in search of her husband. It was mostly the morning chill that was urging her awake—she wanted the warmth of his embrace back.

Her palm landed flat on the silk sheets, the pillow missing a head. Her eyes snapped open—Gold was already gone. _Figures. It's only…what time is it? _

The covers had been thrown back on his side and an indent still rested on the pillow where his head had been. Emma curled into a ball, lounging in the middle of the bed. She really did not want to get up and have goose-bumps marking her skin.

Then, her stomach grumbled, demanding she move her ass to the kitchen. _Fine, fine. I'm up. Quit your complaining, _she mentally groaned as she stretched and eased herself out of bed.

Emma took her sweet time making it to the kitchen, which had the lingering aroma of breakfast. There was a plate on the table, covered with tin foil. Peeling it back, steam rose into the air as she feasted her eyes on bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes, and sausages.

A note was propped up beside it and she decided to read that first, all the while licking the extra grease off her fingers. _Emma, I've put aside some breakfast for you. I figured it best not to chance your domestic abilities to burn the house down while I'm running the shop. _

Emma rolled her eyes at the note. She could picture Gold smirking as the pen scratched across the paper. _Ha, ha, Gold. Good to know you have faith in me. Though I guess I deserve it after that laundry incident. _

There was more to the note—Emma scanned it as she located a fork.

_That reminds me. I'll be late opening the shop this morning. Before you get curious and jump to conclusions, it's just a bit of business concerning the late Sheriff Graham's belongings. Once you wake up—I'm assuming you're awake by now since you are reading this note—I'd like for you to stop by the shop. Enjoy your breakfast, darling. _

Emma re-read the note twice before dropping it back on the table. She would inevitably make a trip to his shop, but first she'd scarf down her breakfast. The smell of it was tempting her taste buds.

In the fridge, she found a carton of orange juice waiting for her. She wondered if it was because Gold sensed she wasn't the tea type or if he doubted she could even arrange a cup without causing the 2012 prediction to come true. In any case, orange juice would do.

She located the glasses in one of the cupboards. Before she could close it, though, something caught her eye. On the top shelf, she could see the edge of a cup, but there was something about the cup that peaked her interest.

Leaving the juice and glass on the table, Emma reached up and nudged the teacup closer to the edge. It toppled off the shelf and she caught it in her hands. _Phew, that was close. The last thing I need is for Gold to notice that I broke one of his teacups. _

Emma cradled the cup in her palms, turning it over. Her brow furrowed as she caught one specific detail: the rim of the cup contained a jagged chip.

_A chipped cup. _Instantly, her mind flashed to Phoenix and Gold's story. The cup wasn't dusty at all, which suggested Gold often took it down from the cupboard. _A sentimental chipped cup? His story was true, at least partially. There was a girl that got away. Or else it's just odd coincidence. _

Emma carefully stowed the teacup back on the shelf, wondering about the type of girl to which Gold may have lost his heart.

_Well, Gold happens to be skilled at three things, at least. Making deals, cooking a mouth-watering breakfast and…the cabin explains the rest. _

* * *

><p>Before heading for Gold's shop, Emma found Mary Margaret in the diner.<p>

Clad in her usual unbuttoned cardigan and dress, she was sitting alone amongst the bustling crowd reading a romance novel. She was blushing a great deal; the teacher never even heard Emma approach the booth.

"Wow, that book must be heavily descriptive," Emma announced. Mary Margaret jumped, the book flying out of her hand and whacking someone in the head. The person rubbed their scalp and whirled around.

It was Dr. Whale.

"What the hell…?" His cold eyes landed on Emma and he grinned once he realized she was absent of a particular powerful, cane-wielding husband. "Oh, Emma. You know, there are much better ways of getting my attention than throwing a book at my head."

Mary Margaret leaned down to retrieve her book, murmuring an apology, but Dr. Whale never gave her a second glance. If it weren't for the small size of the town, he probably wouldn't have remembered her name. _You ridiculous, slimy moron. When will you ever get the hint? _

Emma forced a smile and drifted over to his table. Mary Margaret laid the book in her lap and watched the scene with surprised eyes.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she muttered, leaning over the table. Dr. Whale shifted backwards in his chair, probably hoping to get a nice view of her rear end.

Abruptly, Emma picked up his plate of food and dumped it over his head. Egg splattered his hair, grease clung to his skin and clothes.

"You see? Now you look every bit the grease ball you really are." Emma slammed the plate down on the table.

The diner was silent as they observed Dr. Whale, spewing out bits of egg from his lips. Even Ruby had stalled while pouring coffee, the hot liquid flooding over the top of Sydney's cup and splashing onto the table. Mary Margaret had her mouth open in shock.

Then, the diner exploded in laughter and murmurs.

Dr. Whale wiped the grease off his face and stumbled out the door, cursing under his breath as he thrust a handful of bills at Ruby.

Emma settled into Mary Margaret's booth as the diner filled with chatter over what happened. _Good crowd. Always thirsty for entertainment. _

"So…where were we?" Emma focused on Mary Margaret, who was still slow moving. Her green eyes were dazed, like she just woke up from a dream.

"Well, you mentioned my book must be heavily detailed…why?" Emma watched Mary Margaret set the book on the table and she noticed the somewhat seductive cover. Mary Margaret quickly flipped it over.

"Because you were blushing like a nun that accidentally cursed in church," Emma pointed out. And Mary Margaret's cheeks were still rosy with heat. She fumbled with the napkin on the table, her hands shaking.

"Was it that obvious?" Ruby glided over to their table, pouring Mary Margaret a cup of coffee. _Thank God it didn't spill this time. _

"Pretty much," the waitress intercepted. She tilted her head at the book. "Steamy book, huh? Oh, hey, Emma. Nice job with Dr. Whale." Ruby winked and bounced off. Mary Margaret sipped her coffee and then bit her lip—she wanted to say something.

"Sorry again…for walking in on you…in the cabin—" Emma rested a hand on Mary Margaret's reassuringly.

"Save it. It could have been worse. You could have caught us during one of our 'rounds.'" Mary Margaret began blushing again and Emma removed her hand. "Never mind. Let's never bring this up again, okay?"

Mary Margaret nodded frantically and Emma wondered if she was actually trying to shake an embarrassing mental image out of her head. _And according to Henry, she's my mother. So, technically, my mother walked in on me having sex with Gold. That'll be wonderful if we ever have a family reunion. _

"Right. At least you survived the honeymoon," Mary Margaret sighed, taking a generous gulp of her coffee and making a face when she burned her tongue. Emma's mind flooded with moments from Louisiana, Georgia, their trip to Friendly's, Phoenix. _If you think that was bad, you should have been there when we broke the bed. Twice. _

"It wasn't…that bad," she admitted, playing with the wedding ring on her finger. It was something she had seen Mary Margaret do while she was lost in thought and now she had picked it up. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow.

"I heard," she said, referring to Ruby's phone call. "I'm happy for you two. It seems like you're really starting to figure things out. Maybe you'll even learn to lo—

Emma leaped over and covered Mary Margaret's mouth with her hand. The word finished, but it was muffled.

"Do _not _say the 'L' word!" Like a genie, Ruby popped up out of nowhere, arms full with food. An amused spark brightened her eyes.

"Lesbian?"

Emma took her hand back. A couple of people had turned their heads at that word and Emma was grateful she was no longer living in Mary Margaret's apartment. She didn't need perverse rumors flying about.

"No, the _other _'L' word," Emma clarified. Ruby scrunched up her nose in thought and then understanding washed over her face.

"Oh…you mean _love!"_ Emma groaned. A few tables away, a red-eyed Leroy was watching their exchange intently.

"Ruby!"

Mary Margaret stifled a giggle, staring at Emma sympathetically. Ruby never seemed to register Emma's discomfort. She was on a roll, practically bouncing on her toes. _I should have just gone to Gold's shop. The creepy puppets would be easier to handle than this conversation. _

"So, it's true! You're in _love _with _Mr. Gold!_ Oh, I am _so _winning this bet! You hear that, Leroy? You better schedule your session with Archie, 'cause you're going to need it after Christmas!" Leroy just grumbled and shot down his drink.

"And it'll be _my_ present when you don't have enough money to pay your rent and the gimp tosses you out on the street. Maybe then you'll realize your true calling. On a nice cozy street corner." Ruby rushed over and slapped Leroy, the smack reverberating around the diner.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as Ruby moved on, after first leaving a red handprint on Leroy's bearded face. Mary Margaret leaned forward and smiled.

"Well, I think it's a good thing. Everyone deserves a chance at lo…at happiness," she stumbled over the 'L' word. Emma shrugged.

"Yeah, it was good…until we almost sailed over a cliff. And you walked in on us. And we got home and I washed his suit. And there were red clothes in there, so it turned pink…" Mary Margaret's body was trembling as she sucked down a laugh. It burst out and the teacher buried her head in her hands. "I know it was a disaster."

Mary Margaret lifted her head again and controlled her laughter.

"No… I mean, yes it was a disaster, but Emma…you're not the domestic type, are you?" Emma leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. Her lips pinched in a pout.

"How can you tell?" Mary Margaret offered a look of pity and Emma sighed. "Oh, come on! Domestic is not my thing! I've jumped through the system my whole life and I've never had a husband let alone act like his caretaker! I mean…maid."

Mary Margaret's face contorted with puzzlement.

"What's the difference?" Emma choked back a dry laugh. _Oh, if you only knew. I'll spare you the inside joke. I don't know if Gold's 'estate' can handle all the attention if Ruby finds out. _

"Oh, trust me. With Gold, there's a difference," she griped. A dawning light hit Mary Margaret's face as an idea rose in her mind.

"Emma, maybe I could _teach_ you to be domestic. Teach you how to cook, and all the do's and don'ts of your wifely duties."

Emma was glad she wasn't sipping anything because she was sure it would spew out her nose. _Oh, believe me. I can handle Gold's expectations for wifely duties…it's just the other tasks. Guess I never read the monthly wife manual. _

"Why? So I can end up a pristine, buttoned-up, nun-type like you? Look, when you get married, I might consider those lessons." Mary Margaret frowned a little at the nun comment and her eyes wandered around the diner.

"I am not a nun. And I might get married one day," she stated confidently. Emma shifted around in her seat to observe the handful of Storybrooke citizens in the diner. There were a few guys and even fewer candidates.

"Take your pick," Emma humored her, gesturing around the diner. Mary Margaret's eyes flickered around and then grew soft.

"Well, Archie's…nice," she offered. Emma glanced at Archie, who was reading the newspaper and fixing his glasses whenever they slid down his nose. _Snow White and Jiminy Cricket. Now there's a strange pairing for you, kid. Wonder what their kids would look like. _

"_You _would marry _Archie?"_ Mary Margaret's shoulders slumped as her gaze returned to Emma.

"You married Mr. Gold," she shot back, surprising Emma completely. _Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret? _Still, there was no arguing with that point. A person would have to be mad to marry someone like Mr. Gold. _And even madder to actually admit to liking him. _

"Touché," Emma mumbled, turning back around in her seat. Mary Margaret's face became solemn, as if she were truly longing for something out of reach.

"Besides, who else is there?" _Leave it to me to have to state the obvious, _Emma thought.

"Gee, I don't know. David?" Mary Margaret's lips pressed into a thin line and Emma realized she was ready to ignore that comment. "Oh, don't pretend you're not still thinking about him. You're blushing again."

Mary Margaret lifted a hand to her face to feel it warming with a pink hue.

"I'm not thinking about him!" Emma gave her a serious, no-nonsense look. _Right. And Gold will suddenly do cartwheels down the street. _Mary Margaret broke. "Okay, maybe a little bit. I just…I just wish there was a way to get him out of my head."

Ruby rushed by, but her heels cooled upon hearing Mary Margaret's woeful wish.

"When in doubt, turn to alcohol. It's what Leroy does," she suggested, motioning harshly to Leroy. Leroy overheard and stood, his glass in his hand. He teetered unsteadily for a minute.

"Hey, sister! This is only my third drink. I can even do the balance test!"

Leroy circled the table and started walking in a line. Ruby laughed when the drunken man stumbled and nearly toppled over a table where Sydney Glass was sitting. Coffee splashed all over the reporter's suit.

"Oh, yeah, Leroy. You really passed that one," Ruby scoffed. She dashed off to get something to clean the mess with. Leroy straightened and scratched his nearly bald head.

"Alright, fine. But I can definitely recite the alphabet backwards. Z, Y, X…" Leroy paused to think.

"W," Ruby hinted, slapping a cloth down over the spilled coffee. Sydney didn't look very pleased and Emma wondered if this would make the headlines. _Town Drunk Assaults Reporter While Reciting ABC's Backwards! _

"W, V, U…uh…T," Leroy continued and Emma pounded her fist on the table. Leroy's bloodshot eyes wearily landed on her. Ruby whipped the coffee-stained towel across his head.

"Leroy, either quit reciting the ABCs or I'll throw you in the jail cell for being annoying in public," Emma threatened, the drunken man getting on her last nerve. Leroy guffawed, obviously not thinking she was serious. Then, he shuffled away.

Mary Margaret was staring at a bottle of alcohol on the bar thoughtfully and Emma tapped her wrist.

"There's no way I'm carting a drunken Mary Margaret into a jail cell. With my luck, you'll be the singing type and you and Leroy will put on karaoke." Mary Margaret latched onto something that Emma had yet to consider.

"So, you _are_ thinking of becoming Sheriff. Poor Graham…You're just what this town needs. Someone to fight for it." _Here we go with the savior crap again. Does everyone drink crazy juice in this town? _

"Yeah, Gold's convinced me to lean towards it. Not like Regina's going to play fair. Which reminds me—I need to stop by Gold's shop. He wants to talk." Emma slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Mary Margaret watched her retreating back.

"Good luck," she called out and Emma waved in acknowledgement. Ruby paused close by and also watched Emma leave. Then she grinned mischievously.

"_Talk, _huh? I bet they do it on his desk."

Mary Margaret gasped, even as she was picturing that scenario in her mind. She was starting think that she really didn't need that romance novel, anymore. Ruby was filling the air with enough raunchy suggestions.

"Ruby…" But the waitress only smirked. Under her breath, she started to sing with excitement.

"_I'm going to win that bet…I'm going to win that bet…"_

* * *

><p>It was only the second time Emma had entered Gold's pawnshop.<p>

The first time around, she had been exploring Storybrooke and had gotten curious about his shop since no one ever seemed to go in. She had looked around for only a minute or so, all the while having Gold breathing down her neck, his brown eyes devouring her like a juicy steak.

_And I have learned my lesson. No wonder no one goes inside. It's a wonder he sells anything at all. That must be why our living room has become a second pawn shop. _

Except now she was his wife. And he wanted to "talk." _Kind of difficult to talk if he jams his tongue down my throat. _

The bell jingled to announce her presence, but Gold was nowhere to be seen. Those puppets were staring at her and it unsettled her. _If he's not going to sell those things, can he at least stuff them in a closet? They're certainly not coming home with us. _

"Gold? You here?" No response. She made her way around the counter and swept aside the curtain leading to the back room.

He was sitting behind his desk, lines etching his forehead as he concentrated on the task in front of him. He barely glanced up, but his lips curved upwards knowingly.

"Emma. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever heed my request. And I trust our home is still in one piece," he said as he dipped a brush into a bowl and coated a piece of cloth with some odd substance.

"Yeah, it is. Did you ever doubt it would be…? Oh," she moaned as she started forward. Her eyes watered and her nose burned as she caught an overwhelming whiff of that stuff Gold was using. _Please tell me that is not his new cologne. _"What the _hell _is that?"

Emma shielded her nose with a hand. Gold paused as he soaked the brush again. The smell didn't seem to bother him.

"Lanolin," he offered, a gloved hand carefully rotating the bundle on his desk. "Most useful for waterproofing. It was also commonly used on sheepskin."

Emma made the mistake of inhaling through her nose and coughed at the sudden invasion of lanolin. She could describe it in just a few words.

"It stinks," she protested, blocking her nose. "I swear, if you come home smelling like that, you're sleeping on the couch."

Gold dropped the brush into the bowl and snapped off the gloves. He folded his hands atop his desk and drank her in. She was convinced he would begin salivating.

"Oh, Emma. You'd kick me out of my own bed?" Emma forced herself to remove her hand so she could stop talking like a chipmunk. The lanolin wasn't so bad now. _But it still smells. _

"I'm the wife. It's one of my privileges." Gold eased himself out of his chair and closed in on her. Emma hardly flinched.

"Is that so? The way I see it…you gave up that privilege once you ruined my favorite suit," he retorted in a low voice. Emma narrowed her eyes, but he held up a hand to command her attention. "If anything, it should be _me _who confines _you_ to the couch."

Emma waited to see if he had finished.

"Your suit is not ruined! It's just…pink. And I don't care if I had to steal your cane, tempt you downstairs, and then hogtie you on that couch, but you wouldn't be sleeping next to me smelling like livestock." Gold seemed to find that amusing.

"I see you're still wearing the Deputy badge," he pointed out, motioning a hand to the badge that rested on her hip. Emma glanced down at it. "It's been two weeks." _Yeah, two fine weeks of losing my sanity to Gold. And it has yet to find its way back to me. _

"And I'm supposed to believe you're actually staring at my badge?" Gold tilted his head and maintained an innocent look. _I am so glad I'm not the kind of deputy that wears her badge around her neck. It'd give him an excuse to leer or even "accidentally" make second base. _

"Emma, are you insinuating that I am secretly leering at your lovely feminine graces? Especially since our time in Louisiana and the cabin has made it easier for me to picture you in your…naked glory?"

Emma stared pointedly at him.

"You obviously wanted me to come down here for a reason. Please don't tell me it was a devious plan to re-enact those five rounds of passion on your desk." Gold glanced back at his desk, silent like he was actually considering that scenario.

"As tempting as that is, darling…unfortunately that is not the reason. If you'll follow me…" Gold moved past her and swept aside the curtain. Fresh air urged Emma in the direction of the front of his shop.

"Gladly," she murmured as Gold let the curtain fall back into place. From beneath the counter, he revealed a cardboard box filled with what looked like keepsakes. "Let me guess: your family photos, birth certificate, and yearbook that claims you have the "Longest Cane" or "Most Impressive Estate?"

Gold rifled through the box, ignoring her petty comment.

"Belongings of the late Sheriff Graham. I figured you might want to keep something…as a token of remembrance." Emma declined. Her eyes spotted a certificate and she couldn't resist pulling it out. _Oh, wow. _

"Graham's last name was _Humbert_?" Emma snickered for a moment. _Sheriff Graham Humbert. No wonder he always went by 'Graham'. God rest his soul. _Gold lightly smiled, taking back the certificate and dropping it in the box.

"Emma Humbert. Hmm…doesn't quite have the same ring to it as 'Emma Gold', does it?" Emma crossed her arms and frowned.

"Well, at least Graham didn't go around trying to jilt pregnant women out of their babies," Emma shot back. No, Graham was the kind to cradle the babies and willingly shove a pie in his face to make them laugh.

"Yes, but Sheriff Graham also cried whenever Leroy managed to crash a car into a deer during one of his drunken rampages. Always shouting that it was 'Bambi all over again.'" Emma half-closed her eyes as sadness washed over her.

"Graham…he was a good man," she whispered. Gold nodded once.

"Indeed he was. I'm sure Regina's bed will be quite lonely on Christmas night," he remarked. His hand settled on one of the walkie-talkies. In another second, he was holding them out to her. "Please. At least take these…for Henry."

Emma hesitantly accepted them. If anything, Henry would use them for Operation: Cobra. She looked at Gold wistfully and noticed that a sad, distant look had swarmed his normally sharp brown eyes.

"Your time with your boy is precious. Children—they grow so fast. Before you know it…you lose them," he solemnly advised her. Emma's throat grew tight as she realized Gold must be speaking from experience again. He did that often, without any intention of ever opening up.

"Did you…have any kids?" Emma watched his eyes shift to almost black, his fingers curling over the edge of the counter, his body becoming stiff as a statue. It seemed as if he wasn't even breathing.

At long last, Gold inclined his head slowly, as if moving through water.

"Yes. A son," he revealed, his accented voice barely audible.

Emma's heart constricted as another question touched the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to pry, but she couldn't help the curiosity rising, bubbling to the surface and itching her mind…

"What happened to him?" Gold never met her gaze. It reminded her of Phoenix when he was telling his story. He was barricading himself in his mind, constructing a brick wall between them. _Don't shut me out. Don't put up any more walls. _

"I lost him." That was it. Three words. _In other words…your son died. He was probably older than I am. That family reunion just keeps on getting better. _

But, somehow, this was different. Gold used the word "lost"; spoke it as if he were referring to car keys that he'd absently chucked on the table. _I lost my keys. I lost him. Where's Waldo: Father's Day Edition. _

The silence was unbearable, neither of them daring to look at each other. It was like they were on the teacups at Disney World; spinning rapidly in two different circulations, never quite touching. _Okay, this has stretched on long enough. Moving on. _

"While I'm here, I should probably get something for Henry. For Christmas," Emma blurted out. The sharp, attentive quality returned to Gold's eyes and he visibly straightened, all business.

"Luckily, Emma, I think I have just the gift for Henry," he hinted, vanishing into the back room again. He made no inclination for her to follow, so she wandered to one of the other display cases where a stuffed Mickey Mouse was smiling next to a tea set. _Hope there's no alcohol at that tea party. _

She wondered what Regina would get Henry. Did she ever make his Christmases special? Did she ever fill his stocking over the fireplace or allow him to decorate a tree in the living room? Did they ever play Christmas music and sing along until they were heady with cheer and full of candy canes?

Would there even be presents under his tree? _Clothes? Shoes? A dartboard designed with my face? _

The curtain billowed and Gold reappeared carrying something under his arm. He laid it on the counter. It was an old, leather-bound copy of _Grimm's Fairy Tales. _Right up Henry's alley.

_Just what the kid needs. More encouragement for his theory. I'm sure Archie and Regina would appreciate that gift—it'll simply mean extra sessions after school and less time with me. At least it's better than a dartboard of Regina's face. Actually, that might not be a bad idea. _

"Great. He'll love it," Emma murmured as she reached for it. Gold conveniently slid it backwards, away from her. Glaring, she knew exactly what he wanted.

"Really? You would make your wife pay?" Gold rested his elbow on the cover of the book. He made a show of casually examining his nails as he waited for Emma's cooperation.

"Every little bit counts," he replied, flexing his fingers.

"Towards what? An elderly scooter that you can use to run down Regina?" Gold was silent, waiting. Waiting. Emma sighed. "How much?" She started checking her pockets for money, but Gold stopped her with a hand. His enthusiasm was miraculously renewed.

"I don't care for your money, Emma. How about…a promise?"

Emma scrutinized him. Her insides were turning, warning her that something was off. Just because she had enjoyed her time with him in that cabin did not mean she entirely forgot who she was dealing with. _Storybrooke's devil in the making. _

"A promise? Of what, exactly? Not to burn the house down?" Gold smirked at her, his hand brushing a piece of fallen blonde hair from her face.

"Promise…to stay with me." Emma felt a great weight lift off her shoulders. Here she was expecting something worse, like promising never to turn his suit pink again. Like promising to a night of tending to his every request.

That was it? And it wasn't like she was even planning on leaving him, anyway. Not yet, at least. The cabin very well established that. And Henry would be happy with the book.

"Deal," she declared. Gold nudged the book closer to her. As she swept it up and started off, he limped in the direction of the back room where his livestock-smelling lanolin waited. _What else does he do to keep himself preoccupied without customers? Actually…I'd rather not ask. _

"Oh, Emma," he called her back. She half-turned, the book and walkie-talkies cradled in her arms. He was smiling mischievously. A dangerous expression on Gold. "Just wait until you see what I've gotten you for Christmas."

And then he slipped behind the curtain like the man from _Wizard of Oz. Pay no attention to your creepy husband lurking behind the curtain. _

Emma could only imagine her gift and it was only a matter of time before she found out what it was. _I swear, if he hands me a gift basket with McDonalds, handcuffs, rope, those puppets, and sexy lingerie, I'm officially referring him to Archie. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>I was originally going to make this chapter a little but longer, but alas—it is not. Don't worry, though because my inspiration for this story has been increasing lately. <strong>_

_**And one thousand thank-yous to my lovely reviewers! DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, Lyn Harkeran, megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, Twyla Mercedes, Musicalfan2012, The Green Eyed Cat, Notsureyet18, RandomWriter101, sailorbebe, anche, the doctorsgirl42, oogie0811, classicshe, Iwannabegoldnrumpeled, and GwenCooper456. **_

_**You guys are always so awesome! **_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: Wow, chapter 20 already. But no worries—I don't plan to wrap this up for a while yet. And all my readers/reviewers have been awesome so far! Thank you everyone! Enjoy the next chapter—it's based around Desperate Souls. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>_

Emma found Henry at his castle, which was really just a cheap wooden structure near the water.

It was a place he could go to escape Regina, formulate theories about fairy tales being real, and hide stuff that he never wanted Regina to find. Like Apollo candy bars, violent comic books, and a list of ways to strike back against the Evil Queen. _Put a snake in the shower—check. Trip her on stairs with shoes—check. Fix her alarm clock so that "Happy Happy Joy Joy" plays repeatedly—check. _

_I wonder why Regina never thinks to look for him here. She's always checking at the ice cream shop or the emergency room. Strange. Maybe she's afraid Henry will push her in the water and rid of her that way. Maybe she melts like the Wicked Witch. _

Emma had dropped the book off at home and came bearing a different gift. Besides the pathetic walkie-talkies. _He can't say I wasn't thinking of him. I just…wasn't thinking about him the whole time. _

"Hey, kid. I've got you something," she hinted, handing him a thin box. She plopped down beside him and immediately hissed. _Okay, either that was the tip of a pencil or I just got a sliver in my ass. Is that even possible? How the hell am I even getting it out? _

Henry was frowning today, even when he turned the box over to see that it was maple sugar candy.

"We stopped in Vermont on the way back. I know Regina doesn't let you have candy. You should probably hide that here or under your pillow or she'll come after me with a blowtorch."

Henry nodded and placed the box beside him. He stared off into the distance. She nudged him.

"Kid, what you heard…on the phone—"

"You promised!" Henry whipped around to her, his little face contorted with anguish and betrayal. "You promised you wouldn't let him get to you! You have to leave him! He's not on our side!"

Emma recalled her promise to Gold in his shop. _Stay with me. _Had he guessed that this would be coming? He supposedly had a son—he probably knew how sons reacted when they thought you betrayed them.

She had promised Henry…but Gold was also unpredictable when he was upset. Would Gold ever hurt Henry if she broke a promise to him? The way he treated Henry, with almost fatherly warmth told her no, but she wasn't sure. _He wouldn't hurt Henry…would he? _

And she so wanted to give Henry that book, wanted to make his Christmas a good one since Regina wasn't likely to. It would be worth it to see his smile and hope.

"Henry…I can't do that right now," she sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But trust me, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here for you. Only you."

Henry brushed her hand off his shoulder and leaped off the ledge. He looked back at her with sadness.

"You promised." And he ran off, leaving the walkie-talkies and candy behind. Emma hung her head. _I knew I should have told the kid Gold and I were playing Call of Duty. And I was winning. _

* * *

><p>Emma lounged around the station, spinning a pen through her fingers. It was hard to concentrate on anything. Her eyes kept straying to the desk where she had kissed Graham, just before he died.<p>

Before she knew it, her feet carried her to the desk, where the Sheriff badge lay in wait for the one who would take Graham's place. _It's been two weeks. Regina's time is up. I'm surprised she hasn't found another boy toy yet. _

Emma began to pin the badge on her hip.

"That's not for you," the clipped voice, like frozen caramel, interrupted her. Regina stood there, lips pulled into a victorious smirk.

Emma dropped the badge, but not before pricking herself. _Damn it! First a sliver in the ass and now a pin in my finger. Anyone else want to stick me with something? Maybe I'll slip into a coma so I can avoid this conversation. _

"Then, who is it for? Archie?" Regina was not amused. She casually examined her lacquered red nails.

"Be serious, Mrs. Gold. If Archie were Sheriff, it'd be a crime not to wear hideous sweater vests and live on the 'bright side' like some rejected Sesame Street Muppet. Step on a cricket and you're on death row. I'm appointing Sydney Glass."

Emma would have preferred Archie's cricket death row.

"How does that even make sense? You might as well hire Archie or even Granny," she retorted. _Actually, Granny would be worse than Archie. That woman's shotgun is something else entirely. _

Regina grimaced and strode forward to snatch up the badge. She put on a false smile.

"Sydney will make a fabulous Sheriff. He'll open new doors for Storybrooke," she declared. Emma snorted, causing Regina to frown.

"I'm sorry. Was that you rehearsing for his speech or something? Sure, Sydney will open doors alright. The first one being between your legs, no doubt," Emma fired back. Regina's lip trembled with rage.

"What did you just say to me?" Regina's voice was low and dangerous, like sharp nails grinding their way down a chalkboard. _What's the matter, Regina? You can't handle the truth? _

"You heard me. You just want someone you can control. You can't stand the fact that things are getting better around here." Regina blanched as if she'd been slapped.

"Oh, I'm sure things are going wonderfully for you, Mrs. Gold. Your orgasms over the phone proved that. Must you be so self-absorbed?" Regina cradled the badge in her hand. "No matter. You're fired."

Regina spun on her heel and started for the door. Emma curled her fists in frustration.

"By the way, thanks for nearly letting me and Gold tumble over a cliff. Some mayor you are," Emma called out to Regina before she vanished, wishing she could throw Regina over a cliff. _She just fired me. Might as well have gone out with a bang. _

* * *

><p>The walk home from the shop was especially long and tiresome due to the biting chill that plagued the air in Storybrooke. People were stringing up colorful lights and wreaths for the holidays, but it was rare if they offered him a greeting.<p>

And that was fine.

Most of those citizens—those other weak, hopeless fairy tale creatures—had dulled over the last 28 years. Always the same, always of lesser interest. And most of them simply played ignorant to him because they feared he would increase their rent simply for smiling his way.

Even the nuns crossed the street to avoid him. _Stupid fairies, _he cursed them inside his head. _They're as annoying in this world as they were in the realms. If not more. At least now the Blue Fairy is of reasonable size to be swatted with a broom. Though her chest size has flattened out some. _

Gold breathed deeply as he stepped through his front door, the town charter tucked under his arm. It felt good to be home. Good…until he noticed the blasting rock music in the kitchen and metal clanging. _Who has she invited for dinner? Alice Cooper? _

He trudged into the kitchen to find Emma standing near the table, wedging a screwdriver into the toaster. Music roared from a radio, one he'd been planning to sell at the shop but had inevitably landed among the clutter in the living room. _A miracle. It still works. _

Depositing the town charter on the table, he blocked one of his ears.

"Must we have the music so loud? I'm sure the Mayor can hear it and you know her. Cut down the forest and there still won't be room for her rage!" Gold's voice barely climbed over the beats of the music.

Without glancing up, Emma pointed to her ear to show she could not hear him. Then she banged the toaster with the end of the screwdriver. _What does that accomplish? _

Decidedly, Gold stalked over and switched off the radio. His ears rang from the sudden silence and it was unnecessarily noisy when Emma slammed the toaster down on the table.

"I was listening to that," she protested, green eyes glistening with anger. Gold settled into a chair and propped his bad leg up. The frost in the air did his leg no good.

"Here I imagined you were putting on a concert for the town. I half expected kegs of alcohol, hooligans swinging from chandeliers, and you singing on top of the table," he quipped as his fingers roamed through the pages before him.

It was then he noticed she was wearing a pair of thin shorts instead of her tight-skinned jeans. And beneath the fabric of the shorts was a white bandage. His brow furrowed.

"Emma...why do you have a bandage on your ass?" She glanced up, startled. Her eyes briefly lowered to the bandage and she blushed.

"I was at Henry's castle today...and I happened to...get a sliver," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. Gold scrutinized it, the white bandage peeking out from under her shorts. And then his gaze traveled further-he had never seen Emma in shorts before. It was like watching a squirrel fly. A very attractive squirrel.

Emma glanced up and caught him staring. She gawked at him.

"Well, don't stare at it!" She tugged on her shorts to cover the bandage. Gold smirked, his eyes scrolling down her finely shaped legs before moving back up.

"I happen to think it's cute," he replied lightly. His eyes kept straying to the spot where her bandage existed, only it became less and less about the bandage as Emma turned to give him a new angle. She noticed his scrutiny.

"What? The bandage...or my ass?" Gold released a low laugh and reluctantly returned to focusing on the town charter in front of him.

"Both. It's a compliment, dearie."

Emma remained silent after that, turning the toaster over in her hands like a Rubik's cube. Through it, he could sense her fury brewing near the surface once more, a ticking bomb waiting to explode. Gold made sure to tread carefully, lest Emma turn her wild emotions on him.

"Penny for your thoughts," he nudged her. Emma's hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the toaster. Or…what was left of it. "Did our toaster require fixing?"

Emma sank into the chair that hosted Gold's leg-_ouch, stupid sliver-_but he didn't move it; she sat so that his leg rested between her thighs.

"It wasn't broken when I started," she admitted.

Gold tossed her a knowing smile. _No…really? How odd. _Emma always had the nasty tendency to break things when she was fuming. _It'd be a good idea to put a lock on that closet where I keep my spare canes. One of these days, Emma might go on a rampage. _

"Just what I was afraid of," Gold responded airily as he continued flipping page after page, searching for the right context. Emma had yet to notice.

"So much for me being Sheriff," she grumbled, deflating like a balloon. "Regina fired me today. She's appointing Sydney Glass as Sheriff. Don't ask me how that makes sense."

Gold was not alarmed—he had predicted Regina would bide her time until the last day, if only to rub it in Emma's face. And Sydney Glass—the foolish, lovesick genie—did not come as a surprise, either.

"Oh, it makes perfect sense. Regina is hoping to hire someone she can control. Someone who will eat out of the palm of her hand and be kept on a short leash. Much like Graham," he mused, pausing on a particular page. He smiled coldly. "You will be Sheriff."

Emma jerked up in her chair, her weight leaning on Gold's foot.

"Hello? Did you hear what I just said? I was fired. What else is there to do?" For the first time since he took his seat, Gold's brown eyes rose to her face. His foot shimmied, tapping against her thigh.

"There is always a way, Emma. There is always…a loophole." Carefully, he slid the town charter across to her. She stared blankly at it.

"What the hell is this? The latest _Hunger Games_ book? I already know what happens at the end."

Gold released a patient breath through his nose and tapped the page. He then dangled that loophole in front of her. And that dawning light burned inside her; the light of hope and determination.

"And you'll help me?" Gold removed his foot from between her legs and shifted forward in his seat. His hand covered hers, cold from the chill outside eclipsing her warmth.

"Of course I will," he assured her, each syllable rolling off his tongue. Emma seemed dubious. _Oh, Emma, everything I plan to do…it is for the best. _

"What exactly are you going to do? Give me inspirational pep talks and wear a T-shirt that says "Vote for Emma"?" Gold squeezed her hand tightly.

"I plan to do much better than that. Something not even Regina will expect." Emma's eyes narrowed.

"Like what?" Gold patted Emma's hand and slipped it away.

"You'll see."

Perhaps it sounded more like a threat than a promise to her, but Emma paled all the same. Gold chuckled, the calculations of the upcoming events circling his mind. _In good time, Emma. Regina's throne will shrivel in flames. _

_Burn, baby, burn. _

* * *

><p>For the second time in two days, Emma was mad as hell. Flames could have shot up from her heels, steam could have whistled out her ears like in those old cartoons. Except this time, it wasn't Regina she wanted to throttle.<p>

It was Gold.

_Stupid, arrogant, misleading, conniving pawnbroker. Who just happens to be my husband. _Emma stormed down to his shop like a whirlwind tornado.

Even though the sun had set and it was past Henry's bedtime, she knew he would be there, smirking behind his desk. She already checked at home. _I even checked under the bed. Not many places a man with a lame leg can hide. _

He wasn't behind his desk. He was right in front, standing there, waiting for her. Cleaning off his fingers with a rag, that familiar smirk transfixed on his lips. He didn't even need to look up to know it was her.

"Emma. So many visitors today," he surmised, perfectly collected. Emma slammed the door closed, the bell chiming louder than usual. His eyes flickered to her, amusement dancing there like flames. _Flames. Fire. Lanolin. Kill. _"Be careful you don't break my little bell."

"Oh, trust me. I'll do more than break your little bell," she growled, marching up to him. She flung the strip of cloth in his face, the scent floating in the air between them. _He knew. That morning when he asked me to meet him in his shop, he knew. Led me around like a horse. _

"Don't tell me that's my early Christmas present. A tad disappointing, dearie." He circled the counter, putting a barricade between them. Emma slapped the cloth down, her eyes never faltering from him.

"It smells like your livestock crap," she pointed out. She waited for a sign of confirmation. Gold glanced down at it, but his face remained calm. "You set that fire."

A single finger traced the edge of the cloth. His brown eyes burned into her own, challenging her knowledge. There was a slight quirk to his lips, like he was fighting back a smile.

"What fire? I've been right here."

Emma's fists curled by her side, her breathing hitched. She had to bite the urge to strike him for playing the innocent card. _How could he do this? Better yet, how could I be lulled into forgetting the type of person he is? _

Ironically, it was Regina's voice that responded in her mind. _He's a snake…you need to be careful who you get into bed with. _Apparently Regina wasn't _always _wrong. As for getting into bed…she'd lost count after the first few.

"Why did you do it?" That was the question Emma most wanted answered from him. And she wasn't leaving until she got it. "Is that your game? Seduce women and then blow them up?"

Gold spread his hands on the counter, gazing hard at her. It felt like he could see right through her, like his slender fingers could reach out and pluck the next thought from her mind before she even registered it.

"Seduce? You believe I s_educed _you in that cabin? In Louisiana? Come now, Emma. Be honest. You wanted it just as much as I did," he hissed at her. "Longed for it. Desired it. Over and over again."

Emma's heart thudded in her chest as memories flooded her mind. _Breaking the bed…dancing…the massage…Okay, maybe I did want it to happen. But now look where we are. He's probably been planning this since Pennsylvania, since I first straddled him. _

Gold's lips stretched with satisfaction as he recognized the understanding on her face. Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

"Why?" The word came out in a hopeless croak. Emma cleared her throat, shoved her walls high and mighty. "Was this the unexpected thing for Regina?" Gold simply shrugged.

"Did she expect it?"

Emma recalled the door imploding, the heat on her face as the flames towered above them, her words cut off in midsentence. Regina's wide eyes as she imagined that Emma would leave her to die, because that's what Regina herself would have done. Gold nodded.

"I thought not."

She was only vaguely aware of Gold limping around the counter once more, now that the worst in her had passed. She was only vaguely aware of him lingering a few inches away, mind racing with one thousand thoughts. _You did this. You set the fire. _

Slowly, as if in a dream, she turned to face him.

"I could have run. I could have left Regina there and your plan wouldn't have worked."

Emma knew the statement held a false ring; just as she'd told Henry earlier that night. _You see? You do something good and people see it. I would do it again and again because that is what good people do. That is what decent people do._

Gold knew the pattern of her mind well, knew her values and attitudes like the back of his hand. And Gold was not a decent person, not really.

"Not the type. No matter, anyhow. _If _I were involved…I'd congratulate myself on a job well done. The lovely Emma painted as a hero for all the town to admire. Sure to win some votes, don't you agree?"

Emma shook her head solemnly as Gold's hand caressed her jaw. She considered swiping it away, but her head gradually sank until it was cradled on Gold's shoulder. _This is insane. Yet it makes perfect sense. I can't go through with this. It would haunt me until that god-awful family reunion. _

Gold's fingers stroked her blonde hair, his lips hovering near her ear.

"Shh, Emma. Everything will work out for you," he whispered to her, guiding her arms up around his neck. He knew she could very well strangle him there—he predicted that she would not. _And he's right. Is Gold always right? Does he know me so well already? Obviously I don't know him very well. _

Her fingers clenched his black shirt—whether it was in irritation or desperation, she wasn't sure. The scent of his cologne drifted across her nose and those fingers…d_amn those fingers for doing this to me. I'm supposed to be mad at him right now. _

"Gold," she murmured into his neck, warning him. Those fingers didn't stop in their movement; if anything, the movements became more purposeful, traveling further down her back.

"Tell me to stop, Emma…and I shall." Gold's hand snaked around her waist, holding her close…and suddenly she couldn't take it anymore.

"_Stop!" _Emma shoved him away and he stumbled backwards into another display case. _Bet you didn't expect that, did you, Gold? Guess I'm not as predictable as you think. _

A chilling smile curved Gold's lips, brown eyes dripping with mockery. He straightened and clenched his teeth at the discomfort in his leg.

"Oh. It seems someone is no longer _swooning _at my touch," he gleefully taunted her. Emma raised her chin. He would not win this time. _No one decides my fate but me. _"Go ahead, then. Expose me. Whichever way you wish."

Emma glared piercingly at him, fighting back all recollections of their honeymoon. Recollections of all the ways she had previously exposed him. Gold ambled toward her and she took several steps back.

"You asked for my help, darling. And I consented. Everything comes with a price. This one is mine." And in her head, she heard it: _and you'll help me? You'll help me? Of course I will. For a price. _

Whirling, Emma started for the door. She needed fresh air. She needed to run somewhere safe. Most of all, she needed to be away from Gold. _I can never think straight whenever he's around. _

"Don't expect me to come home. I'm sure Mary Margaret will be more than happy to let me crash at her place," Emma shot back over her shoulder. Gold had not moved from the display case, but she could feel his gaze on her back.

"I'm sure she will," he replied smoothly. He waited until she had her hand on the knob to finish. "Unfortunately, that matter will not work in terms of our agreement."

Emma had the door ajar. She could run, she could walk out and never look back tonight.

Instead, she paused. _In terms of our agreement. Agreement. Damn you, Gold. _

She reluctantly turned to him. If looks could kill, then Gold would surely be dead.

"You knew. That's why you made me promise to stay with you. So that I couldn't leave even though I'm angry," she stated what was now becoming quite obvious. _You knew. You're binding me with chains. You're afraid I'd leave you._

"As someone who fights for…_good…_you would never break a promise, would you?"

Both of them already knew the answer. Emma never made many promises…because she never broke those that she did make. _And he read it in my eyes that morning. He knew I wouldn't break it. I trusted him that morning. And he took advantage of it. _

"Screw you," she muttered harshly before whipping the door open. Gold's dark laugh chased her out.

"Why, Emma, I believe that's the first pleasurable suggestion you've made all night." Emma slammed the door behind her and the bell jingled sharply. Wiggling, it broke free of the door and rolled in a half circle before resting right where Emma previously stood.

Gold stared at it with growing amusement. _She's finally done it. She's broken my bell. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Oh, boy. Gold is sure to have an unhappy wife when he goes home. Good news: my inspiration for this story has been on overdrive lately and I already have the next chapter written up. <strong>_

_**And a special chapter is coming up soon (after the next one). I'm calling it the "Sunshine and Rain: Christmas Special." Anyone have any suggestions on what you might want to see for our lovely couple around Christmastime? Or perhaps another citizen of Storybrooke? **_

_**Thank you everyone for reading, as always. And of course I must thank every one of my reviewers, because I only wish to entertain them in waiting for season 2 (dang you, summer hiatus!). Here's to DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, RandomWriter101, megumisakura, TwylaMercedes, wiccagirl-2005, EnigmaSphinx, russianeyes718524, Lyn Harkeran, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, limbosplaything, Musicalfan2012, thedoctorsgirl42, The Green Eyed Cat, and ParanormalMoonlight. **_

_**I know I'm updating this at like midnight. I didn't want to wait until the morning. **_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: Hello, everybody! I hope you all enjoyed your Memorial Day weekend. Here's more Sunshine for you.**_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-One<em>

He had to go home sometime, he knew that. Much as he would prefer it, he could not dwell at his shop forever. He also knew he would arrive home to a very unhappy wife.

_Our first argument already, excluding our general quips. I nearly blew her up, she broke my bell, and is probably emptying her rage on our house. My estate will be suffering tonight. _

It was dim inside the house, but he knew she wouldn't be asleep yet. No, she'd be waiting for him, most likely offering him a cold shoulder.

Shrugging off his jacket, he carefully hung it on a hook, and listened. The floorboards creaked upstairs; she was in their bedroom. _Ours until death do us part. Such a stubborn swan. Here I figured she would take the couch. _

As he climbed the stairs, a pillow shot into view and tumbled down until it rested above his feet. It was one that had previously belonged on their bed. He stepped over it and hurried up the stairs, even though his leg complained.

Another pillow flew towards his face and he batted it away with a hand. He paused on the threshold of their room. Emma was stripping the bed. Or rather, she was stripping _his _side of the bed.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Emma never responded, though an angry frown appeared on her lips. Removing one of the blankets at the end of the bed—a light one meant for additional warmth since it had been so chilly these past few nights—she flung it into his face.

He struggled to untangle it from his body and stared hard at her. _Still angry, I see. Too bad. Such passion would work wonders for my estate. _

"In case you've somehow forgotten, this happens to be _our _room. Put simply, Emma, _both _of us are to sleep in that bed." Gold made his way to the edge of the bed and settled on it, sliding his feet from his shoes. "Or you could sleep elsewhere, but there is no argument that _I _am sleeping in _my _bed."

"In case you've forgotten, you're sleeping on the couch," Emma snapped, trying to shove him off the bed. He barely budged beneath her hand. Gold glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Is this the part where you steal my cane, tempt me downstairs, and hog-tie me?" Emma pouted at him as he mocked her. In one swift leap, she landed on the bed and grasped his cane. _Oh, Emma, are we really resorting to this game? _

Refusing to release the cane, he wrenched it back, dragging her across the bed with it. Emma managed to kneel on the bed and wrestled him for the cane. As she pulled the cane toward her, he willingly moved with it, forcing her body back on the bed. Pinning the cane against her stomach, he straddled her. Both of them were breathing in quick gasps. _Checkmate. That was fun. _

"Sorry to disappoint you, dearie. I have no intention of sleeping on that couch. Even for you," he murmured, lowering his face close to hers. The cane dug into her stomach, but she never flinched.

"Get. Off. Me," she demanded, spitting each word through gritted teeth. Gold's face loomed just above hers, their eyes locked in the ultimate staring contest. _Perhaps we should play that game instead. First one who blinks sleeps on the couch. Luckily, I've had loads of practice leering at Emma. _

"Make. Me." She knew he intended to kiss her, to challenge her. What was worse was that part of her wanted him to do it, her lips parting in preparation for his.

As his lips hovered above hers, his tongue darted out and traced across her lower lip. A thrill shot through her body and a laugh rose from his throat. _That's enough. Time to end this madness. _

"Remember Pennsylvania?" Before he could reply, she brought her leg up and he groaned in pain, rolling off her. His fingers loosened on the cane and she snatched it up, rushing over to the stairs and tossing it down. It clattered at the bottom.

Gold didn't even seem to mind the loss of his cane. Gradually, he took off his suit and slipped under the covers, his "estate" undoubtedly in need of repair for the night. He even stole one of her pillows. Emma gaped at him.

"Pity. Whatever will I do if I need to use the bathroom at night?" _You can hop on one foot or do the Potty Dance for all I care, _she thought bitterly. "Feel free to use one of the other bedrooms," he told her sharply. _Oh, hell no. _

Emma refused to resort to sleeping in one of the other bedrooms while Gold slept in his heavenly bed, knowing he'd bested her. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

"No way. I'm not leaving," she declared, stomping over to her side of the bed and getting under the covers. It was cold tonight; Emma curled into the fetal position for warmth. There was another way…but that was out of the question.

"Neither am I," he retorted, dragging the comforter closer to his side. Emma bunched it under her body so he couldn't easily steal it. _Fire starter. Pillow snatcher. Blanket hogger. Storybrooke Snuggler. _

"Fine," she shot back childishly.

"Fine. Glad to see we've reached an understanding." Emma clenched the blanket and closed her eyes. _Understanding. If you actually call tricking your wife into staying with you an understanding. _

"And I swear if you lay a hand on me—" She warned him without glancing over at him. Gold's eyelids fluttered closed and his breathing deepened. _You'll tie me up, Emma? You'll torture me, make me your prisoner? Lock me in a room with Regina? _

Gold's hand reached out and landed on the blanket. Emma tensed. Abruptly, she grabbed his hand and bit down into it. He hissed and wrenched it away from her jaws. A droplet of blood gleamed on his skin.

"Emma, all I was doing was gathering more of the blanket! I wasn't trying to assault you." Emma scoffed at that, inching away from him. _This is coming from Storybrooke's most intense snuggler. Never trust a snuggler. _

"Yeah, right. Your intentions were perfectly honorable. Just like that _bonfire _tonight." Gold's lips tightened as he wiped the drop of blood away and sank his head into the pillow. _Everything comes with a price. _

"I'm sorry…if you no longer trust me," he muttered, rolling over onto his side. There was a wall between them, a wall he had inevitably constructed. Emma gave a tired sigh.

"Give me one good reason why I should," Emma challenged him. And all that returned was silence. "That's what I thought."

...

He didn't notice her shivering until the bed began to rock around midnight.

Opening his eyes, at first he wondered if it was a strange earthquake, or even Regina's infamous rage. But it was only Emma, frozen in a ball, her skin pale white under the black comforter.

He didn't touch her, nor did he try to snuggle her closer to conserve body heat. It wasn't that he was afraid she'd wake up. There was only so much damage she could do to him. It was that…he could not bear to witness the anger and accusation in her eyes anymore tonight.

Tomorrow would be a different matter. _Why do today what you can leave for tomorrow? _

Carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, he rose and headed into the hall where the discarded blanket pooled on the hardwood floor. He moaned as he bent to pick it up. _Without that cane, I'm as strong as a three-legged rabbit. _

Returning to Emma's side, he draped the blanket over her shoulders. His fingers brushed along her skin, but she did not stir. Daringly, he inclined his head forward and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. She moaned softly, but slept on as he reluctantly removed his lips.

All too slowly, he limped to his own side of the bed and slid under the covers again. He had been dreaming about blowing up the Blue Fairy with a rocket launcher and he was eager to return to it.

One second passed before Emma turned over and nestled close to him, yearning for the warmth of his embrace. He lightly curled his arm around her waist and urged her closer until her blonde head was resting peacefully on his chest, her lips pressed over his heart.

Gradually, she ceased shivering. He was certain there was a ghost of a smile on her lips as sleep took him as well. _Hiii, Blue Fairy. Say hello to my little friend. _

* * *

><p>Maybe it was the dreadful cold sending shivers through her bones. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since that too-small ham sandwich yesterday afternoon and her stomach was as vacuous as the Grand Canyon. Maybe it was just a winter bug lodging in her system.<p>

Either way, Emma woke up that morning, moaning as her stomach twisted in knots. She didn't even have time to register that she'd been snuggling with Gold before she was up and running for the bathroom.

"Emma?" His accented voice, filled with a hint of concern, followed her as she burst through the bathroom door.

Her eyes were only slits, but she hung her head over the toilet bowl just in time for a stream of bile to rush up her throat. It burned like a lit match and her body wracked violently as she puked up her guts. _Perfect way to start my morning. And the debate's today. Oh, hell. _

"For the sake of our marriage, I do hope that this is the result of a cold and not because you were snuggling with me in bed. I expected a much better reaction than that. Something along the lines of 'oh, yes.'"

Gold was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching her toss up her insides. He stepped over her feet and held her blonde waves back as another round of bile spilled from her lips. _Bet you're not so willing to kiss me now, are you, Gold? _

The vomiting calmed and Emma hunched back against Gold's legs. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. _This is almost worse than the time I spent in Vegas chasing a cheating husband and drank myself into oblivion as a reward. Woke up with a stuffed pink monkey and my shirt missing that morning. _

"Emma, did you drink any alcohol before I arrived home last night?" Obviously Gold was on the same wavelength. She leaned her head back and gazed up at him. _Drink…drink…_

"No. Not a sip," she rasped, her throat dry as sandpaper. Gold's lips thinned anxiously and his brown eyes studied her. "Or…maybe it's because you almost blew me up yesterday. Let go of my hair."

He did and stepped away from her. His face was thoughtful and dark—she didn't like it. _What's going on in that head of yours? _

"God, I feel like crap," she mumbled, leaning her head against the cool surface of the toilet bowl. Gold released a breath and turned towards the door.

"Everything comes with a price, darling," he told her over his shoulder as he returned to their bedroom. Emma paused to consider what he might mean, but her brain was sluggish. And then she tossed her head forward and threw up again.

* * *

><p>Gold walked into the debate and tried to hide his amusement as his brown eyes scanned the crowd.<p>

Everyone in Storybrooke was here, including little Henry who was seated next to the stern Regina Mills and looking quite unhappy. _Of course, anyone would be unhappy sitting next to a cow. Except for Sydney Glass. And anything that's already dead. _

There was a shift of the red curtain on stage and his eyes met Emma's green ones. She only looked his way for a moment before letting the curtain fall back into place.

She had been ill this morning. No, not ill—he instinctively knew what it was, but did he dare hope for a second chance so easily? _Or maybe it is just a cold. She'd better not give it to me, then; wouldn't want these fools getting excited over a missed rent collection. I'll be on my death bed and I'll still be after those nuns. _

"Hey, Mr. Gold. Glad you could make it."

Archie rushed over, smiling enthusiastically. His red hair was extra curly this morning—_Annie _would be jealous. He held out a hand, but Gold ignored it. Archie shuffled his feet.

"Just so you know, I am voting for Emma. I mean, your wife. I even made the campaign posters."

Archie seemed entirely too proud about that. Gold glanced at the pink neon poster with Emma's face, taken quite conveniently from the articles about her in _The Mirror. _He grimaced.

_Oh, yes. Much too proud. I could have made better posters with glue, glitter, and a black marker. David Nolan could have done it and that man has the attention span of a goldfish. _

"Splendid," he muttered. "I'm sure Ms. Blanchard's children would be inspired by your…art." _The next Leonardo da Vinci is a cricket. _

"Oh, well. Mary Margaret did help out," Archie mentioned, his bespectacled eyes locating Mary Margaret on the stairs of the stage. Gold gripped his cane.

"I'm sure she did. Now, if you'll excuse me—" Gold made to move past Archie, but the therapist stopped him with a hand. Gold released an annoyed breath. _Don't you have terrible posters to make? Or inspiring words to offer the candidates? _

"Uh, Mr. Gold….what happened to your hand?"

Gold lifted it; he had put a white bandage over Emma's teeth markings. He smiled in the way that often made people nervous around him. As expected, Archie averted his gaze, squirming.

"Oh, that. Emma enjoys it rough. She bit me. Actually, this is the only visible place she bit me. Imagine that, Dr." Archie blushed as his eyes inevitably traveled over Gold's body. He glanced thoughtfully at the stage where Emma waited behind the curtain.

"Wow. I didn't know Emma was like that," he murmured.

Gold took his chance and swept past Archie. He couldn't help encouraging Archie's sudden epiphany. It was much too amusing. _The psychiatrist has a crush on my wife. How cute. As long as he doesn't insist on sessions for Emma as an excuse to get her to lie on his couch, I could live with it. _

"You'd be surprised about the kind of games Emma likes playing. Ever hear of _Strip Monopoly? _Tonight it's _Candyland _and tomorrow it'll be _Twister. _Oh, dear. Might I recommend some ice water before your speech?"

* * *

><p>Emma's nerves were bursting and her stomach clenched, though it wasn't as bad as that morning. Water helped a little. <em>Yeah, a little. But the first thing I'm drinking after this is straight up alcohol. Or two. Hell, I need to dance on a bar. <em>

Every few seconds, she peeked beyond the curtain, scanning the growing crowd. _Maybe he won't come. Maybe he'll waste the day in his shop, playing with his creepy puppets. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Gold wouldn't miss this if Regina were getting hit by a bus. Of course, if that happened, Gold would probably be the one driving. _

Then she saw him walk in, collected and immaculate as usual, reeking power. As if he sensed her watching, his brown eyes snapped to her. Those eyes were somewhat solemn, with a hint of longing, but mostly filled with regret. _Or it's all a ruse so that I change my mind about exposing him. Sorry, Gold, _she thought dryly as she let the curtain drop to block him from view.

Expose him—that's what she intended to do. Emma never broke her promises. She had disappointed Henry already. _You promised! I know I did, kid. This is me keeping that promise. _

And so, when Archie voiced her name, Emma sighed and approached the podium. All eyes were on her and there were a sea of familiar faces—Regina, Henry, Mary Margaret, David. Hell, even Leroy was there, swaying and wolf whistling.

And beyond them, the gaze that was most powerful belonged to Gold. Her husband. The man she was seeking to expose.

So, she stood there, having made her decision. Biting her tongue nervously until it bled. She opened her mouth and began to speak.

"Um…" _Nice first word, Emma. This will go down in history with Lincoln and MLK. Um. Not exactly "I Have a Dream" status. _"You guys all know I have what they call a…troubled past." Her voice was breaking. She breathed deeply. _Pull it together, Emma. Be strong. _"You were able to overlook it because of the hero thing."

Heat traveled to her face. Her throat was dry. It was silent, her heart thudding in her chest. And Gold was watching her, waiting for what he most likely already knew was coming. _God, everyone is staring at me. I just hope I don't have my shirt on backwards or something idiotic like that. _

"But here's the thing: the fire was a setup. Mr. Gold—" His name tumbled from her lips, quivering slightly. Her hands gripped the podium until the knuckles turned bone white. "Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this election, but I didn't know that meant he would set a fire. Just because he's my…husband…does not mean I'm going to stand by while he commits an illegal act. It doesn't mean I'm going to stand by while he hurts the citizens of this town." _Even the Mayor, bitch as she is. _

Her green eyes found Henry in the front row—he was watching her with renewed wonder. She smiled at him.

"I made a promise to my son to do what is best by him. To never let someone like Mr. Gold influence my values. And I never break my promises. Never. And I can't win by being dishonest. It's just… not me. I'm sorry."

She finished and rose away from the podium. At the same time, Gold stood from his seat, the only person towering over the other citizens. For a long moment, their eyes met and Emma was frozen in place. There was a message in those cold eyes: _You made your choice. Everything comes with a price. _

And then Gold eased into the aisle and walked away, the tapping of his cane echoing in the silence.

Emma's eyes focused on his retreating back and then swiveled to Henry. The warm smile and the golden hope in his eyes were worth it. Emma smiled down at him. _I never break my promises. Bring it on, Gold. Do your worst. _

* * *

><p><em>Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. <em>

Emma lay in bed between the black silk sheets, wide awake. Her green eyes stared at the flawless white ceiling, only faltering once every hour to check the time. And then back to the ceiling again, replaying the debate in her mind.

She could have lied to herself, told herself it was the cold keeping her awake. She could have said it was the fact the house was silent as a tomb. But she knew the real reason.

The spot beside her was empty. It was past midnight now and there was no warm body resting next to her, no unfathomable brown eyes to challenge her. Her palm even smoothed across the pillow and blanket.

He wasn't coming home.

He was probably sulking in his little shop with those creepy little puppets and the little broken bell. _Fine. He can stay there. And I'll have this bed all to myself. _Emma dozed at two and woke up again at five to go running for the bathroom.

At least there was one good thing about Gold not coming home—she didn't have to face his mocking eyes or smirk as she clung to the toilet bowl for dear life for the second morning in a row.

* * *

><p>If Emma had to pick between the morning shift and the night shift, she would pick the morning every single time. And not because she enjoyed certain activities while everyone else in town was sleeping. It was blissfully quiet, half of Storybrooke still rising. And she always gobbled a couple of Ruby's doughnuts at her desk before the real work came in.<p>

Mornings were good…all except this one.

_I'm tired, I'm cranky, I puked up my guts again, my hair is a mess, I want to shove someone through a garbage disposal, preferably my husband, and Ruby was all out of doughnuts. Oh, and my husband is stalking around the town at night doing God knows what in God knows where with God knows who. _

Emma halted inside her office when she noticed a vase with a rose inside it. On the coatrack was a leather jacket. Graham's leather jacket. _Okay, if this is Graham's ghost trying to cheer me up, I'm going to have to call Ghostbusters and attend therapy with Archie. Hey, guess what, Hopper? I see dead sheriffs. _

"I thought you might want it after all," his voice came from behind her. Gold's voice, not Graham's. _That would be weird. _She should have known. She probably had known, but refused to admit it.

Slowly, she turned to face him.

Even when he was out at all hours of the night, he was flawless, dressed elegantly in a black suit. _That fuchsia undershirt is a little eccentric, though. Fuchsia? Yeah, right. That's definitely pink. What is Gold's fascination with pink? Is it his favorite color or something? I swear if I come home and find pink silk sheets…_

"Wow. You almost had me worried there. Where did you sleep? On top of your desk? Please tell me that's one of the shirts I turned pink in the wash." Gold glanced down at his suit, his fingers brushing along it lovingly. Emma smirked.

"Dearie, my shirt is magenta," he corrected her. _As if that makes it manly. _Emma shook her head pitifully.

"Call it whatever you want. Salmon, magenta, fuchsia, bubble gum. It is pink," she argued. Gold stared at her, amused. _I can't believe I'm having this talk with him again. As if he didn't try to blow me to smithereens. _

"Anyway, I'm armed. So if you try touching me, I can guarantee you'll lose a hand. Or a leg. Or something even more precious. Good luck explaining that to Dr. Whale." Gold smiled, unbothered by her threat.

"Ruining something…_precious…_would surely put you out of a job, my lovely caretaker. And perhaps a rumor will start floating around that you like it rough. Dr. Hopper certainly has a wild imagination." Emma's mouth had dropped open.

"I like it _what?_" Gold wandered to the coat rack and traced his fingers over the leather jacket. It was as if he enjoyed the feel of the leather. _Yeah, I really don't want to picture Gold wearing leather, least of all leather pants. That would definitely put his estate in a new light. _

"It's all part of the act, darling. I knew no one was going to vote for you unless we gave you some extraordinary quality. I'm afraid saving Regina's ass from the fire wasn't going to do that. We had to give you a higher form of bravery. They had to see you defy me."

Gold turned away from the leather jacket and grinned at her. Emma stared at him, practically speechless. _We? There is no 'we.' There is only you and your twisted schemes. Twisted schemes that just happen to work. _

"No way," she breathed. Gold tapped his cane against the ground.

"Yes way." Emma was past hearing his quips. She ran her fingers through her hair, one thousand thoughts spinning through her head.

"There is no way you planned that." She pointed an accusing finger at him. Gold shrugged as if they were simply talking about the weather.

"Everyone is afraid of Regina…but they're more afraid of me," he stated, pure fact. _Except you, _the unspoken words reached her. Emma leaned against the corner of her desk, planting her palms on her legs.

"Of course. Of course you planned it. You can read me like an open book, right? I swear, Gold, you could tumble down the stairs, fly out the door, get run over by an ice cream truck, and pelted by apples and it would look like an accident." Gold arched an eyebrow.

"Well, that's some accident. Being me, I would threaten to sue the ice cream man and he'd offer me free ice cream for a year. A good deal, I think," he said. Emma ignored him. She was on a roll.

"Oh, but tumbling down the stairs was no accident—you planned it," she finished.

She gave a forced laugh and it easily slipped away. She paused and Gold recognized the dawning understanding on her face. Her green eyes were fiery when they rose back to his face.

"What's wrong, Emma? You look quite spooked," Gold quipped, folding his hands calmly over the head of his cane. Emma's breathing quickened.

"You planned it," she repeated softly. Emma stood to her full height, anger radiating off her. "The cliff…it wasn't an accident, was it?" _There are never accidents when it comes to Gold. Everything is in his control. Even me. _Gold avoided her eyes, instead scrutinizing the scuffed floor. Emma exploded. "_Was it?" _

Gold gradually glanced up at her and sighed.

"I had to know you would be willing to go out of your way to save someone, even if it's someone you never entirely trusted. Falling _over _the cliff was a bit dramatic, I admit. I even urged you to let me go…but you did not. Even if it would cost you your life. One more step up from that sky-diving incident and you're saving Regina's ass."

Seething, Emma strode over and, wrenching her arm back, slapped Gold across the face. Instantly, his face turned red, a white handprint outlined on his skin. He rubbed it, but did not retaliate.

"And the honeymoon? Phoenix?" Gold shrugged again carelessly as Emma trembled from her rage.

"Simple. I had to give you a taste of freedom beyond Storybrooke, a place you once loved. I had to know you would return. And you did." A smug smile crossed his lips. Emma bristled, raising her hand again. Gold merely eyed it blankly. "Are you going to slap me again, Emma? My, you are passionate. Should someone come in and hear this slapping, they might get the wrong idea. After all, I did tell Archie you liked it rough."

The reminder of that made her face become even redder. Emma lowered her hand dejectedly.

"Great. The poor guy's going to get aroused every time he looks at me now. And if I have to visit Henry while he's in therapy and I just happen to sit on his couch, forget it."

Emma turned and emptied her frustration by slamming her palms down on her desk. She whirled to Gold again, gritting her teeth.

"And I was so _naïve!_ Here I thought I had saved your life; that you were grateful and something changed between us. That whole night at the cabin…when I was opening up to you, nursing you, making love…it was all a ploy. I thought you never used sex as a weapon."

Gold licked his lips carefully before responding.

"Indeed I do not. You played your part well, Emma. You did all I expected you to do…and more. Much, much more. Five rounds and a massage, if we're being technical." _And it did feel good. Until Mary Margaret walked in. Oh, what am I saying? _

"Get out," she demanded him, motioning to the door. Gold stayed in his place and reached a hand out to her.

"Emma—"

"_Go." _She pointed to the door and then turned away from him, closing her eyes as the anger boiled in her nerves.

Gold studied her for a long moment, not really seeing the office around him. He was seeing a different place, a different time. _Go. I don't want you anymore, dearie. _Was this how Belle felt when he rejected her? _Karma is a bitch. _

"If it offers you peace of mind, I will. Don't forget, darling. You still owe me a favor. And as you said yourself: you never break your promises. Never." Gold started for the door, but paused on the threshold. "Congratulations."

He was gone. Emma curled her hands into balls by her side. In one swift movement, she grabbed up the vase with the single rose and tossed it at the door. It shattered into shards, the rose falling among the glass, water pooling in a puddle.

She rested her forehead against the wall and breathed. _Breathe…breathe…_A knock came at the door and she spun before registering who it was.

"_What?" _

It was only Mary Margaret, holding a box of doughnuts from the diner. Her kind green eyes looked down at the mess on the floor and then back to Emma, startled. Emma sighed.

"Sorry. I thought you were Gold." Mary Margaret smiled reassuringly, setting the box of doughnuts on Emma's desk.

"Maybe for Halloween. Of course I would need to be a couple inches taller, carry a cane, wear an expensive suit, and develop a Scottish accent. Oh, and scare everyone in town." Emma smiled despite her irritation with Gold. "You two must be patching things up already."

Emma's brow furrowed with confusion. She eagerly grabbed a chocolate covered doughnut from the box.

"Why? Because I was slapping him? Just because I…might…like it rough—" Mary Margaret held up her hands in surrender. She blushed. They were both thinking of the scene at the cabin, where Mary Margaret got more of an eyeful than she asked for.

"No…Because I just passed by Mr. Gold and he was whistling "Walking on Sunshine."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Okay, so my little Christmas Special (the next chapter) is in the works. Le gasp! Who knows what could happen on Christmas with these two? <strong>_

_**As always, the reviews were amazing to read! Thank you DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, megumisakura, Twyla Mercedes, Musicalfan2012, Lyn Harkeran, Depresnajk, DragonRose4, Tizmine, DamnationOfTheDead, The Green Eyed Cat, scabiorsnatcher, RandomWriter101, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, thedoctorsgirl42, and Notsureyet18. **_

_**Thank you, everyone! Hope you keep reading. I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. **_


	22. Chapter 22: Xmas Special Part One

_**A/N: Change of plans (don't freak out—it's somewhat good news). As inspiration and ideas started coming to me, the actual Xmas special seemed a tad too long. **_

_**So, I am now giving you guys the "Sunshine and Rain: Christmas EVE Special", in which case the following chapter (already written up) with host the wonderful Christmas Day special. Means more hilarity and Xmas awesomeness for you guys. **_

_**On that cheery note, enjoy the Christmas Eve special. One thing, though: poor Leroy. You'll see why. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>December Twenty-Third<strong>_

"Back and forth and back and forth…Once you get a feel for it, it's easy. That's it, Emma! You're already becoming a professional at this!"

It was the day before Christmas Eve and Emma was mopping Mary Margaret's kitchen floor with a Swiffer. Mary Margaret was sitting comfortably in a chair, teaching her how to be domestic. Also, Emma was still mad at Gold and refused to go home yet.

"Yeah, real simple. Got it. I'm not entirely domestically challenged," Emma retorted, leaning her weight against the handle. Mary Margaret stood and relieved Emma of her duties by returning the Swiffer to its place.

"Now, little grasshopper, I think it's time we consider cooking. For starters, we could try chocolate chip cookies or maybe a little pizza—" Emma held up her hand for silence.

"Okay, did you seriously call me 'little grasshopper'?" Mary Margaret shrugged. Emma shook her head, her blonde hair swinging in a ponytail. "Besides, I don't want to cook him dinner! _He _should be making _me _dinner in his apron and…and rubbing my feet and showering me with compliments and obeying my every command until he pays the consequences for what he did!"

Mary Margaret set a tray on the kitchen counter. She was trying to hide a smile. And failing.

"Are we still talking about your marriage or my problems with David?" Emma stared at Mary Margaret curiously. _Those two just cannot stay away from each other, can they? They're two love sick puppies! Soon they'll be coming up with pet names like Mare-Mare. _

"David makes you dinner, rubs your feet, showers you with compliments, and obeys your every command? Isn't he charming," Emma mused. Mary Margaret blushed shyly, the pink warming her cheeks.

"Not every command. He never left Kathryn," she reminded Emma hesitantly. Sadness pooled into her green eyes and Emma sighed. _And this is where I break out the box of tissues._

"Well, I'm not cooking. He doesn't deserve it after that horrible, twisted, insane…thing," she grumbled. _Gold's lucky he's even getting something from me this year instead of a stocking of coal. Ho, ho, ho. _

"Maybe…it's not so bad," Mary Margaret murmured. Emma's head shot up in bewilderment. _Did I just hear that correctly? According to Henry, you're my mother—you're supposed to agree with me!_

"Excuse me?" Mary Margaret nervously scrambled through the kitchen for ingredients, but Emma knew the woman was distracting herself. She strode into the kitchen, blocking Mary Margaret's path. "Please don't tell me you're taking _his_ side."

"I'm not taking his side, Emma," Mary Margaret humored her, darting around her to place the bag of flour, eggs, and sugar on the counter. "What he did was wrong…but think about it. You saved the Mayor's life and stood up to Mr. Gold even though he's your husband. You gave these people hope. It landed you the job as Sheriff. Does the rest really matter in the long run?"

Emma refused to answer and Mary Margaret awkwardly dropped the subject, tearing open the bag of flour. A puff of white exploded into the air and painted Mary Margaret's face white. She smiled as she brushed it off her nose and set a bowl on the table.

"Chocolate chip cookies, then?"

Emma had never tasted homemade cookies nor had she ever made them herself—she had never spent enough time in any home to do so. Quite eagerly, she circled the table to reluctantly stand by Mary Margaret. She eyed the range of ingredients—it might as well have been Chinese to her.

"So…where do we start?" Mary Margaret smiled warmly, squeezing Emma's hand.

"Let's start with the basics first. Like how to turn on the oven before our kitchen becomes the lair for the world's next deadly explosive."

* * *

><p>It had actually snowed.<p>

There hadn't been a flake yesterday even though it was December in Maine. Now, the ground was blanketed by a white layer of it. The soft, fluffy kind perfect for making snow angels, but not thick enough to build a snowman.

Emma zipped up her leather jacket as she roamed the garden, lost in her thoughts. Most of her fury at Gold had dissipated, but it still bristled whenever he so much as walked in the room. The 'what-ifs' bombarded her mind. _What if someone had been seriously hurt? What if his plan did not follow through accordingly? What if he just told me from the get-go? _

It was so tiring, struggling through the tangles of doubts.

_Maybe Mary Margaret is right. The damage has already been done and getting irrationally angry at Gold will not change the outcome. He started a fire, deceived me into acting just like he wanted me to, nearly rolled off a cliff and died just to prove something…_

Those were the bad parts of this dilemma. Then, the good parts flanked her mind.

_But after he rolled off the cliff, I did save him…and that was one of the best nights we've shared. He did set that fire…but it was for a larger purpose in putting me in the position as Sheriff. And it worked. What's done is done. _

In any case, she had made a deal with him the other day for the sake of those two kids, Ava and Nicholas. She would tolerate him, but forgiveness was a different matter she was still juggling. It would be even longer until he earned her trust, if ever.

A small cooing burst her bubble and she looked down to see a white dove, pecking at the ground. Emma couldn't help but feel sorry for it. _All alone on Christmas Eve. Nobody deserves that. _

Emma strode back into the house, through the kitchen to retrieve a couple slices of bread. _Why am I even playing nun to a bird? It'll be a wonder if it's still there. _

But it was. The dove cocked its head as Emma knelt down to place a crumb of bread on the snowy ground. Hesitantly, it bobbed forward and lifted the crumb into it beak. Emma smiled warmly.

She may have been domestically challenged, but it seemed that Emma had always had the gift of reaching out to animals. She didn't think herself particularly sweet, but apparently there was something about her that gave these creatures a reason to trust her.

Emma held out another crumb and the dove saw no issue with taking it from her palm.

"Emma, why are you feeding rats with wings?" Emma glanced over her shoulder at Gold, who was leaning against the house and watching her strange interaction. She hadn't even heard him approach.

Miraculously, the bird stayed rooted to the ground and started pecking at the slices of bread in Emma's hand. Its beady black eyes stared at her intently. _Feed me. Give the dove your food, human! _

"It is not a rat with wings. It's a dove. It's hungry," she pointed out as she offered another portion of bread for it to gobble. Gold sneered at it.

"If you feed it, it'll never leave. It will return time and again for our food and it will eventually depend on us to survive. That thing will end up becoming too chubby to fly and then you'll be asking me to keep it as a house pet. Listening to that pigeon squawk during the night will ruin the mood."

Emma stared at Gold in sheer amazement, baffled by that series of assumptions.

"Gold, has anyone told you that you are way too dramatic for your own good? And so what if it comes back? It's a free country, isn't it?" The dove insistently cooed and Emma broke off another helping of bread.

"Sure, it's a free country…until it lands on my property. Conveniently, your little friend might find itself battling a cane-shaped object." Emma scowled at him.

"You wouldn't," she challenged him. He barely blinked.

"Try me," he shot back, holding up his cane and pointing it at the dove menacingly. _I'll get you, my pretty!_

Emma gestured for Gold to come closer. Tentatively, he did, his expensive shoes being dusted with light flecks of snow. The dove hopped back, as if expecting that cane to come down any second.

"Kneel," she instructed. Sighing, Gold humored her by crouching down and placing most of his weight on his good leg. She grabbed his hand and placed a few crumbs in his palm. Gold shook his head.

"Trust me, dear. These things don't like me much. They'd flock to hunters with rifles faster," he protested, trying to hand back the crumbs. Emma held his arm and directed it toward the bird.

"We'll see," she said softly as Gold spread his hand open. The bird eyed the crumbs warily. Then, it decidedly risked it, hopping over to peck the bread from Gold's palm. The dove inclined its head, as though saying '_You're not too bad after all.' _

Emma squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"You see? Try it again," she encouraged him, pouring more of the bread into his hand. Again, the dove dipped its head to lift the crumbs while Gold watched in bemusement.

"It's hungry, like you said. It would take food from the claw of a beast, if desperate enough," he rationalized. Emma gave him a sad look, rubbing her hands together to show the bird there was no more food left.

"You know what your problem is, Gold? You imagine yourself to be worse than you are. You don't think anyone can love you or see past that wall of yours. Take it from me…you are not that bad."

Gold's brown eyes were like frozen chocolate as they gazed long and hard into her face. A spark of recognition danced there and Emma wondered what he was thinking as his lips pulled into a tight frown.

"Did I say something to upset you?" Emma's voice was cool, as chilly as the breeze that swept across her skin. Gold glanced away, into the distance. Abruptly, he stood, making the bird fly off. Emma watched it disappear with despair.

"You remind me…of a girl that I once knew," he reluctantly admitted. Emma's stomach knotted as she stood, shaking the frost off her jeans.

"Are you quoting Usher now? Next you'll be calling me 'my boo' and reciting _Confessions Pt. 2." _Gold stared at her as though she'd just rattled off Chinese backwards. "Is she the same girl you reminisce about whenever you hold that chipped cup?" Gold's eyes widened in surprise—apparently he didn't think she knew about the chipped cup.

Gripping his cane, averting his eyes, he nodded.

"One and the same. You're both confident, so ready to locate the good in others. Never wanting to see the black, poisoned parts." Emma's heart tugged for him—he obviously missed this girl. "Sometimes…what you see is exactly what you get. She's dead. That story has ended."

"Gold—"

Emma reached out a hand, but he dodged it, turning to go back inside the house. She let her hand drop and imagined that this girl, whoever she was, had taken everything from Gold. His goodness, his pleasures, his heart.

_Does he have any left to share? _

* * *

><p>She had time to think about everything he'd said, about everything he'd done…and it was time for her to face it down. It was time to be brave.<p>

Emma found him in their bedroom laying out a suit. He was using a lint roller to remove any specks of harmful particles. She silently slipped inside and flopped down on the bed.

Neither of them spoke for a long minute; Gold must have known she had something on her mind that she wanted to say. He simply breathed, examining his flawless suits as he waited for her.

She inhaled deeply, in, out. "I just wish you told me what you were planning to do. That way, I might have been a little more prepared for it. Maybe tote around a fire extinguisher."

Gold did not miss a beat in responding, though his brown eyes remained on his suits.

"Would you have gone through with it had I sat you down and revealed my master plan?" Emma planted her hands on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling.

"No," she admitted. Gold laid another suit close to her head, his face hovering above hers.

"Exactly, my dear. You would still fight me, noble as you are. You would have warned Regina. You would have attempted to change my mind, to no end. You might have exposed me still, but the circumstances would certainly have changed. It would not have mattered. Besides, it put you in the Sheriff's position, did it not?"

Emma sat up and hated hearing the truth ring clearly in Gold's Scottish voice. The voice that hopelessly struck her speechless and made her knees bend slightly. She swept a frustrated hand through her blonde hair.

"That's basically what Mary Margaret said." Gold nodded, setting the lint roller on the bedside table.

"Miss Blanchard is a smart woman," he replied admiringly. Emma whirled to face him, her lips pulling into a childish pout.

"And I'm not? Just because I'm not domestic—"

Gold laid a calm hand on Emma's shoulder. The edges of his lips creased with a smile. It was the kind of smile fathers wore when they were about to explain something important to their child.

"Emma, if there was a class for domestic skills, you would most likely get an 'F.' And possibly burn down the building." Emma rolled her eyes. _That is so typical of him. Does he refuse to put faith in anyone but himself? _

"Gee, thanks," she spouted sarcastically. Gold pressed on, his fingers deliberately massaging her shoulder.

"However, you are smart…if not incredibly stubborn. Always fighting for the good of the community and those who are decidedly weaker. That is what I like about you."

Gold removed his hand slowly and turned back to his suits. His words sank in, stunning her. _What I like about you…He might as well have said the 'L' word. _

"Oh, really? Not because I can keep up with you in the cabin?" Despite her grudge earlier, she found her mood gradually lifting. It felt like a burden had been raised from her shoulders, not fighting with Gold.

"Emma, don't be ridiculous. That is an added bonus on my part," he said, touching a hand to his chest. The smile increased and Gold feigned surprise. "Well, well…is that a smile I see or is there something peculiar going on with your lips?"

A soft laugh bubbled in her throat. Gold's eyes glimmered excitedly at the sound of it.

"Shut up," she playfully shot back.

The laughter died away and they descended back into silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, though as they were acutely aware of each other. Gold lowered his body onto the bed beside her, his hips brushing hers.

"That night did not mean…nothing."

Emma arched an eyebrow and he drummed his fingers anxiously on his knee. She could tell it was difficult finding the right words.

"I expected you to save me and you did. Everything that happened afterwards…I did not expect you to nurse me or open up to me. Or sing to me. I was just as surprised as you were."

A steady warmth beat through Emma's nerves as he admitted that. He sounded completely sincere, as if he were professing his love to her. She peered at his face, which was slightly hidden by his hair. He wasn't lying.

"Good. Because I…liked it," she told him. He glanced up at her and then reached for her hand. Emma allowed him to take it, the two of them bobbing it on his knee.

"Does this mean I have your forgiveness?" Emma made a show of considering it, taunting him. She exhaled through her nose and took back her hand, just to tease him a little.

"For now. Until you do some other insane thing for a larger purpose. Which I'm sure you will." His brown eyes thanked her and he wandered to his suits again.

"I value your faith, Emma," he said, picking up one of the suits and nodding towards it. It was a black suit with a red tie. She studied it, wondering why he was putting so much thought into his suit. He always looked good.

"Going somewhere?" Gold gathered the rest of the suits and hung them in his closet. It was big enough to fit an elephant. _I bet Regina would be jealous of that closet. _

"The Mayor is hosting a Christmas party tomorrow night, as she often does for our town," he explained. He did not sound impressed by this party. Regina alone was reason enough not to attend.

"Wow. I didn't know we were invited." Gold paused in scrutinizing his suit and grinned that mischievous grin she somewhat liked. She curled her toes inside her boot, distracting herself.

"We're not." Emma's body stiffened, lines etched into her forehead as she struggled to decode Gold's pattern of thinking.

"Ah. So we're crashing the party?" _Tempting—anything to get under Regina's skin. And Henry will probably be there, unless she's naïve enough to think he'll actually go to bed early when a party's rampaging downstairs. _

"As a matter of fact…yes, we are." Emma gave him a sidelong glance.

"Don't tell me this is some devious plan to blow up the Mayor's house, too. I don't think the citizens of Storybrooke would laugh if Santa burst into flames." Gold smirked at that and pressed a hand over his heart. _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. _

"I'll be on my best behavior. Though, I can't say the same when we arrive home," he hinted, his tone holding the message: _if you know what I mean. _And then _those _ideas ran through Emma's head.

"You promise?"

She didn't elaborate on whether she meant for Gold to be on his best behavior or if there would be something worthy of the naughty list when they got back from the party. Maybe she wished for both. _Just because I don't trust him completely does not mean I can't have fun. It doesn't change the fact that he's pretty damn good at some things. _

"You have my word," Gold promised. Emma watched as he aligned his suit on a hanger so that it was ready for the party tomorrow night. She shook her head in wonder.

"You always dress so…fancy," she muttered, as if that were a bad thing. Gold glanced at her over his shoulder, lovingly stroking the edge of his suit.

"Thank you, darling. I happen to take pride in my appearance. You know I must look my best for my woman," he replied smoothly. Emma crossed her legs, perching on the edge of the bed.

"So, tell me: do you have a suit solely meant for relaxation?" Gold smoothed down the suit he was wearing, immaculate as always. _Honestly, he could be on the cover of a fashion magazine. _

"Oh, Emma. I have a suit for everything, remember?"

...

Leroy never loathed Ruby quite as much as he did that Christmas. But, he had lost the bet, so what choice did he have but to agree to her request? _I swear…no matter how drunk I get in that diner…I will never make another bet with her! She's worse than me!_

Grimacing, Leroy refused to budge as Mary Margaret excitedly rang the doorbell, her breath fogging in the chilly air. Ruby and Archie grinned at him as he mentally cursed their names.

"Get ready," Archie practically squealed with joy, adjusting his glasses. The doc was wearing a Santa hat that kept slipping over his eyes. Leroy wanted to slug him.

"You know, I think I dropped somethin' back there," Leroy motioned to the street, sliding off in an attempt to escape. Ruby wasn't fooled; she grabbed his arm and held him to the spot, glaring fiercely.

"You're not going anywhere. You lost the bet, now you've gotta pay," Ruby told him, while Mary Margaret gazed at him with sympathy. Leroy grumbled under his breath. The door opened…and the torture began.

"Aww, Leroy, I never knew you'd make such a good elf," Ashley gushed, shifting the baby in her arms to examine the green felt outfit. It even came with a decorative cap and pointy shoes. Pointy shoes with silver bells that jingled each time he took a step.

Leroy glared at Ashley, but she hardly noticed. _Yeah? Ever seen a drunken elf, sister? Because by the end of tonight, that's what you're going to get. _

"I know, right? He's absolutely perfect," Ruby insisted, pinching Leroy's face until his cheeks turned red. She was enjoying this way too much. Ashley smiled and the baby murmured against her shoulder.

"Caroling time," Archie declared, beaming. In low grunts, Leroy was forced to sing a never-ending version of "Jingle Bells" with the others. Ruby elbowed him in the gut a few times to encourage him to sing louder. _This can't get any worse._

_"….on a one-horse open sleigh!"_ Archie sang the loudest, wrapping his arms warmly around Mary Margaret and Leroy. Leroy imagined burying the doc in the snow and making him a replica of Frosty the Snowman.

Ashley clapped as best she could, juggling the baby in her arms.

"Oh, that was wonderful! Good to see some people are getting into the holiday spirit. Wait! I have to give you something for that!"

Ashley grabbed up her purse and pulled out a five, extending it mainly to Leroy, probably out of pity. His eyes lit up for the first time that night._ Why, don't mind if I do. I need a drink after this anyway. _

"No, don't give it to him! He's going to waste it on alcohol. Trust me, I know," Ruby protested, accepting the five herself. Leroy growled at her.

The baby started getting frantic, its little face scrunching up and turning red. Anxiety passed over Ashley's face. Mary Margaret reached out to take one of the baby's tiny hands, cooing baby babble.

"Oh, someone's hungry, I think. Would you…mind taking her while I fix a bottle?" _What do you think I am? A babysitter? _But Ashley had already settled the baby in Leroy's arms, dashing off to the kitchen. Leroy stared down at the bundle in horror.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Leroy held it away from him as it cried, appearing disgusted. Archie gazed at the baby with puppy eyes and waved the fluffy Santa hat before it.

"Just hold her, Leroy. Besides, I think she likes you," Mary Margaret teased him, smiling lightly. Leroy brought the baby a tiny bit closer, just to look at its face. It slowed its crying, the wide blue eyes watching him with curiosity. Leroy couldn't help but to relax and give a half-smile.

"Hey, I guess she does. See that, doc? This chick's already got good taste. So you can take your Santa hat and—"

The baby opened its mouth and unleashed a string of vomit on Leroy's elf suit. Leroy's face grew displeased just as Ashley returned to see the mess. Archie clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a giggle.

"I'm so sorry. But…it should come out easily if you send it to the drycleaners," she suggested awkwardly, taking back the child. Soon after, the door closed, leaving the four of them huddled on the doorstep. Leroy was wishing a reindeer would run him over.

"Wow, that was exhilarating! Wasn't it just the best feeling in the world? Hey, guys, maybe we should put on a concert for the whole town! I'm sure they'd love us!" Archie babbled gleefully, nearly jumping on air. Leroy turned to him with a frown.

"Hey, doc," he barked, stepping up close to Archie's face. Archie winced, his smile dimming.

"Uh…yeah?" Leroy's hand connected with the back of Archie's head, knocking his glasses off. Archie knelt to the snowy ground like Velma from Scooby Doo, fumbling for them in the snow. "Ah! My glasses!"

Mary Margaret and Ruby snickered as Archie finally located them, dusting off the snowflakes.

"Are we done caroling yet? This suit itches in all the wrong places," Leroy groaned as the group started down the street. Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Charming, Leroy…but nope! We're not done yet! The most important part of this bet is coming up! Next stop: _the Golds!"_ Leroy moaned, burying his head in his stupid green cap. _Someone do the elf a favor and shoot me!_

* * *

><p>"So…how is it?"<p>

Emma watched Gold intently from the edge of the dining table, hands planted impatiently on her hips. She was wearing his apron and he had to admit he liked the way it hugged her waist. And that waist was wondrous in so many ways.

Experimentally, Gold eyed the slice of ham on his plate. It certainly _looked_ cooked, but appearances could be deceiving. He was just glad there wasn't black smoke in the kitchen. Gold poked the ham with his fork.

"It's dead. I think it's safe to eat now," Emma quipped. Gold lifted some of the ham with his fork, scrutinizing it inches from his lips.

"That has yet to be seen," he declared. _Well, I've certainly lived a long life. About 400 years, give or take. This ham may very well be my poison. _

Gold dramatically closed his eyes and shoved the food in his mouth before he could change his mind. He slowly opened his eyes as he chewed silently, resting his elbows on the table. Emma inclined her head questioningly.

"Well? Are you dead yet?" Gold swallowed and sat there blinking for an odd minute. _That was…That ham was…_

"Emma, that ham was quite—"

"Awful, I know. It was probably too dry or too spicy or too undercooked…" Her face pinched with anxiety before he could even finish. She was too certain she had failed in a simple task of cooking dinner.

"Good," came the final word. Emma froze. Her green eyes widened with disbelief. She cupped her hand around her ear and leaned down to Gold's level.

"Could you repeat that? I thought you said it was _good_." Gold settled back in his chair and felt a smile crawl across his lips. _Oh, Emma. You might not be as domestically challenged as you think. _

"I did. It. Was. Good," he pronounced slowly for her. _Such progress from a few days at her ex-roomie's. I might have to start paying Miss Blanchard for Emma's domestic lessons. _

Emma was grinning proudly. In a flash, her demeanor changed and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Are you just lying to make me feel better?" Gold deliberately stuck his fork into another piece of ham and generously popped it into his mouth, as if to say _see? _Emma watched him warily.

"Use your superpower. Or, better yet, try it yourself," he suggested. He stood and held out a piece of ham by his fork. Emma stared at it, most likely expecting it to sprout teeth and bite her. _Emma…scared to taste your own cooking?_

"I'll take your word for it—"

Gold thrust the fork into her mouth. She chewed and her eyes flew wide. He knew the flavor must be flowing over her tongue, tantalizing with its subtle spice. She waved a frantic hand in front of her mouth.

"Holy crap," she exclaimed in wonder.

"My sentiments exactly," he replied as she swallowed the ham, eyes growing dreamy. "I told you it was good. Shall we eat before it grows cold?"

The two of them had three helpings of ham each, delicious as it was. Bellies bloated, they reclined in their chairs. _A dinner fit for King Midas. Now we're talking, Emma. _

Emma gradually cleared the table of dishes, emptying them into the sink. Gold leisurely stretched and made his way into the living room, so full he was practically dragging his feet. Emma hurried in front of him and lifted her golden hair.

"Do you mind untying this knot?" Gold stepped forward and wrestled the knot out of the apron string. _If I only had my magic, I could wave it off her body. Same with everything else. _

The scent of Emma's hair—a hint of cinnamon—teased his nostrils. The apron finally came undone and slid to the floor. Emma kicked it out of the way.

"So…it's Christmas Eve. What are we supposed to do with our night?" _Oh, there are a number of things I could think of, Emma. _

"What do most people do on Christmas Eve?" Truth be told, this was the first Christmas he'd spent with…well, anyone. Most years he was alone, nothing to do but collect rent. Emma gazed around the room.

"Have a golden feast and watch _It's A Wonderful Life, _I guess. Or…" She trailed off. Gold leaned his cane against the wall.

"Or what?" There was a suggestive gleam in Emma's eyes—he recognized it from the cabin in the woods. Gold grinned, swooping towards her. "Ah, _that. _Surely, I can't leave my darling wife disappointed on Christmas Eve."

Gold brought a knuckle beneath Emma's chin and raised her face to his. His lips met hers softly—not in a demanding, lustful way. Emma kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Gently, Gold urged their bodies down to the couch, his lips trailing along Emma's skin. Just as his fingers began playing with the hem of her shirt, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Gold paused to glance questioningly at the door.

"Probably carolers. Maybe if we ignore them, they'll go away," Emma said, her lips rather pink from his kisses. His mouth descended all too eagerly on hers again…

This time there was a series of knocks and then the doorbell rang at least twenty times. Gold sighed in irritation. _Someone really wants my attention tonight. If it is a caroler, I'm not sure they'll do much singing. _

"Deal with it," Emma mumbled, encouraging him to roll off her. Gold grabbed his cane and crossed to the front door; Emma in tow.

"Whoever it is, I'm tempted to introduce them to my cane," he muttered. Emma patted him comfortingly on the arm.

"It's Christmas Eve. You're not allowed to do anything irrational until after the holidays," she advised him, only half-joking. _Doesn't change the fact that I want to, dear. _

It was Leroy on the other side and he was extra grumpy. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out why. He was dressed in an elf suit. Ruby stood behind him, smirking at the drunk's embarrassment.

Gold simply stared blankly. _I'm going to take an educated guess and say this man is not here to pay his rent. _

"Can I help you? Perhaps point you in the direction of the North Pole?" Ruby chuckled while Leroy shifted uncomfortably. Emma could only gawk over Gold's shoulder at the town drunk, who was quite sober tonight. Ruby must have wanted him to remember this.

"You wanna help me? Take that cane and bash me in the head. Right here, hard as you can," Leroy tapped his bald head. Ruby rolled her eyes at him. Leroy grumbled. "I…kind of…lost a bet."

"No kidding," Emma retorted, gaping at his attire. "So…what exactly do you have to do other than dress the part of Santa's helper?" Ruby nudged Leroy's leg and he groaned.

"Do I _have _to?" Ruby shot him a serious look. Leroy stamped his feet childishly.

Rushing forward, Leroy trapped Gold in a bear hug. Gold looked mortified with the drunk's arms circling his middle. Emma hid her laughter behind her hand. _I should have never answered that door. I should have ignored it, continued kissing Emma. This is much worse than annoying carolers. _

"I love you, man," Leroy exclaimed. Emma burst out laughing with Ruby, whose eyes were welling up as she banged her fist against the side of the house. The girl's face matched the streaks in her hair.

Leroy started to back off, but Ruby packed a snowball and launched it into Leroy's head. Leroy wiped the iciness off and muttered under his breath.

"I don't think Mr. Gold caught that last bit, Leroy," Ruby taunted him, readying another snowball. Leroy hugged Gold again.

"And…I would…seriously, Ruby, do I have to say it? Ughh…I would totally hit that. There, happy?" As Leroy clung to Gold, he raised his cane threateningly. Emma slapped it back down, still giggling.

"Get this man off me," Gold protested, sending Ruby a sharp glare. That was his _I'll increase your rent_ look.

"Okay, Leroy. That's enough hugging. I know you like Mr. Gold's cane, but only Emma is rightfully entitled to it." Emma gawked at Ruby, who shrugged innocently. Leroy leaped away, shuddering and rubbing his arms. "Wait. Isn't there something _else_ you wanted to say?"

Leroy pointed a finger at Gold and Emma.

"I'm Leroy and I approve of this marriage."

Shaking his head, he stomped off the property as Mary Margaret and Archie came into view. Their faces were red, but Emma guessed it wasn't from the cold. _Poor Leroy. Ruby's right—he's going to need therapy and a ton of alcohol. _

"Well, that's it. Unless you want us to do some caroling—" Gold slammed the door in response. Emma was eyeing him with an amused grin. _I'll never hear the end of it from her. _

"Looks like someone has a new admirer," she teased smugly. Gold would have rather forget that whole encounter. _That is the last time I open my door on Christmas Eve. _

"The only admirer I care to have is _you. _Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

...

_**Poor, poor Leroy. I thought it'd be entertaining to have it centered around Christmas. Ruby can be so devious sometimes. Never trust a red-hooded girl turned wolf turned waitress. **_

_**I hope you guys enjoyed it—it would have been one hell of a chapter if I dished out the entire thing. Also, I want to thank MoreThanMeetsTheEye for giving me the suggestion of the Christmas party at the Mayor's. **_

_**And to my lovely readers: DaesGatling, olverabonk, MoreThanMeetsTheEye, Twyla Mercedes, immortalischaratis, ParanormalMoonlight, wiccagirl-2005, RandomWriter101, Fairy Demon26, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, megumisakura, Lyn Harkeran, DragonRose4, thedoctorsgirl42, dontleavetonight, foxfireOUAT, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, and Musicalfan2012.**_

_**Thank you all for your kind reviews and I'll be sure to get the rest of the Christmas special up soon. Oh, what fun those two'll have that night. (-;**_


	23. Chapter 23: Xmas Special Part Two

_A/N: Wow, that last chapter got the most reviews out of all my chapters! I'm glad everyone enjoyed it so much! _

_On that note, here's the other half of the Christmas special—and it is really long. My longest chapter yet, I think. I hope you guys enjoy it, though._

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twenty-Three<em>

"Remind me again why it took you over an hour to get ready in the bathroom," Emma huffed as Gold led her up the walkway of the Mayor's grand home. Golden light flowed from the windows, but there was a noticeable absence in jolly Christmas music.

"Always better to be fashionably late, Emma," he replied as they carefully walked over a patch of ice. _Doesn't she ever salt her walkways? Or is she just hoping someone will fall on their butt? I bet she deliberately splashes water on her steps. _

"Did you blow-dry your hair?" Emma scrutinized Gold's hair, every strand of it perfectly in place and feathered above his shoulders. Gold lightly touched it with a gloved hand.

"Is it a crime to look one's best?" Emma's green eyes widened in disbelief.

"You _blow-dry _your _hair?" _Gold tapped his cane on the ground in irritation and rapped his knuckles on the Mayor's front door.

"Why don't you repeat it a little louder, Emma? I don't think China heard you!" Emma gazed around at the frosted lawn and realized she really didn't want to put up with Regina tonight. It was only for Henry that she was here.

"You know, there are so many better things we could be doing tonight," she sighed. Regina was just bound to ruin it. Gold's brown eyes gleamed in the golden light of the windows.

"Why didn't you just say so? Here I could be impressing you with a bit of my Christmas magic," he replied, brushing a hand against her cheek.

Emma straightened her red turtleneck and double-checked her jeans before the door opened to reveal the Grinch herself. Dressed in a cleavage-inducing short black dress, no less.

"Oh, your presence isn't required, Sheriff," Regina openly mocked her. "That was just Leroy in a Santa suit trying to come down my chimney. Unless you wish to take him in for drinking, but then you'd have to imprison everyone here. No one can resist my apple cider."

Regina flashed a false ruby red grin.

"Actually, I'm off duty," Emma stated calmly, returning a forced smile of her own. Regina frowned. _That's better, Madame Mayor. For a second there, I hardly recognized you. _

"Then why are you standing on my doorstep? Did my son call 911 to complain of my unfit parenting skills because he didn't get everything he wanted for Christmas?" Regina crossed her arms, her red nails shining in the light.

_Please, Regina, _Emma mentally berated her. _I'll bet you didn't get Henry one thing he wanted for Christmas. I should cart you in just for that! _

"Hardly. We're here to join in the festivities," Gold declared, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. "We won't go until we get some figgy pudding."

Regina was unimpressed, her lips tightening in an angry pout.

"Sorry to inform you…you weren't invited," she snapped coldly and tried to close the door on them. Gold swiftly thrust his cane through, blocking it. Regina glared down at it.

"I'm quite aware of that, Madame Mayor. Perhaps you could be kind enough to invite us to stay, anyway. Since we're here. In the cold. Without anywhere else to go."

Regina gritted her teeth furiously. Emma was enjoying this apparent confrontation. _Worst comes to worst, we could always go home to bed…_

"You want someplace to go? You can go to hell and—"

"_Please," _Gold added, cutting Regina off. The Mayor stalled, her face becoming ashen. Then, she swung the door wide.

"Well, come in already," she barked, slamming the door behind them. She departed into the crowd almost instantly, not bothering to make small talk. Emma gawked at Gold in astonishment.

"Seriously, how do you _do_ that?" Gold smirked and guided her into the crowd.

"Oh, that? It's how I work my magic, Emma."

* * *

><p>It wasn't an exaggeration by any means—everybody was at the Mayor's party that night. It was like you were really missing out if you didn't show your face. <em>Welcome to high school again. <em>

Mary Margaret was talking to David, laughing and blushing as Kathryn fetched a drink from a bowl of apple cider. Soft instrumental music floated through the air and Ruby was in the center, dancing in her thin red dress and boots. Leroy really was in a Santa suit with a glass in his hand. _Oh, great. We're going to have a drunken Santa by the end of the night. Ho, ho, ho, kids! _

Across the room, Henry sat on the stairs alone. When his eyes found Emma, his face lit up like a Christmas tree and he dashed over, nearly tossing Dr. Whale into the bowl of cider as he went.

"Emma! You're here!" Henry ran straight into her arms and hugged her around the waist. Emma smiled warmly and hugged him back, tousling his brown hair.

"I am, kid. Merry Christmas." Henry pulled back and looked about ready to tap dance.

"Merry Christmas, Emma…Mr. Gold," he politely addressed the pawnbroker. Mr. Gold inclined his head in greeting, but seemed content to offer Emma this moment with her boy.

Henry seemed slightly suspicious of Mr. Gold, but was too polite to remark about his recent activities. Maybe it was just the merry feeling of Christmas that made Henry tuck those suspicions and concerns away. In any case, he genuinely smiled at the pawnbroker as he would any other person on the street at Christmas.

"So, what did your mom get you that would explain a 911 call?" Henry frowned and shuffled his shoe against the floor.

"She got me clothes and a Tron lunchbox," he muttered, clearly unhappy. Emma grimaced on his behalf. Suddenly, Henry's head jerked up and he seemed to view Mr. Gold in a new light. "Hey, Mr. Gold…would you be willing to make a trade? A lunchbox for…something else?" Gold smiled and nudged Emma with his elbow.

"Ten years old and already a little businessman. Perhaps I could help you, Henry. Bring it to the shop tomorrow and we'll talk," he assured Henry, who brightened considerably. Emma took Henry's present from under her arm.

"Here, kid. This should make up for your mom's crappy choice in presents." Henry gratefully ripped off the wrapping paper and his eyes widened in shock.

"Are these…is this…" The kid was practically struck speechless.

"A book of fairy tales, yeah. They're the ones I used to read as a kid. I figured you'd like them." Emma beamed as Henry clutched the book to his chest lovingly. Then, he gave her another giant hug.

"Thank you, Emma! This is the best gift ever!" Emma glanced at Gold, who was pretending not to hear as he surveyed the crowd. She sighed.

"To be fair, Mr. Gold was the one who suggested it," she pointed out. Gold turned his head in surprise at her admission while Henry gazed at him in wonder. His little eyes sparkled and Emma could practically read it on his face: someone willing to encourage his theory of fairy tales, however subtle, could not be _that_ bad.

"Really?" Mr. Gold smiled gently, almost sheepishly. Emma actually liked it on him. She'd never seen a flustered Gold before.

"Well, it's a rather ancient book. It's been gathering dust in my shop for years. A smart lad like you would put it to good use," Mr. Gold said passively. Henry grinned and quickly trapped Mr. Gold in a hug. "Why does everybody insist on hugging me all of a sudden?"

Despite his complaint, he awkwardly patted Henry on the back. A pleased smile formed on his lips.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," Henry murmured into his suit before releasing him. Gold made a show of brushing off his suit, but Emma could tell he had liked it. That smile was still there, anyway.

"You're very welcome…Henry." Henry stepped back and dove into the book, studying each page as he flipped through it. He handled it like it was made of gold.

"This is _so_ much better than a stupid lunchbox!"

Emma cursed under her breath. Regina just happened to be walking by at that moment and her heels halted. She faced her son, her back deliberately to Emma and Gold.

"Forgive me for overhearing," she cut in. Emma almost gave a snort and managed to turn it into an odd, emotionless laugh.

"Right. You mean eavesdropping," she challenged the Mayor. Regina glared at her over her shoulder, but was more intent on Henry and his new gift. She bent down to his level and Emma was sure her dress was going to ride up at any moment. _Does anyone ever play pin the tail on the donkey anymore?_

"Henry, what is that?" She pointed to the book and Henry held it away from her in case she wanted to snatch it from him.

"A book," Henry answered honestly. Emma smirked just as Regina pursed her lips. _What's wrong, Madame Mayor? Not the answer you were looking for? _

"What _kind _of book, Henry?" Regina's tone was dangerous—the _tell me or you'll be sorry _type.

"_1000 Ways to Kill an Evil Queen. _Last I heard, it's a bestseller," Emma retorted in Henry's defense. Regina was growing impatient and she reached for the book. Emma stepped in front of Henry. "Oh, for God's sake. They're just Grimm Fairy Tales!"

Regina didn't seem too pleased with that, either. Gold's brown eyes bore into the Mayor's back, as if lasers could shoot out of them and burn her.

"Leave the boy be, Regina. What harm could a book of fairy tales do?" Gold intercepted Regina, who sent him a suspicious wave of scrutiny. She pointed a sharp nail at Henry's new book.

"Do you realize what kind of nonsense is mentioned in those fairy tales? People get their eyes pecked out, an Evil Queen is made to wear burning iron shoes, and evil imps try to steal babies! How is that not harmful?"

Emma was aware that almost every head was turned to stare at the commotion. Regina's voice had climbed steadily until it became a shriek. Emma was unperturbed. _Sounds like a guidebook to warn against you, Regina. Evil Queen 101. _

"I really wanted a BB gun," Henry complained. Regina scowled.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Henry? You'd shoot your eye out!"

Before Emma could snap a reply, Katherine appeared behind Regina and tapped her on the shoulder. Regina spun sharply and glared at Kathryn, undisturbed about unleashing her anger on a "friend." _Friend…yeah, right. Regina doesn't have friends, only pawns. _

"Regina, I think you should know that I just saw Leroy coming in with a full bottle of whiskey and he was eyeing that apple cider recently. Unless you want everyone to end up on the floor—" Regina frowned and immediately sought out Leroy with her cold eyes.

"_Leroy!" _

Regina stomped off, apparently convinced she had bigger fish to fry. Emma didn't mind. Henry clutched his book tightly as if expecting her to come back and wrestle him for it. He gave her a reassuring smile, though.

"It's okay. I'll hide it under the castle with that checklist. Oh, and here's your gift, Emma," Henry suddenly remembered, pulling out a thin velvet box. He handed it to Emma and bounced on his toes as he waited for her to open it.

Emma carefully snapped open the lid and gazed down at a golden bracelet. It was delicate, with a little golden swan dangling in the middle. Her mouth fell open in surprise—it was probably the nicest gift she'd ever gotten.

"Wow, Henry. It's beautiful," she told him and removed the bracelet in order to slip it on and make the kid happy. Henry grinned as the bracelet snugly circled her wrist, the chain gleaming in the light. _This must have cost a fortune. How the hell could the kid afford this? Unless he's stealing credit cards again…_

"Yep, Mr. Gold and I coordinated. It matches your—" Henry abruptly trailed off as Gold lingered behind Emma, making gestures to silently tell Henry to stop talking. The kid bit his lip guiltily. "Oh. Uh, never mind."

Emma swiftly turned to Gold, who smiled casually down at her. _Oh, so that's how Henry got this gift. Gold arranged it. Don't tell me their gifts vibrate every time Gold finds he's in the mood. _Emma raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, but he kept his face controlled and innocent.

"My matching…what?" Gold averted his gaze, busying himself by fixing his already perfect tie. He cleared his throat and met Henry's wide, curious eyes.

"Henry, Mommy and Daddy need to talk privately. Would you mind giving us a moment?" Henry's eyes narrowed at the usage of "Mommy and Daddy", but he disappeared into the crowd. Emma stared hard at Gold, crossing her arms and making the bracelet sparkle.

"My matching _what? _Please don't tell me it's handcuffs…" Gold placed a careful finger to Emma's lips to silence her. His brown eyes danced with amusement, as though seeking fun out of dangling the surprise in front of her.

"Now, darling…we mustn't ruin the surprise. No matter how much your boy almost spoiled it."

Gold removed his hand from her face and couldn't help glancing through the crowd at Henry, who had resurfaced near the apple cider. Emma noted the longing in his expression and she touched his arm lightly to draw his attention.

"You miss him, don't you?"

Gold's focus returned to Emma, but he did not open his mouth to answer. There was understanding in his eyes; he wasn't about to pretend to misunderstand her. But he wasn't answering, either.

"Your son."

There was obvious disdain in Gold's face, as though it pained him greatly to even recall the memory of his son. He sighed deeply.

"Am I that transparent?" Emma smirked at his sarcasm, knowing it was his way of skirting around the truth, of avoiding the pain. Gold seemed to break a little as his eyes returned to Henry laughing at something Archie said. "Henry reminds me of him."

Emma's heart tugged for Gold and she kept that comforting hand on his arm. She smiled and tilted her head up to his.

"Admit it, Gold. You liked getting a hug from Henry." She could see it in his eyes—earning that hug had been akin to getting a second chance with his son. And he had treasured it.

Gold's lips lifted slightly and he carefully took Emma's hand in his own.

"Do yourself a favor, Emma. Get a drink," he suggested in a low voice. Emma gave him a serious look. _Fine, if he doesn't want to face the truth tonight, then fine. Let him wallow in his memories. I wonder if he was the type to play catch with his son. _

"I need one," Emma mumbled as her green eyes landed on the apple cider. Spiked with Leroy's whiskey or not, she deserved a drink after all she'd been through during the last week or so. But Gold's fingers circled her wrist and pulled her back.

"If I were you, Emma, I'd avoid the apple cider," he advised her with no intention of releasing her until she agreed. Gold was stronger than he looked. Emma blew a strand of hair from her face.

"Why is that?" Gold leaned forward, his lips locating her ear.

"Would you like to repeat that lovely scene in Georgia where you drunkenly danced on top of a bar? Or perhaps you'd prefer the one where I carried you out over my shoulder?"

Emma glanced warily around the room. Everyone here knew her, at least by face and profession. She'd never live it down if she climbed on top of a table to dance or if Gold slung her over his shoulder again. _With my luck, pictures will end up in The Mirror. _

"Fine. I'll get some punch from the kiddie bowl that Regina put out for Henry," she grumbled. Gold released her wrist. "You'd just better hope Leroy hasn't spiked that one, too." Gold eyed Leroy with caution.

As Emma passed Henry, she bent close beside him.

"Kid, what exactly does your mom put in her apple cider?" Henry glanced up from showing Archie his new book of fairy tales and was surprisingly grim.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

...

Emma grudgingly sipped her Kool-Aid as she wandered toward the main portion of the house again. She was downing the last drops of red punch and bumped into someone hard. _What the…?_

"Sorry…oh, hi…again," she gasped as she glanced up into the face of the Stranger, as he'd been aptly termed. Leather, stubble, and bedroom eyes. _Oh, my_, she thought as she took a tentative step back into the kitchen.

"Emma. Enjoying that punch?" The Stranger leaned his hands on either side of the doorframe, blocking her path. Emma set her empty plastic cup on the kitchen table. The Stranger observed her every move like a hawk.

"Yeah…You know, I still didn't catch your name," she pointed out. The Stranger shrugged loosely. A pleasant smile played on his lips. _You don't need names, baby, to have a good time. _

"And I'm still not giving it," he replied smoothly. Emma gave him a critical once-over. _Tall, dark, and handsome. It's only too bad you'll end up being Graham's replacement. That's the only reason Regina invited you, to pry into your motives and availability. _

"Why? Struggling to come up with a sexy alias? That bike certainly suits you, Casanova." The Stranger flashed a white grin that belonged on a Colgate commercial.

"Well, well, well. You like my motorcycle," he gleefully flaunted that one notion in her face. Emma mentally groaned—all this just for some kiddie Kool-Aid. _Where's Regina's smirk and leggy dress when you need her? Take him away!_

"It's…not bad. Probably not Hell's Angel status, though," Emma nonchalantly responded, searching for a way to slip past him. The Stranger pushed forward until his whole body filled the doorway. Emma sighed in frustration.

"Maybe I can take you for a ride sometime. Show you a good, wild time in this provincial town," the Stranger suggested, turning on his charm. _I chase cheating husbands and idiots who jump bail for a living. Your charm has no effect on me. _

"Sure. When Archie straightens his hair, Regina becomes as sweet as a chocolate bunny, Leroy sobers up in AA, Ruby wears a nun's outfit, and…oh, yeah. When I'm not married to the richest, most powerful man in town." The Stranger whistled lowly.

"Ooh, that's a long shot. But I can happily tell you that I don't lie," he offered. "My nose is too short for it." Emma shoved against one of his arms, making him stumble back.

"Of course you don't. If you'll excuse me, Tall-Dark-and-Stubble—" Emma made to dart past him, but he efficiently jumped in front of her. She sidestepped again, but he followed her movements. "Is this how you ask girls to dance?"

"I'm afraid I can't let you go that way," he said, jerking his head toward the noisy crowd.

Regina was shrieking at Leroy as he started a round of drunken Christmas songs. From here she could hear him calling Marco "Dominic, the Italian Christmas Donkey," no matter how much he insisted he wasn't Italian.

"Why? Because Leroy's about to put on karaoke and you want to spare me his unrated version of "Silver Bells"?" The Stranger chuckled, but shook his head.

"Nope. Because you and I happen to be standing underneath the mistletoe and I am waiting for you to kiss me."

Emma glanced up to see that god-awful mistletoe hanging above her head. If she had noticed it, she never would have gone to the kitchen. _I'm surprised people aren't ringing bells or tapping their glasses. Or do they only do that at weddings? _

"There is no way I'm kissing you. I'm married," she protested, spotting Gold in the crowd. Archie was talking to him and Gold looked like he wanted to dump the apple cider over his head. The Stranger scoffed.

"To someone who has the odd tendency to start fires, make sketchy deals, and—quite amusingly—someone you don't even love," he shot back. Emma gazed across at Gold again and realized she'd rather put up with his leering over Mr. Stubble.

The Stranger laughed enthusiastically. Emma reluctantly turned her green eyes back to him.

"Oh, that is even better. You do love him!" Emma blushed as she glared at him as he slapped a hand against the doorframe.

"No, I don't. I am not in love with Gold. Not after everything he's done."

Emma eyed Gold again and paled when his eyes met hers. They quickly switched to the Stranger and grew dangerously cold—the kind that men got before tackling another man in jealousy over their wives. The kind of cold that men got in their eyes on _Maury _after learning that another man was actually the real father of their children and started bleeping every other word.

"You mean _despite_ everything he's done, you're still with him," the Stranger mused with a smirk. Emma wanted to slap it off him. Her anger was pumping and she knew it was only a moment or so before Gold ambled through the crowd.

"Because I made a promise—"

"And you never break your promises, am I right? Tell you what, you kiss me right here and right now and I will never bring up that topic again. I'm sure everyone would love to hear about it," he taunted her, dipping his head close to hers. _And I'm sure they'd love it even more if Mrs. Gold made out with Storybrooke's newest stranger. It'd give Gold an excuse to ruin Regina's party. _

"I'm _not_ kissing you," Emma hissed. "Get out of my way." She tried to squirm past the Stranger, but his leather-clad chest was in the way.

_"Emma loves Gold, Emma loves Gold…"_ The Stranger sang, each line getting louder and louder. Emma's fists quivered at her side.

"What, are you three? Are you going to play rock, paper, scissors with Gold for me, too? Because he'll use real scissors and rocks," she warned.

"_Emma loves Gold, Emma loves Gold!" _Emma threw her hands up in frustration. Over the Stranger's shoulder, she could see Gold fighting through the crowd, his face deadly.

"Oh, would you shut up already? Is there an off button?" She began tapping his chest.

The Stranger actually stopped singing and stepped aside, gesturing for her to pass. Emma inclined her head and started to move past him.

Just as she was in the clear, with Gold on the fringes of the crowd, the Stranger grabbed her arms, spun her around, and pressed his lips to hers.

Emma was stunned for a minute as the Stranger's lips worked over hers. Then, she shoved him off her.

"What the _hell?"_ She glanced over at Gold, who was moving as fast as he could with a lame leg. "You'd better savor that memory because there's a tombstone with your name on it. Whatever it is."

Gold stopped a foot from the Stranger and possessively snaked his arm around Emma's waist, drawing her close.

"Excuse me. I believe you were kissing my _wife,"_ he said, almost through clenched teeth. Emma closed her eyes. _Here we go. Please don't kill him. Please don't kill him. Not on Christmas! _

The Stranger pointed above them.

"Mistletoe, friend. Can't argue with the rules of Christmas. If it's any consolation, your wife is a damn good kisser," he replied calmly. Emma opened her eyes to see the Stranger's lips quirking in a smile. Gold's grip tightened.

"I'm aware of that," Gold hissed, stepping forward. Emma's eyes darted to his cane, which was quivering in his furious grip. She slid between the two of them and noticed the dark, cold look in Gold's eyes. _Kill, kill, kill. _

"You said you were going to be on your best behavior, remember?" Emma stared intently at him, hoping her expression was enough warning for him. Gold seemed to look right through her.

"Yes…but that was before Stubble decided to stick his tongue in places it didn't belong. Might I suggest an icy pole next time?"

The Stranger shook his head in amusement. Emma glared at him. _Dude, in case you haven't noticed, I'm saving you from getting your skull crushed. Knowing Gold, your head will be the topper for our tree and he'll persuade me to be his caretaker underneath it. _

"Stubble? Really? Sounds like a name from _Land Before Time _or something." Emma focused on Gold again, whose cane was coming very close to rising in the air. She placed a hand to his chest and he gazed down at her blankly.

"You promised," she insisted. A hint of rebellion touched his brown eyes and then it was gone as he took a careful step back. The danger was gone…for now.

"I've decided I'm not going to handle you here. Do you know why?" Gold pointed to the Stranger inquisitively. The Stranger shrugged.

"Because it's Christmas and you don't want to ruin your chances of making the Nice List before Santa comes?" _Too late for that, _Emma thought. Gold shook his head.

"No. Too many witnesses. My Naughty List is no place you want to be…_Stubble." _As if on cue, Regina called up everyone's attention. Emma sighed with relief.

"Alright, everyone. Dinner will be held outside," she declared. Emma had to drag Gold along with her. Henry paused near the Stranger and kicked him in the shin.

"What was that for?" The Stranger rubbed his leg and moaned. Henry pouted at him in perfect imitation of Regina.

"You _kissed_ my _mom."_

...

Emma followed the crowd outside where the dinner was supposedly held. Most of the snow had been cleared away for the evening's events and four long tables surrounded the apple tree with chairs flanking both sides. The tables were covered with an assortment of dishes.

Emma smirked when she saw that the apple tree marred this celebration with its ugly gash from where she'd used the chainsaw. _Good to know Regina can't have everything the way she wants it. _

She didn't hesitate in taking the spot next to Henry, even though Regina settled on his other side. She glared when she realized Emma's close proximity.

"I hope you don't think that seat's for you, Sheriff. I don't appreciate you sitting next to my son." Regina placed a firm hand on Henry's shoulder. Emma glowered at Regina over Henry's head.

"In case you forgot, Madame Mayor, he's my son, too," she shot back, copying Regina in putting her hand on Henry's other shoulder. Henry watched the exchange like a tennis match and seemed pretty happy that Emma was defending him against the 'Evil Queen.'

'No, he's not!" Regina snapped. Her raven hair practically sizzled.

"Enlighten me, Madame Mayor. Where do babies come from in your little world?" Gold innocently inquired. Emma watched Regina's face turn pink with anger. _Maybe she'll create a store for babies in Storybrooke that she can control. IHOB: International House of Babies. _

"He's your son by birth, but not in legal terms. He is mine!" Regina's lip curled in a cruel sneer. _I half-expected Regina to laugh evilly and lightning to strike the sky. I'd laugh if it struck her apple tree and set it on fire. _

"Why don't you ask Henry what he wants instead of assuming it?" Regina paused and looked down at Henry as if he just popped up out of nowhere.

"Henry…would you like the mean, selfish, lying, untrustworthy lady to leave?" Emma narrowed her eyes at Regina's adjectives. Henry tapped his chin in thought.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted. Regina grinned victoriously.

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Gold? He wants the mean, selfish, lying, untrustworthy lady to leave." She made a motion for Emma to scoot away from her son. Henry deliberately smiled up at Regina.

"So, when are you leaving?" Emma burst into a fit of giggles and Regina's mouth dropped open in shock. _Yep, he's my kid, alright. _

"Excuse me?" Emma controlled her laughter long enough to smirk at Regina.

"Did you hear that, Regina? He wants the mean, selfish, lying, untrustworthy lady to leave," she mocked her, patting Henry's shoulder. _Good job, kid. _

"Well, the two of you will be disappointed, then. This is Christmas and I am spending it with my son. That is what good mothers do. How many Christmases did you spend with your son, Sheriff? Or with anyone for that matter?"

Emma clutched her fork angrily, despite Gold's hand prying it from her fingers. Luckily, there was always Henry.

"You see? You lied," he pointed out cheerfully. Regina stared at him in amazement.

"No, I didn't, Henry," she remarked, swiping a dark strand of hair from her brow. Henry was also like Emma in the way he would not be ignored.

"Yes, you did. Last Christmas you spent the day in bed," he reminded her. Emma glanced up at Regina accusingly. The Mayor averted her gaze. _Guilty as charged. _

"Oh, yes. I was ill that year. Winter bug," she dismissed it. Gold chuckled lowly and Henry shook his head frantically. _I'm sure there was some bug in your bed, but it wasn't that one, Regina. _

"Well, you must have been in a lot of pain, too. You never stopped moaning." Emma blanched and Regina pursed her lips. _Too much information alert! TMI! _

"Uh…so who was this seat for, anyhow?" The last person in the crowd stumbled from the house as everyone searched for a place to sit. It was Archie.

"Oh…was there a change in the seating plan? I thought I was sitting next to Henry. Never mind—there's still an empty spot next to Mr. Gold." Archie headed for it, but Gold quickly slapped his cane on the seat.

"No, there's not," he protested as Archie began to pull the chair out. "Shouldn't you go bother…I mean _converse_ with someone else?" Emma nudged Gold in the ribs.

"Didn't Gold tell you, Archie? He requires an extra seat for his cane. Seems his ego's too big to fit in one chair." Gold offered her an annoyed look. Reluctantly, he removed his cane. Archie gladly sat down, his eyes widening at the variety of food.

"So, uh…what game are you two playing tonight? Battleship?" Emma groaned and Regina's head whipped around. _Let me guess. Gold told the therapist about his versions of Operation, Monopoly and Twister. He's not coming over for family game night. _

"Do you see how much of a bad influence you two are on my son?" Henry's face was twisted with confusion, oblivious to the sudden awkwardness on their side of the table. Gold smirked.

"What's wrong with a little game of Battleship, Madame Mayor?" Gold smiled meaningfully at Henry. He grinned back as he realized Gold was defending his side.

"I love Battleship! I never lose," he exclaimed. Emma could feel Regina's glare prodding her skin. _Alright, kid. That'll be your birthday gift, if only to annoy your mom. _

"That's it. Time to eat," Regina declared, shoveling turkey and vegetables onto Henry's plate. Everyone was already digging in as it was. Henry scrunched his nose at the veggies. "Don't even think about the pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?"

"But—"

_"Eat! Meat!" _

* * *

><p>The task of eating went smoothly at first. The food was surprisingly good. Their side of the table was awkwardly quiet, with only Archie chirping about his favorite Christmas carols in order. Mary Margaret and David couldn't resist playing footsies under the table, unbeknownst to Kathryn.<p>

Time and again, Gold glared at the Stranger, who was charming Ruby fairly well. His foot nudged Emma's foot under the table, as if to prove they could be as cuddly a couple as David and Mary Margaret. Every time Emma moved her foot, Gold's followed, nudging and tapping insistently.

Finally, she slammed her fork down on the table and gave him a cross look.

"Play along, Emma. Make me look good in front of Stubble," he whispered in her ear. Emma nudged his foot in return and he smiled. Then, she lifted her foot and stomped down on his. "_Oh!" _

Gold gasped and everyone stopped to stare at them, especially Regina. _You two better not be doing what I think you're doing under that table! _Gold cleared his throat.

"Oh…Oh Holy Night is one of the best carols. Don't you agree, Hopper?" Emma dabbed her lips with a napkin as the chatter slowly rose again.

"Nice save," she murmured from the corner of her lips. Thankfully, Regina had started listening to Henry again, though her eyes kept darting back to them.

"Thank you," Gold replied calmly, ignoring Archie's praise of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Apparently, Archie wasn't a fan of Frosty, though. Something about leading a trail of kids around and yelling "Happy Birthday."

"That was sarcasm, Gold," she informed him. He barely blinked. His foot briefly tapped hers again and she gave him a warning look. _I'll do it again. You'll be shouting about something holy, alright. _

"I know. Your sarcasm is always a pleasure, Emma. Stubble's tongue down your throat? Not so much." Regina finished her plate and pushed it aside. There was that gleam in her eyes—the kind Emma knew appeared when she was up to something.

"I'll bet I can guess the Sheriff's favorite carol. Let me see…_I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. _Or, in this case, a handsome stranger in leather. What carol was he singing to you again? I believe it went something like…oh, yes. _Emma loves Gold, Emma loves Gold—" _

Emma's nerves were shot and Regina had crossed the last line of the night. Before she knew it, she was launching a handful of Christmas cake at Regina's face. Regina ducked and the cake splattered on Leroy's head instead.

"Oh, sure, sister. Aim at the heavyset guy in the red suit! Well, Santa ain't puttin' up with any crap this year!" Leroy threw a handful of cake back. Emma and Gold ducked down and it covered Archie's glasses. He wiped them off with a napkin and frowned.

"Don't you dare, Hopper!" Regina warned him. Archie sat back in his chair and everyone held their breath, waiting to see what he would do.

"You know, my mother always told me to treat others the way you want to be treated," he said proudly. Regina relaxed and Henry frowned with disappointment. Then Archie scooped up some mashed potato. "But she also said what goes around comes around!"

There went the mashed potatoes, into Ruby's face. And suddenly food was flying everywhere. People leaped from their seats, some ducked for cover under the table. Regina sat there horrified.

Even Henry was up and laughing. He picked up a chocolate pie and succeeded in throwing it squarely in the Stranger's face. Gold leaned over the table to him.

"That's my boy!" Henry high-fived him while Regina's face turned red as a tomato. Emma was enjoying it. She eyed Gold's suit deviously.

"It's amazing. There's not one speck of food on that suit of yours," she commented. Gold smoothed his tie and dipped his head as an apple soared through the air, courtesy of Henry. _What is with that boy and throwing apples? _

"Yes, and I'm planning on keeping it that way," Gold answered. Emma lifted a tray that held a creamy pie. He froze in his seat. "Emma…you wouldn't—"

_Splat. _All over his suit. The pie fell into his lap. Emma laughed as Gold hopelessly swiped the pie off his chest, making the matter worse.

"That was more punishment for the fire. And it's past time you really joined the festivities, Gold," she said, licking cream off her finger. _Mmm…chocolate cream pie. Not bad. _Gold purposefully reached for a plate of cake.

"Indeed." And he shoved the cake in Emma's face. A mask of vanilla frosting and yellow sponge cake coated her hair and skin. Regina stood and waved her hands for attention.

"Everyone! Stop! Leroy, enough with the pie! Not my apples!" Emma stood and tapped on Regina's shoulder. She turned to glare spitefully into Emma's vanilla covered face. "You! This is all your fault!"

Emma responded by lifting a jar of melted butter and pouring it over Regina's head. She gasped as it soaked every inch of her dress and shoulders. Gold smirked from behind Emma.

"I would've gone gravy," he quipped. Emma linked her arm through his and they strode from the backyard, avoiding piles of food as they walked. Emma smiled at Gold, frosting dripping from her hair.

"That was fun. Think we'll be invited back next year?"

* * *

><p>Emma stepped out of the steamy bathroom and headed into their bedroom, toweling her damp hair down as she went. Gold was near the closet, eyeing the pie on his suit distastefully as it hung on the closet door.<p>

"And you say I take my time in the bathroom," he chided her, turning away from the suit. Emma tied her hair away from her face.

"There was a lot of frosting in my hair, thanks to my wonderful, doting husband," she sarcastically shot back. Gold opened his expansive closet and searched for something.

"And there is pie on my suit, thanks to my lovely, caring wife." Emma lowered herself onto the bed, one leg tucked beneath her. Gold made a _'Eureka!' _face and revealed a cardboard box. Emma tilted her head at it.

"My gift is a cardboard box? Is this your way of breaking it to me that you want your bed to yourself?" Gold placed the box on the bed and began to open it. He paused to stare at Emma expectantly.

"Well, close your eyes or you'll ruin the surprise," he demanded, shielding her view of the box. She shook her head wistfully.

"I feel like we're in a Dr. Seuss book. Fine—I promise not to look," she harped and obediently closed her eyes. There was a shuffling inside the box and then Gold was moving around her. Something cold draped around her neck. "What, are you planning on strangling me?"

"Oh, Emma. Such odd ideas you have. Stand up," he ordered as the sound of a metallic clasp rang in her ears. With her eyes still closed, Gold led her through the bedroom door and towards the bathroom.

Carefully, he positioned her to his liking and lifted his hands from her arms.

"Open your eyes, dearie." Emma snapped them open to view her reflection in the mirror. And then she leaned forward in awe.

It was a golden swan necklace, made to match Henry's bracelet. It was just as delicate with a single diamond set into the swan's eye. It hung on a thin gold chain at the hollow of her throat. Emma was practically speechless.

"It's…incredible," she admitted, tracing a finger over it. Gold smiled at her in the mirror, pleased by her admiration.

"Yes, well…every story needs a memorable detail," he replied, laying a kiss on her cheek. Curiosity passed along his features as he slowly spun her around. "I'm quite anxious to see what you've arranged for my present, dear."

Emma's smile dimmed as she touched the golden swan again. Leaving the bathroom, she led Gold back to their room. From inside a bureau she pulled out a lumpy present wrapped in sloppy wrapping paper. She held it out to him.

"It's nothing as nice as a necklace," she warned him as he took the gift. Gold tore the paper neatly with a finger, his brown eyes never leaving hers.

"And here I was hoping great minds think alike," he murmured as he ripped the paper away. His eyes finally surveyed the gift. He turned it around in his hands, studying it strangely. Emma almost burst out laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face.

"What...is…this?" Gold held it away from his body as if it were diseased. Emma rolled her eyes. _Oh, come on. It is not that bad. _

It was a cuddly teddy bear. It had a cute brown button nose and two black eyes that gleamed when the light hit them the right way. It even came with a little suit jacket and a bowtie. Emma thought it was pretty adorable.

"It's a teddy bear," she said, her cheeks turning pink from the laughter bubbling up inside her. Gold stared at it and poked its little bowtie. _If only it came with a little cane. It could match Gold perfectly. _

"What do you want me to do with it?" Emma leaned against the bureau and snorted.

"It's your new snuggle buddy. Since you love snuggling so much," she teased him. Gold dropped the teddy on the bed and approached Emma with an expectant look. "I like him. You can call him Mr. Teddy."

"For your sake, I hope you have another gift in mind. Otherwise, it'll be just me and Mr. Teddy tonight," he warned her, lifting her chin with his hand.

Straightening up, Emma closed in on Gold and urged his face down to meet hers. Their lips crashed together and the spark between them quickly ignited. Before she knew it, they were lying atop the bed, kicking Mr. Teddy out of the way.

It was as Gold was kissing her neck that Emma felt another more demanding sensation flood in. She tapped Gold on the shoulder.

"Gold?" He barely lifted his head as his lips brushed along the gold necklace around her throat.

"Mm?"

"I'm craving Klondike's," she told him. Gold paused near her ear and raised his head. His brown eyes gazed down at her, still longing for her. Lines etched into his forehead as he struggled to decode her meaning.

"Klondike's? Sounds like some sort of medieval weapon," he said. Emma stared at him incredulously. _A medieval weapon? That's some weapon, then. 'Oh, look, I have a mighty, sharp sword!' 'Oh, yeah? It won't beat my Klondike!'_

"I'm starting to think you come from the Medieval Times. You've never had a Klondike bar?"

The only thing Gold offered her was silence. He was horribly serious. She pressed a hand against his chest to urge him upwards.

"You know…_what would you do-oo for a Klondike bar?"_ She sang the familiar jingle, but Gold's eyes remained blank. His lips twitched amidst his puzzlement—it was amusement from hearing her sing the little jingle.

"And what would you do for one, Emma? What price would you pay?"

Emma considered it for a moment. God, she really wanted a Klondike bar. She could taste the chocolate on her tongue, feel the cold vanilla ice cream going down her throat. _I haven't had one in years. I want it. _

"Tell you what, Gold. You find me a Klondike bar and maybe another Christmas present will be waiting for you." She shoved him off her just to show she was serious. Gold's eyes traveled over her body.

"I'm counting on it, dear." He dipped his head in agreement and started for the door, his mission clear. _Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to locate one deliciously yummy Klondike bar for your wife. _

"Make sure it's the original kind," she called out to him. He waved a hand in acknowledgment as he came to the top of the stairs. Suddenly, Emma jerked up on top of the bed. "No, wait! Get the Reese's kind. No, the crunchy kind. Ooh, get the—"

Gold whirled around and sighed.

"Make up your mind, woman! Which is it?" Emma weighed each one in her mind. They all seemed so tempting. Finally, she waved her hands impatiently.

"Just get them all," she demanded as he vanished down the stairs. That jingle was stuck in her head as she gathered up Mr. Teddy and lay back on the bed. _What would you do-oo for a Klondike bar?_

...

Gold was beyond worn by the time he came through the door, hands stuffed with the packages of Klondike bars, as Emma had requested.

Mr. Clark didn't sell any, so Gold had to make a trip to the next town just to buy the ice cream bars. At the rate his body was dragging, he wondered if he'd even be able to enjoy that second Christmas present.

Shoving the packages in the freezer, he took one with him to the bedroom. He tiredly tossed his cane on the floor and turned to Emma…who was fast asleep on top of the bed. She was breathing softly, her hand curled around Mr. Teddy.

Gold stared down at her in exasperation. _A trip to the next town to fetch a couple of ice cream treats and I can't enjoy my other Christmas present? You mean I have to wait until tomorrow night? _

Still, he gave in and let her sleep.

He shuffled over to the bed and reclined beside her. Turning her body slowly, he resigned to placing a little kiss on her lips for the night. Then, he carefully lifted her shirt and bent his head down to place another kiss on her flat stomach.

Settling back, he unwrapped the Klondike bar and took an experimental bite out of it. His eyes widened in surprise—this was a good treat, after all. Ice cream always was a soft spot of his.

Gold's eyelids fluttered closed as he savored his ice cream and mulled over the fact that, unbeknownst to Emma, she was giving him a third present this Christmas. And _that _gift he was not intending to waste.

Emma was pregnant.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dun, dun, dun! Wow, this chapter was longer than I expected it to be. Close to 20 pages, actually. But I know you guys will have enjoyed it, so that's all that counts. <strong>_

'_**How can you have pudding if you don't eat your meat?' Anyone know what awesome song this line's from? (-; One thousand Xmas cookies if you know it!**_

_**Thank God August is not Bae…otherwise that whole mistletoe thing would be incredibly awkward. And creepy. O_O**_

_**All that's left to answer is one final, terrible, torturous question….*drum roll* What would you do for a Klondike bar? **_

_**Wait a minute! I can't forget my lovely readers! Here's to DaesGatling, MoreThanMeetsTheEye96, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, RandomWriter101, DragonRose4, EnigmaSphinx, Fairy Demon26, the doctorsgirl42, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, ESwan, Notsureyet18, The Green Eyed Cat, immortalischaratis, Musicalfan2012, Lyn Harekeran, Twilightbbe11, Lacklustre Roses, GwenCooper456, and russianeyes718ouat7ncis.**_

_***sniffle* I have such awesome readers. **_


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! Not only did I re-write these scenes like crazy, but I've been having one of those really slow weeks. I also blame video games—my guilty pleasure. **_

_**Heavens, the reviews are…are…*dies from happiness* That good. Thank you so much everyone for reading and enjoying this story. I never even imagined it would get this far when I started it. You guys rock. **_

_**On to the chapter! Please enjoy. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>_

"What about this Mickey Mouse phone?" Henry was standing in Mr. Gold's pawnshop, trying to find some item worthy of a trade for his pathetic Tron lunchbox. Mr. Gold lounged behind the display case, wiping it clean with an old rag.

"As amusing as it would be to have you prank call your mother at her office, I'm afraid I have to decline," Mr. Gold rejected Henry's offer. The kid scrunched his nose—the same thing Emma often did when she was upset.

"She's not my mother," Henry mumbled, referring to Regina. He slowly wandered further along the display case. Mr. Gold silently peered at the boy. Henry leaned over one of the display cases now, a finger pressed to the glass. And he had just cleaned that one, too! "How about that ball?"

Henry was staring at a ragged dark brown ball and Mr. Gold's hands stalled as his gaze followed to it. A dull ache traveled through his chest. When had he last thought about those days, centuries ago when his own son had played with that ball?

"I'm sorry, Henry. Seems there's very little in this shop worth that .75 cent piece of tin your mother…_Regina _bought you." Henry removed his hand from the case, but did not move towards the shop's door. Something told him that, even though Henry was disappointed about being stuck with the lunchbox, the boy was also amused by the shop itself. Or, more likely, its owner.

"What happened to your leg?" The question came out of nowhere. Henry turned to scrutinize Gold with that dangerous curiosity of his. _So, the ulterior motive, then. The boy's trying to figure out my counterpart. Good luck, Henry—though the answers can be found just as easily in books. _

"I had an accident," Gold replied smoothly, his voice betraying nothing of his realization. He didn't bother to clarify. Henry stepped closer, tilting his head.

"What _kind _of accident?" The boy was clever, he'd give him that much. Much like his grandmother, he knew which questions to ask. Gold smiled back.

"A…traumatic, lame leg-inducing one," Gold answered. Henry frowned stubbornly as Gold circled the display case. All thoughts of the Tron lunchbox, which was still sitting on the front desk, were forgotten.

"That's not what I—" Gold swept aside the black curtain separating his office from the front of the store. He motioned for Henry to come closer.

"Henry, have I ever show you the back room before? Perhaps you'll find something there," he suggested, steering Henry away from those troubling questions of his. Henry's eyes widened with curiosity and he wandered closer, following Gold to the back room.

There was ten times more merchandise than in the front of the shop. Henry eyed it all with wide eyes, scanning everything at once. The shelves were cluttered with dusty, long-forgotten items. Everything but the floor and his desk were covered. Henry perched on the edge of the desk to gaze around at the objects.

"I wouldn't…sit on that desk if I were you," Gold told Henry, who looked back at him as if just remembering that the pawnbroker was there. He glanced down at the desk in confusion.

While Henry may not understand the…activities that had taken place there, Gold's mind was awash in memories. _It's always the highlight of my day when Emma visits me in my shop. _

"Why not?" Damn. He'd been expecting Henry to assume that Gold simply disliked having the boy sitting on his desk and just hop down. Then again, that curiosity of Henry's never really left—it could rival that of _Alice in Wonderland. _Always asking questions, much like Bae.

"Well…you see, Henry…that spot is reserved for Emma," Gold struggled to come up with an explanation. Henry gazed back at him with a questioning look.

"Emma sits here?" Gold remained close to the curtain, watching Henry almost without blinking. The boy sounded as if he did not believe Gold. It was like trying to explain the birds and the bees to the child—there were always more questions at the ready.

"Sometimes, Emma and I discuss her…job. She's performed several of her…duties at my desk," Gold said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. _At my desk, on my desk…whichever she prefers. Not that I'm about to tell you that. _"Quite the workaholic, she is."

Henry stared at Gold suspiciously and then slid off the desk. The boy moved to a shelf where a carved wooden spinning wheel rested, this one not coated in dust. Gold eyed it, suddenly longing for the days when he would spin his wheel to forget.

"Why do you like my mom so much?" _Again with the troubling questions. This boy will be difficult to impress. _Gold sighed and tapped his cane against the ground as he considered his next words. _Why do I like Emma? Well, Henry…_

"Your mother…your _real _mother is very pretty and smart. She's a good person." _Too bad I'm not so good anymore. I think I may end up corrupting her if she doesn't break that curse soon. She's already resorted to violence with me on a number of occasions. _

"So that could make you my stepfather, right?" Henry gently spun the wheel and it made a repetitious clicking sound as it whirled around. As soon as it stopped, he spun it again. Gold studied Henry silently. The boy reminded him so much of how Bae used to be.

"I'd like to believe so. Though, I'd have to decline on the Father-Son competitions. This leg would not do well in a three-legged race." Henry laughed at that, his face brightening remarkably. Gold enjoyed making the boy laugh, just as he enjoyed the sound of Emma's laughter.

Henry turned away from the shelf and looked to Gold with a sparkle of hope in his eyes.

"If I went to live with you and Emma, could I get the bigger room?" It was an odd question. Of course, he would like to see Emma regain Henry. The way Henry phrased the question…Gold's brown eyes filled with understanding._ A clever boy, indeed. _

"You know…don't you?" Henry did not pretend to be confused about what Gold was asking. He simply nodded slowly.

"Ashley's been pregnant for years…I mean, it feels like years. I've gotten used to recognizing it. I think it'd be cool to have a brother," the boy said, sounding much more mature than his years. Gold gazed down at him in awe and maybe a little pity. Henry had been distant from his peers for too long—the boy needed someone to connect with.

Gold knelt down to Henry's level and smiled as warmly as he could.

"In that case, you'll have the biggest bedroom in the house with your own bathroom," Gold declared, fueling Henry's hopes more than he should. The battle was not even here yet and Henry would be trapped under Regina's reign until then. But Henry grinned anyway.

Those wide eyes of his located something on the wall and he murmured something in surprise. Gold followed his gaze and saw the shield hanging on the wall. Attached to the shield were three swords. Gold smirked. _It figures the boy would be interested in those. _

"Are those real swords?" Gold crossed swiftly to the shield and lowered it off the wall, laying it on his desk so that Henry could see it better. The boy traced the shield with his fingers and grazed the handles of the swords.

"As real as can be. Are you hoping to slay a dragon on your way home?" Henry shook his head, giving Gold an exasperated look.

"Are you kidding? The dragon is _at _home," he responded and Gold placed a hand on his shoulder. _That's my boy. Hopefully, our savior will rid Storybrooke of that dragon soon. _"Can I try one?" Henry smoothed a finger across the shiny blade of a sword, almost lovingly.

"I don't think your mother would—" Henry glanced up at Gold longingly. He gripped the handle of a sword, like a child who wants a box of cookies at the store and refuses to let go until the parents give in. Gold half-expected Henry to start making puppy eyes at him. _Those Charming genes are going to start showing. _

"Please?" Henry waited for Gold's reaction, his eyes boring into the pawnbroker. Gold found it rather hard to reject the boy a second time. Sighing, he carefully removed the swords from the shield and placed them delicately on the desk.

Immediately, Henry lifted one of the swords and his arm faltered for a second under the unexpected weight of the sword. Henry struggled to lift it again and swung it experimentally. Gold observed him with increasing interest.

"Just make sure not to disembowel us," Gold warned Henry as the boy took another practice swing. Henry paused to look over at Gold. He was eyeing the other two swords and it didn't take a genius to realize the pattern of Henry's thoughts.

"Do you know how to swordfight?" A mischievous glint in Henry's eyes tempted Gold into lifting one of the remaining swords. He left his cane beside the desk and took wary steps towards Henry, who held his sword up and ready as if facing a true opponent.

"Depends," Gold replied vaguely as he crossed his sword with Henry's. "Perhaps I could teach you a few tricks." Henry's face lit up with excitement as he leaned his sword against Gold's.

Gold lurched forward, catching Henry off guard. The boy stumbled back while trying to swing the sword against Gold's and tripped over the leg of a desk. Henry went sprawling on his backside, the sword dropping from his hand.

"The first rule you should know: always watch your footing," Gold chided him. Henry rubbed his ankle and Gold hoped it wasn't twisted. Emma would have his head like the Red Queen if Henry had an injury, albeit a minor one.

"What's the second rule?" Henry was quick in following Gold's path of thinking. Gold towered over Henry and pointed the tip of his sword at Henry's chest.

"Never help your opponent," he advised. Gold pulled his sword away from Henry, allowing the boy to get to his feet again. Henry grabbed his sword and quickly crossed swords with Gold again. Gold tested Henry again, but the boy was more prepared this time; he managed to clash his sword against Gold's and follow his steps.

"Watch my footing…you mean like this?" Henry ducked under Gold's arm when he launched forward again and brought his sword lightly to Gold's back. Gold turned and smiled almost proudly.

"Impressive," Gold praised him, raising his sword. Henry suddenly leaped onto Gold's desk to come eye to eye with the pawnbroker, his sword leveled at Gold bravely. Gold shook his head and slammed his sword against the handle of Henry's, knocking it out of the boy's hand. Gold pointed his sword at Henry's neck and smirked. "But that is where you would meet your death."

Just then, Emma came striding through the curtain with two white bags in her hand. She stopped when she noticed Gold holding a sword to Henry's neck and the two bags dropped from her hand.

"What the hell is going on?" Gold lowered the sword and Henry jumped off the desk, his face turning red from being caught. Emma glared at Gold.

"I was training him. Showing him a few moves," Gold calmly explained, still examining the sword in his hand. Henry quickly picked up his discarded sword and gingerly placed it back on the desk with the other one. "What are you doing?"

"Bringing you lunch. I figured I'd be a considerate wife and I find you pointing a sword at Henry's neck. What are you training him for? How to slay Regina in her sleep?" Henry smiled at that, recalling the way he'd claimed she was a dragon.

"Yes," Gold answered simply. Emma sighed and retrieved the two fallen bags. The sandwiches inside were probably smushed now from falling on the floor. She threw the bags on the desk and laid a hand on Henry's shoulder.

"Time to go home, Henry. No more sword fighting. If you come home missing an arm, Regina would kill me next," she said, shoving Henry towards the curtain. Gold barely moved an inch, his eye remaining on the blade of the sword in his hand.

"Don't listen to her, Henry. Emma doesn't want you to watch a limping imp like me throw her on her back. Coward as she is," Gold taunted her. Emma paused in her steps and she gritted her teeth. _Don't bite the line. Don't bite the line. Violence doesn't solve anything…in front of the kid. _

Gold was waiting expectantly for her reaction, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Henry could feel the tension in the air and wanted more than anything to see his mother, the savior participate in a sword fight.

"Excuse me?" Gold chuckled and dragged a finger across the blade.

"A coward…and a tad bit deaf as well. What kind of woman did I marry?" Henry held back his laughter and smiled when Emma crossed the room to pick up one of the swords. Not just one of them—Henry's sword. She raised it towards Gold, a daring look in her green eyes.

"Give me your best shot, _limping imp," _Emma challenged him, much to Henry's amusement. Gold circled her like a vulture, but Emma kept him in her sights, following his steps.

"Gladly," Gold retorted before clashing his sword against Emma's harshly. "I like to think of sword fighting as an intricate dance, don't you, Emma?"

He instantly put her on the defensive, forcing her to back away as he came forward, his steps swift and quick. Emma blocked his sword, but retreated every time he came at her. As Gold slammed his sword against hers again, he grabbed her wrist and swooped her close to him.

"Give up yet, dear?"

"Not a chance," Emma scoffed, bringing her sword down over Gold's. He stepped back and she did it again until he was nearly backed up to the desk. Henry's eyes were wide as saucers in awe. Emma paused and an idea hit her. _Limping imp. _"A tip for you, Gold. Always mind your surroundings."

Bringing her leg up, her knee connected with the sore spot on Gold's bad leg and he moaned, arching forward. Emma whipped the sword from his hand and knocked an arm against his chest, sending him hurtling back over the desk. In a second, Emma was leaning over him, her sword aimed at his heart.

For a long moment, Emma resigned to catching her breath and met Gold's brown eyes below her. She set the sword beside him and leaned further over him. She didn't know why, but the tension of their little "dance" reinforced the urge to kiss him. And she almost did, her face hovering close to Gold's…

"Uh…guys? I'm still here," Henry reminded her, catching onto the awkward moment that was to come for Emma and her husband. _Kids, _Emma mused as she glanced at Henry. He was still smiling, his mind blown from seeing an actual swordfight from his birthmother.

"Go _home, _Henry!" Emma insisted and Henry frowned in disappointment. He reluctantly dashed through the curtain, leaving the two of them alone in the back room. Emma gazed down at Gold and listened for the tell-tale ringing of the bell. She frowned. "Is he gone?"

Gold placed a finger to her lips and seemed to be listening intently as well. There was the slightest chime, a few seconds of silence. Then, Gold smiled up at Emma and brushed the side of her face.

"As you were, Emma."

Instead of kissing him, she eased off him and sat on the edge of the desk instead. Gold pulled himself up, groaning at the ache in his leg. That was going to hurt tomorrow. And a storm was coming—the rain would make it worse. _If there's anything I could do without, it's this lame leg. Those years of being the Dark One had its upsides. _

"You could have hurt him, you know," Emma scolded him, motioning to the swords on the desk. Gold shrugged and Emma narrowed her eyes, misinterpreting it as showing his lack of care for the boy. On the contrary, he found little Henry quite amusing.

"Oh, Emma. Do you think me so callous? I went easy on him…and you," he replied confidently. Emma's mouth dropped open. She bunched up her fists defiantly—always her best weapon. The bruises that had marked Regina's face at Graham's funeral proved that.

"Are you joking? _I _beat _you_," she argued, poking his chest. Gold took hold of her hand and kissed her palm.

"I let you win. For the boy's entertainment. He needed to see his mother act as the hero he believes she is. Quite a show, wasn't it?" Emma scowled and grabbed up the bags they had all but forgotten. Gold eyed them curiously.

"Eat your lunch before I lose my appetite," she demanded, tossing one of the bags at him. Gold complied, digging out a sandwich from Granny's Diner. He had to admit the food was rather good—he honestly did not have anything against Ruby or Granny. But scaring the townsfolk on rent day was fun.

"I intend to save room for dessert," he hinted at Emma, nudging her with his elbow. Emma rolled her eyes and took generous bites out of her turkey sandwich. She finished it in no time and licked her lips. _I knew I should have bought that second sandwich. And a bag of chips. _

"I so beat you, fair and square," Emma insisted, refusing to admit to Gold's tricks and games. Gold smirked at her and took his time devouring his meal. He stroked a hand along Emma's leg.

"Whatever you say, Emma."

* * *

><p>Emma was pregnant.<p>

Except she didn't know she was pregnant. Or, if she did know, she chose not to acknowledge it. Stubborn swan that she was, Emma had a knack for turning her nose away from anything that set off the alarms in her head. The alarms that signaled the tumbling of walls.

Emma did not know she was pregnant…_yet._

Gold held this knowledge close to his chest since that first morning she was ill—it hadn't been impossibly difficult to figure out. He had noticed all the multiplying signs, had understood what was taking place. He was sure of it now and she would do well to learn of it herself.

First and foremost, he was putting her on a diet.

Getting Emma to stop eating those Klondike bars—now _that _was impossibly difficult; she would probably wrestle them out of his hand with tooth and nail. No, this diet would only ban alcohol or any other harmful substance to their child. He'd already lost one child—he wasn't planning on living through it again. _Emma better get used to the kiddie bowl at gatherings. _

He had been dropping subtle hints all week, hoping she'd realize what was coming for them. The first time was at dinner.

"You know, Mary Margaret says I'm learning fast. I hardly burn anything and still you refuse to let me cook," Emma protested as Gold set a plate in front of her. He laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbing the spot between her neck.

"Can't I be a good husband and offer to cook dinner so that my darling wife is not slaving over a hot stove? You've been baking most of the week—our house smells like a gingerbread house. Heaven forbid if you have something else…baking in the oven." He put emphasis on those last four words, squeezing Emma's shoulder lightly.

Her face lacked the dawning realization or understanding. She began poking her fork into her food. Gold sighed and removed his hand.

"It's dead. I think it's safe to eat now," he mocked her as she guided a piece of vegetable to her lips. Emma frowned at him as he took his seat next to her.

"Ha, ha," she retorted dryly and stuffed the vegetable into her mouth. She swallowed and pointed her fork at him. "I just hate having no control over what's on the menu." Gold ignored his own plate, his eyes traveling over her deceptive stomach. _It takes two to tango, dearie. _

Gold gestured to her full plate and smiled wryly.

"On the menu tonight: _baby _peas, _baby _carrots, _baby _corn, and _baby_…back ribs," he announced, wringing his fingers together as he anticipated her reaction. Emma stared down at her plate, as if just realizing what she was eating.

"I see that. What's next for this theme? You putting on a karaoke version of Justin Bieber's 'Baby'?" Emma chowed down her food while Gold became increasingly distressed. He fumbled with his tie, he swept his hands through his dusty brown hair, he licked his lips. Emma was more stubborn than he cared to admit.

Gold dragged his fork absently among his food, thinking critically. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well blurt it out at the dinner table…right?

"Emma, aren't we _expecting…_company tonight?" Emma glanced up, puzzled. Looking at him as if he were the one pregnant.

"No…Were you planning on inviting Mr. Teddy to dinner?" She went back to scraping her fork greedily along the plate. Gold rubbed his forehead. _Think, man, think. How do I make her see? Emma…you're pregnant. That'll work. Emma…your belly is…swelling? No, no. She'll think I'm calling her fat and women hate discussing their weight…_

"Just us…eating for two, then?" Emma dropped her fork on her plate, green eyes fiery and annoyed at his obviously strange behavior. She made a gesture to the other empty chairs around the table.

"No, Gold. Let's share our fabulous dinner with all of our marvelous besties," she sarcastically spouted. She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him. "You're acting creepier than usual. If this is a new trick to get me wound up for bed, it's not working."

Gold exhaled in annoyance and excused himself from the table, his food untouched. Emma whirled in her seat in disbelief as he ascended the staircase in silence.

"You're just going to leave this food here? There are people _starving_ in the world, you know!" When he didn't answer, Emma grabbed his plate and dumped the food on her own plate. "More for me, then. And a Klondike for dessert."

He'd find a way to get the message across. Somehow.

* * *

><p>Eddie "The Dove" Danvers had efficiently played the role of Gold's bodyguard since the time they had been cursed and dropped into Storybrooke, Maine. Sure, the majority of their encounters and first business meeting was based on false memories, but Gold could now see past the haziness. Good for him, unfortunate for Danvers.<p>

Still, he found it quite useful to have some sort of servant. There was no way he'd be hiring a mute maid ever again.

Danvers arrived in Gold's shop not five minutes after his call, face placid as ever. His eyes were hidden behind black Ray-Bans. With his muscled, giant figure and black clothing, Danvers looked more suited for _Men in Black. _

"Came as quick as I could, boss," Danvers announced, folding his hands behind his back like a military man.

Gold involuntarily winced—there was only one problem with Danvers. His voice. It was a toss-up between a chipmunk and a dying goose. _No wonder Danvers values his silence. For his sake, I hope he doesn't do karaoke. _

"Would've come sooner, but Miss Ruby's bagels are de-lish-ous." Danvers patted his stomach satisfyingly.

"Yes, yes," Gold murmured, Danver's dying goose of a voice grating on his nerves. He waved the man closer and folded his hands atop the display case.

"The Mayor need her tree TP'd again? Or you want me to drag someone into an alley for not payin' up? Or—" Gold made a gesture for him to shut up. Danvers shuffled his weight uneasily. Gold rubbed his forehead.

It was much too early for this trouble. He should be snuggling with Emma in bed and eating one of those Klondike bars. Although, Emma sort of noticed that he had eaten the last one and had threatened him with his own cane. A scary thought. _Emotional, desperate pregnant women are unpredictable. First Ashley, now Emma. _

"None of that, dearie. If I recall, you are skilled at flying," Gold nudged towards their true topic of interest. Danvers grinned like a clown at the circus.

"Yesiree. They don't call me "The Dove" for nothing!" Gold stared ludicrously at the squeaky-voiced man. _Oh, yes. The Dove. Might as well be the Flying Squirrel. _

Gold cleared his throat—he absolutely loved his smooth Scottish accent now—and pulled out a piece of paper that had been lying under Storybrooke's newspaper. He handed it to Danvers.

"I need you to write that message in the sky. Of course I am prepared to compensate you for the job…and perhaps a little extra if all goes well," he explained as Danvers lowered his sunglasses to peer at the message scrawled in a neat, fine hand.

"Is this about Miss Ashley again?" Danvers tilted his head in curiosity, his voice rising to a screech over Ashley's name. Gold narrowed his eyes.

"It has nothing to do with Miss Boyd. I shall have nothing to do with her…love life…ever again," he insisted. _Last time, she broke into my shop and pepper-sprayed me. I'm not repeating that experience. _Danvers stared down at the paper again.

"Are you trying to scare the Mayor? 'Cause I can do that with one of her apples and a frying pan—"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Gold blurted out, his nerves finally reaching their end. Danvers quieted and glanced down at the paper again. Then he shrugged.

"Okay, boss," Danvers shrilly agreed and marched to the door. Once he was gone, Gold sighed and rubbed his temples. _Next time, I'm sticking with the mute. _

* * *

><p>Leroy was debatably the first to see it as he walked—or stumbled—down the street.<p>

His belly was full of good, cold alcohol and he had a smile a mile wide on his grizzly face. The Diner always had the best alcohol, much as it irked Ruby to watch him drink himself into a stupor. _Eh, I think ole Ruby has the hots for me, personally. I saw the way she was lookin' at me in that Santa suit. _

He was just swaying along, mumbling the words to "Mambo No. 5", practically twirling in his high spirits. Seemed he was always singing when he was drunk. '_A little bit of Ruby is all I need, a little bit of Emma is what I see, a little bit of Mary Margaret in the sun, a little bit of Astrid all night long…dada da dada dada…'_

Leroy happened to tilt his head upwards and his singing halted. He squinted his bloodshot eyes and rubbed them once. There it was, plain to see.

"U…R…pregnant," he sounded out the words. Leroy guffawed and shook his head. What a message that was. _Wonder what Ruby and the doc would say about that one!_ _I can hear them now. AA, Leroy. AA. _

"Okay, I know I'm nearly drunk off my ass…but I know I ain't performing any Twilight Zone crap. What the hell does Ruby put in those drinks?" Leroy dismissed it and continued on his clumsy, intoxicated way. _A little bit of Regina, here I am. A little bit of you makes me your man…dada da…._

* * *

><p>Ashley Boyd cradled her baby in her arms and stepped out onto the porch, a mug of cocoa in her free hand. Sitting on the steps was her boyfriend—it was one of the rare days that he wasn't working and she was determined to enjoy this time with him and her daughter.<p>

"Here, honey," she handed the drink to her boyfriend. He absently took it and she settled on the step beside him. Alexandria was tugging on her blonde curls, but she laughed. Ashley held the baby up and started speaking baby babble. "Who's a good girl? Goo-goo goo-goo."

"Uh…Ash?" Her boyfriend's eyes were directed at the sky. Ashley followed his gaze to read the odd message in the sky. _U R pregnant? _Her boyfriend glanced over to her and he raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're pregnant _again!_ I'm working enough as it is!"

Ashley glanced down at her stomach and her lips began to tremble nervously.

"But…but…I just worked off all that weight! I don't want to be huge again!"

...

David Nolan left his house with a smile on his face. Things with Kathryn were good now that he was starting to remember the details of their marriage. Today, he even remembered that he had accidentally backed his car into Archie once. That was progress…right?

He still had to attend therapy, just for encouragement from Archie. He didn't mind—he liked Archie. He would even apologize today for running him over that one time. And he would praise his crickets.

Just as he came down the path, a message in the sky caught his eye. _U R pregnant. _David nearly dropped his keys.

"What…is this a joke? I…am…pregnant?" David frantically raked his hands through his hair, trying to understand it. What would he tell Mary Margaret? Did this kind of thing even happen? There were such things as crop circles, so…

Then David relaxed as a new wave of realization hit him.

"Oh, wait. That's not even humanly possible for me. Must be for someone else," he sighed with relief. Then he paused again. "But wasn't there one guy…so I could be…I need to talk to Archie!" David was so glad to be having a therapy session in ten minutes.

* * *

><p>Emma swallowed the last of her Klondike bar as she finished stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. Boy, that ice cream hit the spot. And the nerve of Gold eating the last one! The minute she found out, she nearly clubbed him over the head and made him buy some more. On the top of the package, she scribbled with a Sharpie: <em>Eat these and you die! <em>

_If I catch him with a Klondike bar again, his only sleeping partner will be Mr. Teddy. And a lame leg will be the least of his problems. My Klondike bars. _

She licked her lips and glanced out the window. Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of the message in the sky. Her hand instinctively dropped to her stomach, which was suddenly turning.

Gold had arrived home early that day, claiming that business was slow as snails. Personally, she figured it was his way of complaining about her not visiting him in his shop. Now, he entered the kitchen and crossed to her to see what she was staring at so intently.

"What do you know? Someone in Storybrooke has been quite _busy_. I'd say it's someone who's married…and attractive…and _blonde_…" Gold hinted, stroking a finger down her spine. She shook him off, turning her back on the message.

"Must be Kathryn Nolan. If you were nice, you'd send her a gift basket," she said. Before Gold could reply, Emma strode past him out of the kitchen. Gold wandered to the refrigerator.

"Pity I'm not that nice," he muttered as he quietly edged open the freezer and noticed there were plenty of Klondike bars left. Surely, she couldn't notice one missing. He carefully reached for one, lifting it out of the box…

"_Hands off my Klondike bars!" _Emma screeched from upstairs and Gold reluctantly dropped the ice cream bar into the freezer. He smirked as he closed the freezer door with a bit of force. _Emotional pregnant women…_

* * *

><p>Emma Swan was good at not seeing. If there was something that bothered her, she often chose not to acknowledge it, even if the possibility of it crossed her mind more than once.<p>

No matter how much Henry argued, she did not see any proof that fairy tales were real in Storybrooke. She chose not to notice when she ran into Archie multiple times, often with him out of breath and red in the face.

Likewise, some part of her had registered every one of Gold's hints, but she had turned her head from them. The moment she had recognized them, she shoved them out of her mind before their meaning could sink in. She didn't want to admit that he might be right, even if she threw up morning after morning. Even if she demanded Gold for more Klondike's.

But one thing she could not ignore: her period was late.

* * *

><p>Mr. Clark's general store was packed with women, each one murmuring about the mysterious message in the sky. Emma rolled her eyes as she headed down the aisle of female care products. There was just one pregnancy test left on the shelf and she snatched it up before some other emotional, crying woman could. <em>Emotional, pregnant women, <em>she inwardly scoffed.

Turning, she ran straight into the Mayor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Regina shrieked as the stuff in her hands flew to the ground—a comic book, binoculars, and a box of plain doughnuts.

"It's not my fault you were practically breathing down my neck! And are you planning a stake-out or something? Spying on me and Mr. Gold so you can ruin Henry's hopes again? Or is it revenge for ruining your Christmas party?" Regina scooped up the items and glared at Emma.

"Don't be so paranoid, Sheriff. This is for Henry," she replied icily. Emma stared at the items and arched an eyebrow. _Trying to make up for the crappy lunchbox? The kid would trade that lunchbox for a gumball. And then he'd probably win a bubble-blowing contest. _

"In other words, the kid is going to have a stake-out and is probably going to pelt Archie with apples again," Emma mumbled with an amused smirk. Regina blinked once. Her lip curled in disgust.

"Is that where my apples have gone? Every time I tell Henry I'm going to bake him an apple pie, they just up and disappear from my tree," she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. Emma shrugged, more than slightly smug about Regina's lost apples.

"Don't tell me you're buying a pregnancy test, too. They're all out," Emma taunted Regina, her fingers tightening around the last test as if Regina would fight her for it. They were standing in the correct aisle, anyway.

Regina lifted her nose disapprovingly in the air.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sheriff. Little Red came around yesterday," she announced. Emma grimaced. She was trying to keep her eyes on Regina's face and not look down…well, anywhere on Regina's body.

"I did not need to know that much, Regina. Little Red? Really?" Regina smoothed down her suit, juggling the box of doughnuts and binoculars in the crook of her arm. Her lips were pulled into a pout and only a light blush revealed that Regina was embarrassed.

"That's my code for when I'm PMSing," Regina snapped. _Well, at least if Henry warns me about 'Little Red', I'll know what it means. Here comes the Big Bad Wolf. _

"Wow, Little Red must be a frequent visitor, then," Emma muttered, trying to dart past Regina. The Mayor narrowed her dark eyes. With any other person, that cold look could probably strike a person dead. With Emma, it just made her even madder.

"Are you implying something, Sheriff?" Emma was about to mouth off sarcastically, but something Gold had said sounded far better. She half-turned and smiled falsely.

"There's only a double meaning if you're searching for it, Regina. Maybe you're the one who's paranoid." Emma shoved past Regina fully and made a beeline for the sneezing Mr. Clark.

"Have fun with your pregnancy test," Regina called out, hopelessly trying to jab Emma one last time. Emma hardly blinked.

"Have fun with your stake-out! Maybe you'll catch something good. That Mr. Teddy is quite a troublemaker," Emma retorted, dumping the test on the counter. Regina's rage could have taken out the entire female section.

"It's _not _a_ stake-out!" _

_..._

**_7:10 a.m._**

There was a sharp pounding on the door just as Mary Margaret sped out of the bathroom juggling her bag, coat, and brushing her teeth like a madman. She spit the toothpaste out into the kitchen sink as the pounding started up again. _Please let it be David, please let it be David…_

Mary Margaret stopped by the mirror to rake her fingers through her short black hair and checked her teeth for any other signs of food. She smiled. _Good as I'm gonna get. Hopefully he won't notice that I threw on the first pair of pants I could find. Ugh, is that a ketchup stain? Or…oh, God don't let him notice!_

One last time, she checked her breath and pulled open the door.

"Hiii….Emma."

She stared in surprise at her ex-roommate, standing just beyond the threshold with an anxious look on her face. Mary Margaret checked the time over her shoulder. 7:12—she was going to be late and all because of those few extra minutes dreaming of her and David on the beach in an episode of _Baywatch. And David had been the one drowning. Poor guy. _

"I wasn't expecting you here so early," Mary Margaret said, looking for a way to move around Emma politely. Emma crossed her arms and frowned.

"I need to talk to you," she hinted, glancing over Mary Margaret's shoulder to the inside of the apartment. Mary Margaret could feel the seconds ticking away. She should be at Granny's right now, checking her reflection in a spoon and waiting for David to stroll in with that charming smile…

"Right now? I have to…head into school early. I'm helping the kids make a volcano for the science fair we're having," she lied. Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. _Oh, why am I never good at lying to Emma? I could lie about having a turkey sandwich instead of peanut butter and jelly and she would know. _

"Really? Henry told me the school never has science fairs. He told me the last time he made a volcano, it exploded in Regina's face and that woman knows how to hold a grudge," Emma retorted as Mary Margaret's face turned pink. She checked the clock again—7:14. _Too late now. He'll be heading into Granny's and ordering coffees for him and Kathryn. _

"It's really important," Emma emphasized and Mary Margaret nodded numbly.

_Guess I'll just have to run into him when he picks up his Chinese food. It's not like I'm stalking him. I just happen to know where he works and what time he goes to Granny's in the morning. And that he picks up Chinese on Thursdays. And that he offers to play Bingo with Archie and Granny on Sundays. And he never wins…okay, maybe a little bit of a stalker…_

"Come in," Mary Margaret guided Emma into the apartment and shrugged off her coat. So much for that plan today. Emma paced around the kitchen and then leaned against the fridge. Mary Margaret settled into one of the chairs. "What's wrong?"

Emma bit her lip nervously and averted her gaze to the floor.

"I think…no, I _am_…I'm pregnant," she blurted out as she stared down at the floor, her mouth descending into a thin, stressed line. Mary Margaret froze in her chair, all thoughts of David flying out the window. Emma glanced up as the silence became thick. "Well, say something."

"Wow," Mary Margaret murmured. Emma shoved her body off the fridge and strode to the table where Mary Margaret sat.

"That's all? Wow?" Mary Margaret was struck speechless, lost in thought. She inevitably glanced at Emma's belly, which still showed no sign of the unborn baby that was already growing there.

"A month or so ago you couldn't stand the thought of being married to Mr. Gold and now…wow," Mary Margaret breathed again, shaking her head. She smiled reassuringly at Emma. "It's good to know you two are working it out whereas my love life is nonexistent. Have you told _him _yet?"

Emma waved the question off impatiently.

"Please. He already knows. He's been dropping me hints all week, most of which I ignored," she replied coolly, pacing before the table again. Mary Margaret's brow furrowed as she imagined the type of hints Mr. Gold would leave for Emma. And then it hit her.

"U R pregnant?" Emma shrugged.

"Bingo. Thanks to him, every woman in Storybrooke is paranoid. And David, apparently," Emma sighed. Mary Margaret laughed a little. _Poor David. Archie must have had his hands full yesterday. _

"Are you going to keep it?"

Emma paused and Mary Margaret knew she'd hit the big question. What would it mean if Emma made the same choice twice; to give her child up to someone else? What would Mr. Gold say about that? _I always thought Mr. Gold would make a doting father. He'd probably spoil his children and do anything to make them happy. _

After a long moment, Emma shrugged, even though there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

"I don't know. Maybe. I know I made a mistake with Henry. But dealing with two children…I don't know if I'm ready for that," she answered honestly, resting a hand on her flat abdomen.

Mary Margaret smiled, a sense of pride flowing through her for Emma. She noticed the gleam in Emma's green eyes—the glow of an expecting mother. Ashley had had it, too.

"You know, I think this is the happiest I've ever seen you before," Mary Margaret teased her lightly. Emma tried to force the smile away, but it stuck like glue.

"With him? No, there was that time…and there was…" Emma trailed off, racking her brain for an example, but none would come. There were moments when she'd felt _good_, but there had never truly been a moment where she'd been _happy. _Except with Henry.

"You see? You can deny it as much as you want, Emma. You're happy," Mary Margaret pointed out, rising from her chair to approach Emma. She took hold of her hands and gently squeezed them. "And if you're happy, then nothing else really matters, right?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but that smile was still there. She carefully took back her hands and started for the door.

"At least talk to him," Mary Margaret urged her as Emma opened the door. She glanced back once and nodded.

"Maybe tomorrow you can catch up with David," Emma tossed over her shoulder, making Mary Margaret blush. Mary Margaret watched Emma disappear through the door and her own smile crumbled. _Nothing ever gets past Emma. At least someone in Storybrooke is close to finding their happiness. _

* * *

><p>Emma walked into the shop and wasn't surprised to see the front half missing its owner. <em>Why man the register if there are never any customers? <em>

Gray shadows slid along the wall of violins and guitars as a nasty storm brewed outside_. Hmm…I wonder if Gold puts on a one-man orchestra when he's bored. Kind of like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins._ _It's better than nearly maiming me and my kid. _

Skirting around the counter, she made her way to the back room. Gold would be there, she just knew.

The pregnancy results had seemed a horribly long wait. During that time, Emma had made the bed—though it would not matter in the long run—and had poked around the clutter in the living room. She had come across a bow and arrow, only to pretend that she was Katniss and break a window. From the sound of it, the arrow had soared straight into Archie, who was walking Pongo outside. _Well, better him than the dog, I guess_.

Gold was sitting at his desk, examining a rose teacup set. On the corners of his desk were a stuffed peacock and a penguin. Emma had to chuckle at the sight of it.

"So, this is what you do in your shop when a storm is coming? Host a tea party with your stuffed friends? Where's Mr. Teddy?" Gold glanced at the peacock and penguin. He set one of the tea cups down.

"This is not what it looks like, Emma. If I were having a tea party, there'd be biscuits," he replied, standing up. Emma raised an eyebrow. "And Mr. Teddy is keeping our bed warm."

"Well—" Gold held up a hand, cutting her words off.

"And it would be by invitation only. Just so you know," he interrupted. Emma frowned, her train of thought lost to the winds.

"Are you saying I wouldn't be getting an invitation?" Gold shrugged, amused by her offense. "Who else would you invite? Archie?"

"I trust Archie," he replied immediately and Emma's mouth dropped open.

"Hate to inform you, but Archie won't be able to make it. He got an arrow stuck in his…well, in an uncomfortable place," she blurted out. Gold's lips pressed together in puzzlement. Then, a sharp understanding made him smirk.

"You were rummaging through that clutter, weren't you? I specifically remember a bow and arrow being there, right on top of the cuckoo clock. My, Emma. You shot Archie. All you had to do was tell him 'no.' I'm sure he would've gotten the hint," Gold quipped. Emma averted her gaze. _Yep, I shot the therapist._ _And it was not in self-defense. _

"So…what? You don't trust me? Do you think I'd poison the tea?" Gold circled his desk and flipped off one of the stuffed birds to perch on the corner.

"Emma, you and I both know you never do anything half-assed. If you poisoned the tea, you'd probably coat the biscuits with arsenic and strap me down to a table while I die. That last part might not be much of a regret, actually."

Emma stared at Gold incredulously.

"You are one sad, strange little man," she mused pitifully. "And it's too bad I didn't get an invitation. You'd have had to prepare three cups. If Archie joins us, then four."

Gold gazed thoughtfully into her eyes, deciphering her meaning. He slowly focused on her abdomen and she knew he had it. Of course he did—he'd known first, really.

"I'm pregnant," she spelled out the obvious. Gold mocked her by wiping his brow in relief.

"Thank goodness. I thought you might be inviting that stranger. If anyone deserves to get shot with an arrow, it's him." Emma ignored his mockery, waiting for his true response. Gold's lips finally curved into a genuine smile. "I knew it," he whispered gloatingly.

Emma smiled along with him. Just as quickly, her smile vanished as she imagined raising a child from birth. She had enough concern with Henry as it was.

"Look, I don't even know what I want to do with it. I'm just informing you that I'm pregnant." Emma watched Gold's brown eyes glint darkly and his body tensed.

"You're not getting rid of it," he argued. Emma's temper flared and she crossed her arms defiantly. She was the one carrying it. I just hope _Gold's not the only one that handles adoptions in this town. My options will decrease if that's the case._

"Says you," she scoffed. Gold remained unmoved, his face troubled by her disagreement.

"Yes, says me. I'm the husband. And besides, I'm a man who is against abortion." Emma shook her head in irritation. "And adoption is out of the question. I refuse to let a half-brained oaf like David Nolan raise my boy."

"This is the problem with couples. There's no such thing as 'majority rules," Emma moaned. Gold nodded once victoriously.

"No, there's not. And one of us is voting for the baby." Uncertainty filled Emma's eyes and Gold's face softened as he realized her fears. Not only was she not ready, she was afraid it would only weigh on her shoulders; that she had to bear it alone. Just like before. It was a difficult task, being strong all the time.

Gold extended a hand to her and she surprisingly took it, allowing him to lead her closer until her body was nestled between his legs on the corner of the desk.

"I know you still do not trust me, but I can make you a promise, dear. This will not be like the last time you were pregnant. I'm not about to leave you. If there's anything I refuse to abandon, it's family," he assured her softly.

Emma gazed long and hard into his eyes until she could feel her defenses breaking. She rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed her golden hair.

"I'm just not sure I'm ready to be a mother yet. Not to Henry and not to a baby. I need time," she admitted, lifting her head. Gold's fingers dropped to rub her palms. She found it was quite soothing.

"You have nine months of it. And you will not be doing it alone, Emma. I believe tonight calls for a celebration," he declared, rising to full height. "How about you make a trip down to the diner for food and we can celebrate right here." Gold gestured to his shop. Emma gave him a dubious look.

"We're not getting any alcohol, no matter how much you want to loosen me up," she reminded him, starting for the curtain. Gold feigned surprise.

"Why, Emma. Of course not. An emotional, delicate pregnant woman should not be drinking. Ask Ruby for a bottle of her finest sparkling apple juice." Emma rolled her eyes and dipped through the curtain, Gold close behind her.

"I'll be back. If I can beat the storm, that is," she muttered, peering out at the swirling gray clouds.

"I have faith in you, Emma. Worst case scenario, we'll find some way to warm you up," he hinted, rubbing a hand across her back. Emma pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

"You're going to make this a re-do of the cabin, aren't you?" Gold grinned and laid a kiss below her ear.

"Except this time, both of my legs are in working order. We can skip the nursing bit." A clap of thunder followed on the heels of Gold's words. "Better hurry, darling. That storm won't hold off forever."

Emma sighed and into the cold she went. _You're just lucky you're good, Gold. Otherwise, this might not be worth it._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Credit for the name "Danvers the Dove" goes to DaesGatling and her Abridged series. Thank you for letting me use it. <strong>_

_**Another startling note (as a heads up for those lovely readers/writers out there): a lot of people have been telling me that this site may be prepared to do a cleanse. In other words, any stories containing mention of adult themes (violence, sexual situations, language) may be taken off the site as well as the accounts of those who write these stories. Some people have started a petition to stop this from happening and here is the link: www . change petitions/fanfiction-net-stop-the-destruction-of-fanfiction-net**_

_**Again, I don't know if this will actually happen or not. It's just what I've heard and I'm passing the warning along for good measure. **_

_**Back to our regularly scheduled program…shout-outs are in great order. And there are so many, which makes me so happy! **_

_**To DaesGatling, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, ParanormalMoonlight, megumisakura, discotimelord, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, SBM-AnGiE, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, ekletic, immortalischaratis, valoankea, The Green Eyed Cat, Cuchalainn, dontleavetonight, blueangel1987, The-Writer2012, ESwan, BlooperLover, Fairy Demon26, anche, LackLustreRoses, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, Twilightbbe11, thedoctorsgirl42, Lyn Harkeran, GwenCooper456, DragonRose4, FortunesArkHero, Musicalfan2012, and dreams and fantasies. **_

_**You guys are absolutely amazing for keeping my story alive! Thanks, all! **_


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: First off, I am sorry this update took longer than I expected. Two words: Arkham City. If those words don't mean anything to you, then just ignore that detail. **_

_**But I also bring good news! Thanks to greenholstein's review, I have focused this chapter specifically on Emma/Gold. Which means I already have the next chapter finished and written up for you! *dances with joy***_

_**So, hope you all enjoy this lovely chapter. **_

When Emma returned from her trip to the diner, she was soaked head to toe and shivering. Her blonde waves clung to her skin like intricate spider-web and water dripped onto the floor.

Gold appeared from behind the curtain. As his brown eyes surveyed her, his lips twitched with unmistakable amusement at her wet, disheveled appearance. He leaned heavily on his cane as he slowly glanced down at the growing puddle on the floor.

"Don't. Say. A word," Emma warned him through chattering teeth.

Lightning illuminated the shop and she drew away from the door. Gold's expression was one of mock innocence—a mask he pulled off rather well when he wanted to.

"Yes, dear," he drawled. Emma narrowed her eyes at him. Gold shrugged. "That was _two." _Sighing, she unzipped her leather jacket and revealed a take-out bag from the diner. Gold's hand fluttered to his heart. "Oh, thank heavens. Here I thought our baby was growing faster than intended."

Emma shot him an annoyed look and thrust the bag his way. Gripping a handful of her hair, she wrung it out. A stream of water poured onto the floor.

"Woman, you are ruining my floors," he complained, motioning to the river in Emma's wake. _As if water's the worst thing that's been on his floor. _

"The Stranger was in the diner," Emma changed the subject. Gold's calm smile slipped away instantly into a distasteful frown. _Not so smug now, are you? Point for me. _

"That man better have kept his lips to himself," Gold growled. His hand was clutching the head of his cane so fiercely, Emma thought it might actually snap off. _Okay, maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea to mention Stranger. The only advantage he has is the rain slowing down Gold. _

"Trust me, nothing happened," she assured him, wringing out the other patch of her hair. Gold scowled and dropped a gray, tattered rag over the puddle, nudging it with his foot.

"Oh, I trust you, my dear. I do _not _trust _him."_ Gold's voice was low and smooth as always, but she knew him too well now.

Gold had the typical insecurity—much as he tried to shield it—of others taking what rightfully belonged to him. It didn't surprise Emma that she was more or less one of those possessions, even if it irked her to consider herself as his _possession. _It sounded like she was up for sale. _What am I? A lava lamp? _

"He's a writer," she offered, as if that somehow made Stranger less of a threat. Gold bent forward to retrieve the rag and deposited it in a heap on a shelf. Slowly, he turned on his heel to her.

"And what exactly did he ask of you in return for this information?"

A thick lump formed in Emma's throat and another chill skated down her neck, though it had little to do with her damp hair. _He won't be pleased with this. And I'm sure as hell not going to be responsible for Stranger's hospital bill. _

"You know, not everyone in this town is a creepy, manipulative, shady dealmaker like you," she retorted, but her voice broke on the last syllable. Gold arched an eyebrow and waited. "Oh, for God's sake, he asked to buy me a drink sometime. There, happy? It's not like he asked me to go home with him. He doesn't even have a home!"

Gold's expression was stony and cold. She was surprised the windows didn't shatter from it.

"The key word being _'sometime.'_ What's that colorful phrase? Oh, yes. Over my dead body." Emma crossed her arms and matched his unwavering gaze.

"I thought agreements were always honored with you," she challenged him. Her stomach grumbled like a roll of thunder and she was half-aware their food was growing cold.

"_My_ agreements are always honored. It doesn't mean I favor you honoring _his _agreement. He's a big boy—he'll get over it." Before she knew it, Gold was standing directly before her. His fingers were caressing her waist. "Have you forgotten your…fragile state, Emma?"

Emma didn't flinch as she batted Gold's hand away.

"I wasn't agreeing to alcohol, Gold. I was agreeing to a _'drink'. _He could buy me bottled water and it would technically suffice. Intent is meaningless, right?"

For a long, tense moment, Gold's brown eyes scanned her face. Then his smile returned, satisfied like never before.

"I've taught you well. You're on your way to graduating," he said softly with a hint of pride. Two of his fingers caught a strand of her wiry, damp hair and twirled it. After a second, he released her hair and increased the space between them. "Our food will be getting cold and we can't have that. It'll only take a moment to heat it up."

Gold started for the back of his shop.

"You have a microwave back there?" _What next? A fridge? A bed? Then again, why does he need a bed when he has a desk? _

"I have the makings of a home all in the comfort of my back room. Don't worry, Emma. _Mi casa es su casa." _Gold prepared to sweep aside the curtain, but paused. "Just so you know, that means—"

"I know what it means, Gold," she cut him off. He was referring to Louisiana, with those Spanish women and her mistake of calling Gold her 'wife.' "I suppose you also have a walk-in closet with something for me to change into?"

Gold glanced back at her with a wide smile, the kind of leer she'd once found unnerving.

"I'm sure I have something lying around," he replied before slipping behind the curtain. _I don't like the way he said that. Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking that? _

It only took a minute or so for Gold to reappear. A bundle of red clothing was draped over his arm, the ruby shade of a fresh rose. Emma hesitantly reached out for it and her green eyes boggled as she unfolded it.

It was a red dress.

A sexy red dress.

"What, did you plan this storm, too?" Gold scrutinized her every move as she held the dress up to her body. What Emma did not know was that the dress belonged to Ruby, who only parted with it on the condition that she could arrange the dinner.

"It was an opportunity I could not pass up. It's not as bad as the gold dress," he pointed out to cheer her up.

Emma eyed it from all angles. Gold did have a small point there. This dress wasn't as short as the gold dress. It was a simple strapped dress with a flowing, pleated design past the waist.

"I take it from your silence that you agree. Good." Emma shook her head pitifully and tossed her leather jacket away from her body.

"I guess it's either this or…my…birthday suit. I'll take the dress." Gold nodded to her approvingly.

"That's the spirit. Though, being your devoted husband, I'll support you with or without the dress." Emma gave an emotionless laugh.

"Of course you would. I'll just—" She made to step into the back room to change, but Gold blocked her path. Emma tried again, only to have Gold follow her movements and side-step her.

"Are you taking dance lessons from Stranger? Don't make me kick that cane out from under you. I'll do it."

Gold lifted his cane closer to his body and spread his arms on either side of the doorframe. It definitely reminded her of Stranger and the Christmas party. _How do I attract these people? _

"I'm afraid you can't go back there, dearie," he told her. Emma stared at him suspiciously.

"And why not?"

"Ant infestation. Nasty critters," he explained without hesitation. Emma still had a hard time believing it—there was something else going on here. It seemed Gold was always playing his cards.

"Gold, we were just back there and there were no ants—"

"Emma, I'm only thinking in your best interest. Those ants will no doubt be attracted to your lovely skin and leave red marks all over. Then you'll have to explain to everyone why you have red marks on your skin and I'm not sure Archie can take much more from you. Given our relationship, who will honestly believe it was ants?"

Emma was struck speechless by this rant of Gold's. Oh, yes. He was up to something. _What the hell is going on? _Grudgingly, she let it go. For now.

"Then, do you mind giving me a little privacy?" She made a shooing gesture with her hand. Gold ignored it, even as her hand brushed his suit. He gave her a critical once-over.

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked, Emma." Emma dumped the dress on the counter and leaned against it, still as stone. It was clear she wasn't undressing until he was gone. "Very well. I'll just…check on those ants."

Gold grabbed the bag of food and left her alone in the front of the shop. Emma took her time getting into the red dress. It was a little tight around the waist, but not bad.

The whooshing sound of the curtain made her turn. Gold stood there, devouring every inch of her with his brown eyes.

"Beautiful. Now, if you'll follow me. Dinner is served."

…..

"Think of it as a token of my appreciation," Gold hinted as Emma followed him into the back room. "Besides, you never gave me that other special Christmas present, darling."

He stepped aside so Emma could get a full view of the room. She studied it quietly. He liked to think she was in awe.

"I thought you said there was an ant infestation. Looks pretty clean to me. Or, as clean as your back room ever gets." _Or not. Hard to please, this one. _

While she was gone, Gold had taken it upon himself to clear the tea set off the desk and had covered it with a fine red tablecloth. The room was lit only by a single candle on the desk. Their food was waiting on a generous plate in the middle: spaghetti, courtesy of Ruby.

"The ants must have decided it would be better to swarm David Nolan instead."

Gold watched Emma's green eyes gleam like emeralds in the soft golden light. _Ah, there we are. _She _was_ pleased, he could tell. _Only the best for my Emma,_ he thought as he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back.

There was a time not too long ago where such a gesture or touch would cause Emma to tense up and push him away. Tonight, her body was relaxed and she seemed to draw closer to him. An inch or two, but it was enough. He was sure Emma didn't fully grasp how much she'd leaned toward him since the night they were wed. Or did she?

"Wow. If I had known you were planning this, I would have expected McDonalds," she taunted him lightly. And now that she mentioned it, he could go for some of those fries…No. What was he thinking? _This world's food is much too addicting. _

"And yet McDonalds does not scream 'romantic,'" he replied as he guided her to their 'table.' Emma gave him a dubious look over her shoulder.

"And food from Granny's Diner at your desk in the back room of your shop does?"

Emma chose her seat—which was really a plain wooden chair—while Gold remained close behind her. His hands came to rest on the table, on either side of her body. His breath warmed her neck.

"Would you rather we do this in public?" _With everyone in town staring at us like a cow just dropped from the sky? _Emma eyed the table which was really a desk and the plate of spaghetti.

"Mmm…spaghetti," she exclaimed with a sudden urge of enthusiasm. Gold chuckled near her ear.

"That's what I thought." Gold straightened and grabbed a bottle that Ruby had also packed into the bag. Sparkling apple juice.

As he poured some into Emma's glass, she read the label sideways. Her head tilted back to gaze up at him knowingly.

"Let me guess: Ruby was in on this, too?" Gold's small smile and lack of verbal response must have confirmed it for her. "How much did you pay her?"

Gold circled the table and poured himself some of the apple juice.

"I didn't pay Ruby a dime," he answered honestly, taking his seat across from Emma. The wheels in her head were spinning—he could see the raw determination in her eyes.

"So, how did you—" It hit her. Slowly, she glanced down at the red dress hugging her body. It certainly looked better on Emma than it ever did on Ruby. "That's where the red dress came from."

Gold smirked as he stuck his fork into the spaghetti and wrapped a spool of it around the fork.

"What, do you think I have _America's Next Top Model _stuffed in my closet?" Emma genuinely laughed and allowed her fork to join his in the spaghetti.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Your closet is a walk-in built for a Kardashian." Emma brought the spaghetti to her mouth. She pointed her fork at the plate as she swallowed. "And her choice of food was spaghetti?"

Luckily, Gold more or less knew Ruby well. A predictable young woman, much like any other hazy-brained creature in this town.

"Ruby must have intended for us to re-enact _Lady and the Tramp,_" he said. Emma raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of apple juice.

"Sounds like something Mary Margaret and David would do." And that mental image was all too clear in his mind. _Lovebirds. At least I don't need the help of spaghetti to kiss Emma. _

The two of them chewed in silence for a while, their forks occasionally clashing in the pit of spaghetti. All the while, Gold observed Emma across from him—the easiness of her smile, the rosy shade of her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes.

He knew this night would mean a great deal to her in the long run. She needed to know that she wasn't falling into the same trap and being used. She needed to know it was about more than just the sex.

"Thank you," she finally whispered. And he knew he had been right. This did mean a lot to her. To take advantage of her comfort now would shatter it. But she did look so good in that dress…

He needed to think about something else. Anything else.

"Are you going to tell Henry?" Emma lifted her head in surprise and laid her fork down. There was a struggle waging inside her. To tell Henry was to admit to keeping their baby, to fight for it.

And she would. He could see it dawning on her.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll tell Henry," she agreed. What he heard beyond that was _I'll fight for the baby. _His knuckle brushed her hand to tell her he understood. "Will he…will Henry accept it?"

Gold withdrew his hand to dab his lips with a napkin, the spaghetti temporarily forgotten. He leaned his elbows on the table and chose his words carefully.

"Emma, I've watched your boy grow up here," he started. Emma stared down at the spaghetti, moving it around listlessly with her fork.

"Lucky you," she sarcastically retorted. _Alright, perhaps not the best way to start. David's disease of idiocy might be spreading. That man should be quarantined._

"What that boy wants more than anything is a family. Much like you did when you were bouncing around foster homes as a child," he explained.

Emma froze in her seat at the mention of her troubled past. He knew she didn't want the same troubles for Henry. Gold lightly laid his hand over hers.

"Henry will be happy. You'll see." _Once you believe in this curse, fight a dragon, obtain true love, and get your boy away from the Queen, that is. No pressure, Emma. _

They dipped back into the spaghetti and into silence. Gold's eyes roamed the mess in his back room as he lifted a forkful to his lips. The thin noodles were so long that they were still hidden in the pile.

_I suppose I could have tried to organize the merchandise a little. Stuff it somewhere, maybe in the alley. It's not like anyone would think to steal from me. Except Ashley…_

Emma kept her eyes on the wall, lost in thought as she chewed. _How am I ever going to break it to Henry? Okay…'Henry, I have something to tell you. I'm sort of…kind of…' No. 'Henry, guess what? I'm having…me and Gold…' Maybe I should just send him a card. 'Congratulations! You're a big brother now!' That'll work. _

Emma and Gold simultaneously inched forward trying to gather up the rest of their spaghetti. The rest of the noodles rose from the pile and their lips met at the end of it.

Both of them were stunned even as they kissed. Gently, they drifted apart and Emma's eyes widened.

"Huh. Guess that really does work," she commented, touching a finger to her lips. "You planned that." Gold licked his lips, savoring the taste of spaghetti and Emma.

"For once, my dear, that was pure luck." _As far as you know. _

…

_**I felt in the mood to write a nice little scene for these two. (-; **_

_**As always, my reviewers are full of awesomeness! Cookies to everyone! Thank you DaesGatling, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, greenholstein, Notsureyet18, discotimelord, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, SBM-AnGiE, Immortalis Charitas, belladu57, BlooperLover, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, thedoctorsgirl42, DragonRose4, megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, Musicalfan2012, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, and The-Writer2012.**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Hello, my lovely readers. For those new ones, welcome; for those regulars, welcome back! So much happening in this chapter—and I made it longer by adding in a couple of scenes that weren't originally going to be there. **_

_**I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the past ones so far. **_

It was a few minutes before eight when Emma hesitantly rang the doorbell of the Mayor's house. Rubbing her eyes, she turned her back on the door and waited for the telltale sound of footsteps on the other side.

During that rather lovely dinner last night, she'd decided to tell Henry that she was having Mr. Gold's child. Once she made up her mind to tell him, she spent the remaining portion of the night trying to figure out _how _to tell him. _I'm surprised I can even function today. Though there was that one wall…_

The door swung open—_please not Regina, please not Regina—_and Henry smiled up at her, though she could tell he was surprised to see her.

"Emma! What are you doing here?" The excitement in his voice was hard to miss. It wasn't like he always had company here. _With such a low rate of visitors, the kid would probably be happy if a nun showed up. _

"I, uh…have something to tell you. She's not home, is she?" Emma checked over Henry's shoulder, waiting for the angry click of heels and the walls to implode under her glare. Henry shook his head.

"Nope. The Queen has left the building. Or, castle," he told her. Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes. The weight of the kid's fantasy was daunting. "Let's go upstairs. Just in case she pops up. She does that a lot."

Henry closed the door behind her and led her up the grand spiraling staircase to his bedroom. As they passed Regina's room, she noticed the door was shut tight and uninviting. _Has the kid even seen her room before? Or is it like walking into a pit of snakes? Better yet—I wonder if anyone has ever come out. _

The kid's room was surprisingly neat, so unlike how she pictured a ten-year old's room to be. It barely looked lived in; even the bed was similar to one in a magazine—perfectly done up and tidy. There were only a couple of comic books next to his sleeping computer. The only items on the bed were the Grimm Fairy Tales and a backpack, which Henry was currently zipping up.

_How lonely. How depressing. No wonder the kid is in therapy and forced to endure Archie's crickets. _

"Hey, kid, don't you have any pets? Seems kind of lonely here," she pointed out. There wasn't even a tank of lousy fish. Henry's face was quite serious when he glanced up at her; it made him look older than his ten years.

"That's the point. The Queen's power comes from fear and misery. That's why you're here, remember? To put a stop to the Evil Queen's curse," he reminded her.

She was the "savior." She was meant to break the curse. She would bring back happy endings to all fairy tale creatures. Blah, blah, blah. It had been drilled into her head since the night she'd come to Storybrooke.

Emma sighed and sat on the edge of Henry's bed.

"How could I forget? The least Regina could do is let you keep a pet. I highly doubt that a puppy will plot her assassination. Even a _snail_ would be more lively than…_her_," she argued, gazing around Henry's odd room.

"She'd crush it," Henry flatly retorted. Emma stared at him in disbelief.

"Who would crush a helpless snail?" It was a pointless question—she was starting to imagine Regina stomping on the poor, slow creature. Henry settled on the bed beside her and they both listened to the silence of the house. "How about a dog?"

"Sheds too much. Regina would rather die than have dog hair all over her suits."

"A cat?" Henry snorted.

"Can you imagine the Queen cleaning out a litter box?"

"A turtle?" _A rabbit? A hamster? A poisonous snake? _Henry paused and he shrugged sadly.

"I had a snapping turtle once," he admitted. Emma shook her head pitifully. _So, Regina complains about goldfish whose only purpose in life is to swim in their own pee, but she gets along fine with a snapping turtle? That says a lot. _"But then I lost him."

"You _lost _a _snapping turtle?" _Henry smiled sheepishly. Emma could only imagine Regina's tantrum about that one, especially if it ended up somewhere she didn't appreciate. Like inside one of her perfect little suits.

"Oh, I found him. We were about to have dinner one night and Regina sat down. And then she screamed. Turns out, the turtle bit her in the—"

"Yeah, I got it," Emma waved him off uncomfortably. Though, the sight of Regina screaming and grabbing her own butt was pretty hysterical. _I wonder what Dr. Whale had to say about that one. _"What happened to the turtle?" Another mental image replaced the first in her mind, one of Regina madly swinging a frying pan.

"Regina said she'd run him over with her car, so I released him into the wild," Henry assured her and Emma let out a sigh of relief.

"That's good." _Because I'm sure Regina would be more than happy to serve turtle pancakes. Or turtle soup. Witch. _

"But, then Leroy ran over him instead. He was drunk," Henry quietly finished. Emma clasped her hands together on her lap. What was she supposed to say to that? Did they make Hallmark cards for turtles?

"Oh…" She murmured.

Emma and Henry sat in uncomfortable silence. It was no wonder Regina didn't allow pets after having one bite her in the ass. Literally. _At least he was a smart turtle with a good judge of character. _

"Oh!" Henry suddenly exclaimed, making Emma jump into the air. She'd almost been ready to pull a gun, startled as she was. The kid reached behind him for the Grimm Fairy Tales and started searching for the right page. "I've figured out who Mr. Gold is!"

_And we're back in business,_ Emma mentally moaned as her heart slowed to normal. Then Henry's words really kicked in.

_Wonderful. Just the theory I've been waiting to hear. Please don't let him be someone like Pinocchio—it's bad enough seeing those creepy puppets in his shop without being supposedly married to one! Wait...then I'd be giving birth to a baby puppet? Oh, dear God. _

Henry studied a page and then laid the book on her lap. It displayed an illustration of a small man and a woman holding a child. In golden script above the story was one word.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed, the weight of it rolling smoothly off her tongue. _Well, at least there'll be no baby puppet. Just a baby imp. _

Emma was already shaking her head skeptically as her green eyes scanned the first few lines of the fairy tale. The nostalgia of it was overwhelming, each syllable resonating somewhere deep inside her.

She had first read the story in one of her early foster homes, in an old copy of the Grimm Fairy Tales that had been gathering dust on a bookshelf not unlike the edition she now held in her hands. For some reason, it had been one that she had recalled quite well over the years. Her lips moved soundlessly over the printed words: _For no one knows my little game; that Rumpelstiltskin is my name!_

It was almost as crazy as the suggestion that Mary Margaret was her mother and David Nolan was her father.

"Henry, you're talking about an imp who spins straw into gold and makes deals for children," she pointed out. Henry stared at her flatly, waiting for her to catch on. Ashley floated to the surface of her mind, plus her deal with him…"Well, Mr. Gold can't spin straw into gold, can he?"

Henry shrugged and took back the book, eyeing the pages as if he were cramming for an exam.

"I don't know. We could ask him," Henry replied, smiling up at her. Emma scoffed at that one.

"Sure, kid. We'll just walk into his shop, smile big, and say 'Hey, Mr. Gold. By any chance, do you have the tendency to spin straw into gold?"

Henry ignored her rant, his mouth already opening to lay out his full-fledged argument against her. _And the sad part is that the kid will probably win. Has he ever considered being a lawyer? _

"What about his cane? You know…Rumpel_stilt_skin?" Emma found herself becoming weary under Henry's sharp, demanding gaze.

"Gee, I don't know. 'He has a bad leg' wouldn't be enough of a hint?"

Henry grumbled, his face turning slightly red. Emma searched around his bed for his other fairy tale book, but Henry must have had it hidden at his castle.

"Okay, what does your book say about him?" Henry glanced up, his nose scrunched and lips pulled into a pout.

"That's the strange thing. Rumpelstiltskin's not in it." She could see the confusion and disappointment in his face.

She almost felt bad for him and had the sudden urge to wrap him in her arms. _Oh, now my motherly instincts kick in. I have to stop spending all my free time with Mary Margaret. Next I'll be wearing a skirt. _

"Well, then maybe your theory is wrong," she suggested hotly. Henry's eyes nearly leaped out of his head. _Of course not because that would be ridiculous. _

"It can't be! It makes sense! I just know he's someone powerful. Mr. Gold _has_ to be Rumpelstiltskin!" The urgency in Henry's voice was despairing. Emma reclined on Henry's bed and closed her eyes.

"I don't know what to tell you, Henry. He didn't really say much when I sarcastically suggested the name to him." All at once, Henry was looming over her and shaking her shoulders.

"You did _what?_ When?" Emma pried Henry off her. It had just occurred to her again, that night in Louisiana when she had supposedly won their bet. _What the hell is it? Rumpelstiltskin? _

"On our honeymoon. I made a bet with him to guess his first name. He said it began with 'R', but he kept shooting me down so I sarcastically asked him if it was Rumpelstiltskin," she explained quickly to avoid another Henry ambush. Henry's mouth was hanging open in suspense.

"What'd he say?" Henry inched forward on the bed, rocking on his knees as if listening to a riveting campfire ghost story. Emma shrugged weakly.

"All he said was that I guessed his name. I assumed he meant that I'd guessed it earlier and he was just screwing with me the rest of the time. That's all. Henry, there is no way his name is Rumpelstiltskin," she declared with finality. Henry started shaking her shoulders again.

"Don't you see? You guessed his real name! It means something good—it has to!" Emma's stomach flip-flopped.

"Kid, if you don't quit shaking me, I'm going to toss up my cereal and then you'll have to explain to Regina why her house isn't perfect anymore. Hopefully without her throwing knives at my head. This place is enough of a circus already."

Henry settled back on the bed and frowned down at the Grimm Fairy Tales.

"He is Rumpelstiltskin. He has to be," Henry whispered, mostly to himself than to her. Emma felt an ache in her chest. The kid was reduced to finding meaning in this "curse" and nothing else.

Without warning, Henry's eyes lit up and he tilted his head at her.

"Oh…what was it you wanted to tell me?" Emma swore under her breath and turned it into a cough. She'd forgotten all about breaking the news to Henry. Was this even a good time anymore?

"Uh, Henry…David's not pregnant," she blurted out and winced. _Is that seriously the best I could give him? That my apparent long-lost father isn't pregnant? How often do you hear that? _

Henry didn't seem surprised by the odd statement. Instead, he grinned down at her flat belly.

"Nope, but you are." Emma jolted upright on the bed.

"You _knew? _How did you—" The realization hit her like lightning and her fists clenched in irritation. "Gold?" Henry smirked as brilliantly as his stepfather. _That's it. No more swordfight bonding for those two. _

"Actually, I kind of noticed the signs before he said anything. Ashley's been pregnant for twenty-eight years, remember? If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't mind a little brother." _Huh, so Gold was right. Henry does want a real family. Then again, Gold is right 99.9% of the time. _

As for the technicality concerning Ashley, Emma was dumbstruck. How did a woman even handle a twenty-eight year-long pregnancy?

It was ridiculous. Emma gave a dry laugh.

"Wonderful. First you tell me I'm the savior. Next, I'm supposedly Snow White's daughter. And now I'm married to Rumpelstiltskin and having his child. My life is complete."

Henry only returned a smile and hugged the book of fairy tales to his chest.

"Welcome to Storybrooke."

…

Before Henry and Emma headed out to Henry's castle, they stopped at the diner. Henry kept complaining that he was hungry and that kid had the tendency to bring it up every other second until she agreed to the diner. _How does Regina say 'no' to the kid? Put earplugs in and block him out? _

"Hey, Ruby. The kid's hungry," she said, shifting her head toward Henry. He hopped onto a stool and didn't even bother glancing at the menu. Like the people in Storybrooke, the menu didn't change much.

"A plate of chocolate chip pancakes, please," he ordered, smiling his brightest. Emma murmured that she didn't want anything.

Something was nagging her mind about Ruby. She had that wide grin on her face—the kind of knowing smile that appeared during one of her fits of gossip. There was a spring in her step, a gleam in her eyes. _Oh, no. What's going on in Storybrooke now? I swear, this town would be the perfect setting for a drama show. _

"Are you sure? A little bird told me something pretty interesting about your health, Emma," Ruby hinted, winking at her. Emma felt a heavy stone drop into the bowels of her stomach. _Tell me she doesn't know! If Ruby knows, then the whole town knows!_

Archie, sitting a few seats away, snorted coffee out of his nose. He coughed and sputtered, dabbing at the stains with a napkin.

"Her health? You mean…Emma's not _dying, _is she?" Emma buried her head in her hand while Henry giggled beside her. _Glad one of us finds this amusing. _

Out of nowhere, Sydney popped up next to Archie, his fedora slanted on his head. His detective senses must have been tingling.

"What is this about someone dying? Oh, it'll make great headlines! _'Sheriff Gets Death Sentence!' _Or maybe…_'Storybrooke Savior Meets Tragic End!' _People will love it," Sydney boasted, waving his hand through the air as if painting a picture.

"Emma's not dying," Ruby exclaimed. Archie sighed with relief while Sydney frowned in disappointment. Under Ruby's stare, he shuffled off back to his seat. Ruby perked back up once he was out of earshot. "So? Are the rumors true?"

Emma debated on her answer. _Just come out with it, Emma. The town will know soon, anyway. No, play the ignorance card. Maybe she's really talking about something else. _

"What rumors?" Ruby rolled her large eyes impatiently and clicked her nails on the counter.

"You know…the rumors that you're pregnant," she announced, pointing to Emma's belly. _Never mind. _

In that second, a dropped pin could be heard in the diner. Everyone stared at her; some accusingly, some in blatant surprise. Emma's face flushed and Henry squirmed uncomfortably.

"Ooh, even better! _Town Sheriff Busy With—"_

"_Sydney!"_ Ruby and Emma shrieked at him. The reporter sipped his drink and shielded his eyes with his fedora. _If that story makes the headlines tomorrow, Storybrooke will need a new reporter. _

"Great. Just what we need. A mini Gold. That kid's gonna be callin' us all out by the age of three. We're doomed," Leroy protested, hammering back his drink in one rough swig. Ruby glared at him.

"So, who's going to babysit for you two? You know, on those nights when you two want some alone time?" Ruby nudged Emma's elbow and winked.

Leroy made a choking gesture. Luckily, Ruby had just turned away to grab Henry a pitcher of orange juice even though he didn't ask for some. Ruby seemed to really like Henry; when the subject of Regina wasn't involved.

"It has to be someone responsible and trustworthy," Archie cut in. "Just imagine, your child being horribly scarred for life or their behavior questionable because of a poor choice in babysitter. Kids can pick up a lot of bad habits at young ages." Emma stared at him skeptically. _As opposed to me and Gold learning how to raise a kid together? _

"Are you saying _you_ want to be the babysitter?" Henry almost spewed out his orange juice, just as Ruby was laying his pancakes in front of him. Archie seemed to deeply consider his options, ignoring Henry's startled reaction completely.

"Well, I could clear up my schedule a little. I'm always here to help, after all," he replied sincerely. Henry made a fist pump and whispered '_yes!'_ "Not you, Henry. Your sessions are still intact. The Mayor would crush my crickets if I tried to cancel."

"Aww…" Henry moaned and stabbed his fork into his pancakes. Emma watched him with concern. _With my luck, he's imagining that pancake is Regina's face. _Archie pointed to Henry.

"You see? Those are the kinds of behaviors that could be instigated. The raw anger and violence towards a helpless opponent…" Archie shuddered when Henry tossed him a glare. Henry pouted and the jabbing increased until the pancakes were mashed.

"Uh…" Emma awkwardly turned her back on Henry to catch Ruby's attention again. The waitress' red lips spread in a smile. "Who told you about this? The only one that knew was—"

The bell above the diner door chimed as Mary Margaret stepped inside, fixing the blue hat that covered her short dark hair. She smiled at everyone and ordered a coffee from Ruby. Emma gave her a serious look and pulled her close to the counter.

"Mary, please don't tell me you accidentally let it slip to Ruby about my…you know…" Emma pointed to her belly. Mary Margaret's green eyes widened.

"Emma, of course not! I haven't said a word since you told me!" Mary Margaret's face flushed with irritation at the accusation and Emma instantly regretted it.

Mary Margaret was one of the few that she trusted in Storybrooke. Besides, there had been a mess again with David—Emma was surprised Mary Margaret was even standing here in public and not curled up on the couch.

"Well, unless Gold is planning on shouting it from the rooftops, there's really no one else…" Emma's words trailed off as she suddenly recalled picking up the pregnancy test from Mr. Clark's store and bumping into someone. Regina.

"Emma?"

Mary Margaret waved her hand in front of Emma's face to bring her out of her thoughts. There was an odd stiffness in her palms and Emma glanced down to realize her hands were clenched into fists. _Regina. It's payback for the Christmas party. _

Emma ignored Mary Margaret's worried expression and leaned towards Ruby, slapping her fists on the counter.

"A little bird told you?" Ruby shrugged unconvincingly and averted her eyes to the tiled floor.

"It was more like a giant, squawking crow," she admitted. Henry grinned at that and eased up on his poor, mutilated pancakes.

"Regina?" Ruby nodded once. Now Emma felt like mashing some pancakes. The last thing she needed was Regina making the situation more complicated simply because she could.

"Your problems might just be bigger than mine right now," Mary Margaret murmured with sympathy. She placed a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder, but Emma shook it off.

"Spoke too soon," Ruby chirped, motioning to something behind them. The bell rang again and they all turned to see David standing in the door.

His blue eyes were shocked at the sight of Mary Margaret, right before he dashed back outside. Without a word, Mary Margaret went chasing after him.

"What is this, _Gone with the Wind?" _Leroy quipped, scoffing at the departed couple. Emma's brow furrowed as she checked the clock on the wall. It most certainly was _not _7:15 a.m.

…..

Emma, Henry, Leroy, Ruby, and Granny huddled together in front of the window to watch David and Mary Margaret. The two were standing in the street talking, though they couldn't really hear what was being said.

"Ouch, Leroy! You're too heavy!" Ruby shrieked as she wiggled out from underneath Leroy, who was leaning over her in the booth.

"Please, sister. I heard you like this kind of thing." Leroy guffawed right before Granny slapped him on the back of the head.

"You know, I just realized I was short-staffed this week, Leroy," she hinted to him. Henry squirmed on his seat, eyes trained on Mary Margaret and David.

"They're in the middle of the street! What if a car comes?" He glanced back at Emma expectantly. _And how often do you see moving cars around here, Henry? _

"They die," Leroy quipped, earning another slap from Granny. Leroy rubbed his head, which was quickly turning red. "It was a joke! Besides, I'm sure David would push Mary Margaret out of the way. Pfft, a regular Prince Charming, ain't he?" Ruby elbowed him in the gut.

"Shut up! David just said something good! What'd he say?" Ruby's red-streaked head whirled around frantically. Everyone's faces were blank, all except Leroy's.

"He either said _'I'm not pregnant' _or _'limes shot lemons'._ Never mind what I'm drinkin'—I'll have what he's having!" He poked Ruby's back and she scowled.

Awed silence descended on them as David swept Mary Margaret close and kissed her. Henry leaped forward, stunned by the sight of his virtual Snow White and Prince Charming kissing. Granny shook her head disapprovingly and Ruby murmured a couple of 'awws' and 'oohs.'

Emma was the only one grimacing as she recalled that this was supposedly her mother and father, at least according to Henry. It was almost as awkward as having them walk in on her and Gold in the cabin.

"Aww, they're such a cute couple! How romantic," Ruby gushed as she watched the two lovebirds. Leroy snickered.

"I bet those two ask you for a room and we all know what happens after that!" Leroy winked suggestively at Emma, who narrowed her eyes dangerously. Ruby craned her neck towards him and smiled wickedly.

"Wanna bet on it? Valentine's Day is coming up. You'd look so adorable as Cupid," she teased Leroy. He blushed and grumbled something under his breath. Granny—known well for having good hearing—caught it and made a show of aiming another slap on Leroy's head. He ducked and scrambled out of the booth.

"I've seen enough, anyway. If I want to watch two lovesick people makin' out, I'll watch _Titanic_," he spouted before sauntering away to the counter. Ruby rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

"Oh, Leroy. Everyone knows that's your favorite drunk movie. All that alcohol must really get your emotions going. Archie said the last time you were in jail, he walked into the station and you were singing the love theme!" Leroy almost tumbled off his chair.

"I was not! The doc's lying! I've never even heard that song," he mumbled and made a beeline for Archie, his face red from embarrassment. Emma could only picture Leroy doing karaoke in jail. _Mental note: buy more duct tape when Leroy's in jail. _

Outside, Mary Margaret and David were just starting to pull away. Henry was oblivious to everything else in the diner. He smiled up at Emma.

"You see? It's working!" And, of course, by _it _he meant _Operation: Cobra. _Granny glared at the couple through the window, her fingers clenching her shirt anxiously. The scene before her did not sit well with her.

"I don't understand how you all can find that amusing. It's wrong is what it is! Poor Kathryn—the girl probably isn't even aware of what her husband's up to!" Ruby shot her an annoyed look.

"Oh, Granny. Stop it. It's romantic," Ruby insisted. "I knew Mary Margaret had some edge in her somewhere. Plus, I never really liked Kathryn, anyway." Granny stared Ruby down, the kind of sharp look that would send Pyramid Head wailing for his mommy.

"Why ever would you like Kathryn Nolan? She's a bright, self-respectable woman," Granny snapped. Ruby gasped and leapt off the booth, planting her hands on her hips.

"And I'm not?" Emma tried to ignore the argument, but it was getting harder to do so. Granny looked like she was about to tell Ruby just what she was.

"Ruby, there must be something wrong with that head of yours if you find home-wrecking romantic!" Emma glanced nervously at Henry and made an excuse about getting him home.

As Henry allowed her to lead him past the bickering ladies and out the door, he gave her a mischievous look.

"Hey, who knows? Maybe you'll get a sibling, too!" Emma failed to wipe that mental image from her mind for the rest of the day. _If those two keep it up, I'll be sharing a hospital room with Mary Margaret. _

…

Outside the diner, Regina sat in her car, munching on her box of doughnuts. She couldn't believe she ate the whole box herself. No, Henry must have stolen some when she left them on the table. Oh, but she only just opened them this morning, didn't she? _Never mind. It's only a couple of pounds. Soon Emma Swan will make me look like a supermodel. _

Regina took out her binoculars—her old pair had broken. They weren't as powerful as Jefferson's telescope, though. Even she had to admit that his telescope was _impressive. _Too bad he was locked away in that house on the hill.

Stealthily—or so she liked to think—she peered into the diner where Ruby was talking to Emma and pointing to Emma's stomach. No doubt Ruby was announcing the latest pregnancy rumor.

Regina lowered the binoculars and grinned maliciously. _Serves you right for ruining my Christmas party! _She raised the binoculars again to see Henry stabbing his pancakes with a fork. _Ah, he likes mashed pancakes, too! See that, Emma? He is like me after all!_

And then the worst thing happened.

David Nolan went into the diner, only to come rushing out not two seconds later. Behind him, wearing the most atrocious hat and buttoned blouse, was Mary Margaret "sugary-sweet-as-a-fairy-on-speed" Blanchard.

Regina scowled as the two talked in the middle of the street, where everyone could easily see. _Run them over, Regina. The world will be a better place. Or, this world, anyway. Run them flat like Henry's rude snapping turtle. _

And then—_le gasp!—_those two had the nerve to…to…_kiss!_ Regina's mouth dropped open in horror. _That tramp! No decency for other women's husbands whatsoever! And she's happy about it! Next she'll be after Mr. Gold! I knew she was evil! Whoa…is she trying to strangle him with her tongue? _

Regina curled her hands around the binoculars. In one swift move, she tossed them out the window and they shattered on the street. _Peachy. I'll need new binoculars….again. I think Mr. Clark is getting suspicious. _

He wasn't the only one. The two lovebirds pulled apart at the jarring noise and glanced wildly about. Thankfully, they weren't looking at her…yet.

Regina was so busy ducking down in her seat that she didn't notice Emma and Henry approaching her car.

"Regina," Emma's voice alerted her and she shot up in her seat. For dramatic effect, she clutched a hand over her chest.

"I hope you know you almost gave me a heart attack! Your job description does not involve sneaking up on people!" Emma crossed her arms and leaned down to meet Regina's eyes. Regina almost expected her to ask how much she'd been drinking. _Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight? _

"What are you doing here?" It was Henry who fired the question at her, his eyes narrowed. Regina scanned the passenger seat for an excuse—she couldn't very well tell him she was spying on Henry's birth mother and teacher.

"I was…looking for you. To give you this," she insisted, pushing a comic book through the window toward him. Henry reluctantly accepted it and studied it.

"I already read it," he told her, trying to hand it back. Regina glared sharply as the corners of Emma's lips lifted into a smirk.

"Then read it _again," _she snapped. The smirk disappeared. Good. The only one who should find anything amusing in this town was her. Except that never stopped Gold, either. That man found _everything _amusing. It was…creepy. "What are _you _doing here with _my _son?"

Emma frowned, hating the possessiveness. And that's why Regina reminded her as much as possible. The Sheriff needed to be put in her place. She could only imagine what _her _child would turn out to be. Henry didn't count.

"I was getting him breakfast since his _mother _doesn't seem too concerned about his eating habits," Emma shot back harshly. Regina wished she could run over the Sheriff instead.

"I'll have you know that my son eats well. If you must know, I offered him some doughnuts this morning and he refused," she declared, shoving the empty box of doughnuts in between the seats. Henry didn't miss a beat.

"No, you didn't. You put a sticky note on there saying 'Do Not Touch'. And now you're trying to hide the box 'cause you ate them yourself," he accused her.

Emma's eyes widened. Regina was speechless. _How dare he! That dreadful woman is influencing my son too much! Her and her no-good husband! _

"Henry, get in the car," Regina ordered in her 'take-no-prisoners' voice. Henry scrunched up his nose in defiance. "Henry, either you get in this car or…or…I'll…" Emma scoffed at her.

"Or you'll what? Lock him in a closet?" Regina paused. No, that was Henry's Sunday punishment. This wasn't Sunday, was it? Ugh, it was Saturday—she could only ground him.

"Henry, if you don't get in this car, I will ground you for two weeks. Understand?" Henry pouted, but trudged over to the passenger side. He made a show of slamming his door and Emma knew he was going to be a handful in his angstsy-teenage years.

"Why do you always ground me on Saturdays?" Regina didn't bother answering. Instead, she purposely forced a smile for Emma. The Sheriff's hands curled into fists.

"Good luck with that bundle of joy, Sheriff. You're going to need it." Regina sped off past her and Emma just leaped back before the car's tires could roll over her feet. Emma coughed as a plume of smoke rushed up her nostrils.

"That woman has issues," Emma muttered.

As the car passed Mary Margaret and David—who were still lounging in each other's embrace—Regina chucked the empty box of doughnuts at David's head. He rubbed it and stared up at the sky.

"Is it just me or is the sky falling?"

…..

_Mmm…picnic…Emma, you shouldn't have…what are you…no, not the whale! Gold…no, not the cane! Not the whale! Not the cane!_

_Thump!_

August rolled off the bed and knocked his head against the bedside table on the way down. His arms flailed on the floor, the blanket strangling his neck.

His eyes flew open and a cold sweat broke out over his skin. His skull throbbed as he lifted himself up, his leg stiffer than usual. _Man, I have some strange dreams. At least the Emma part was nice. _

Stretching, he glanced out the window as his dream faded into the darkest corners of his mind. It was late afternoon, according to the town clock.

A light breeze floated in as he edged the window open, stirring him to full alertness. _Not too bad for Maine. Maybe I'll take a ride around town. Stop by the station, see if Emma wants a ride. Or there's always lunch. She can't say no to free food, right? _

Eager to get on his motorcycle and go, he pulled open the door…and stopped. There was a heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting just outside his door. _Must be from Ruby. Poor, lonely girl thirsting for attention. Knocking on my door all night and asking deceptive questions. First it was a late night snack, then toilet paper, then the offer of her company…_

Gathering up the box, he found a note taped to the lid. It was a simple pink paper folded once and the message was short. The letters were cut-out from a newspaper, probably _The Mirror. _It looked more like a ransom note than one of affection. And yet…

_I saw these today and thought of you. Think of it as a token of my appreciation for that Christmas party. Emma. _

A dazzling smile brightened his face as he undid the ribbon that bound the box of chocolates. _I knew she'd come to her senses. _

"Oh, Emma. You shouldn't have—" _Boom!_

Chocolates exploded into his face, coupled with a blinding white flash of light. The world spun, the box slipped from his hands and fell flat to the floor. Footsteps rushed up the stairs—Ruby and Granny, who was equipped with her shotgun.

"Who's screaming?" Granny whipped the shotgun around and Ruby ducked to avoid being throttled. Ruby tossed Granny a wide smirk.

"And you say I miss all the good stuff on my break!" August didn't notice any of this; his eyes were burning madly and nothing was making sense.

"My eyes! My eyes!" He waved his hands blindly in front of him and stumbled in the direction of Granny's and Ruby's voices. Granny jumped out of the way and he went sailing over the stairs, tumbling down to the last step. "Oh…ugh…"

There was a low guttural groan and then his body was oddly still, sprawled out on the floor. Ruby and Granny stared down at him, the shotgun still trapped in Granny's hands.

Ruby was the first to regain composure, nudging Granny in the side.

"I think you killed him."

…..

_**Poor August. Oh, well. **_

_**Le gasp! I know that my absolute favorite character is noticeably absent (how could I?) but don't worry: he'll be back in the next chapter. I hope everyone still enjoyed it regardless. **_

_**Shout-outs! I wish to thank DaesGatling, olverabonk, Immortalis Charitas, ParanormalMoonlight, greenholstein, SBM-AnGiE, DragonRose4, Guest (and thank you for that correction—I cannot believe I actually made that error. Much appreciated!), Lyn Harkeran, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, Musicalfan2012, thedoctorsgirl42, The-Writer2012, BlooperLover, foxfireOUAT, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, and EnigmaSphinx. **_

_**Thank you all for reading! It's always a pleasure to receive such nice reviews! **_


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: Hello, all you little Sunshine readers! Guess what? It's another long chapter for you and Gold has returned! I was much too sad not including him in the last chapter. But he's back and Emma better watch out…**_

_**Enjoy reading!**_

Emma hated hospitals. She hated the cold, clinical atmosphere. She hated the antiseptic smell that made you want to gag. She hated the way nurses forced their smiles as if you were passing them in a park instead of a place of bleeding and sickness.

She had no idea how she would make it through hours of labor to give birth to her second child. It still amazed her to think about it. Her second child…when she was still trying to create ties with her first one.

The only good thing about today was that she wasn't the one in the hospital. No, that was the Stranger. _He'd better make this quick,_ she thought as she made her way up the hall.

Standing outside one of the hospital rooms was Dr. Whale. He was pretending to examine a clipboard when in all actuality he was checking out one of the younger nurses. Never mind the antiseptic—_that_ made Emma want to gag. She almost turned around, but it was too late. He noticed her.

"Hello, Emma," Dr. Whale drawled in what he liked to think was his smooth 'I-wanna-get-it-on-with-you' voice. Emma disagreed—that was his 'I'm-a-sleazy-narcissistic-doctor-and-I-know-it' voice. As if to prove it, his eyes freely roamed over every inch of her body.

Emma cringed. She could probably go streaking through the hospital delivering balloons to sick patients and not feel as uncomfortable as she did right now.

"That's Sheriff to you," she reminded him icily, crossing her arms over her breasts. Dr. Whale leaned against the wall, blocking her path. Emma groaned._ Do I have to tattoo 'not interested' on my forehead?_

"Sheriff, Emma, baby…What's really in a name?" Dr. Whale flashed her his 'winning grin.' "Speaking of baby….pregnant, huh? You know, if you need me to fix anything or, uh, personally check you out, I'm medically inclined—"

"I'll get back to you on that," Emma briskly cut him off, striding around him to continue down the hallway. _Yeah, sometime on February 31st when it's raining pigs and Leroy has willingly gone a whole day without alcohol. Good luck, doctor._ "Where is he?"

Dr. Whale's steps hurried behind her as she peered into room after room on her way past.

"By 'he', I assume you mean your charming Stranger." Emma tossed a sharp look over her shoulder, but she didn't slow in her pace. The sooner she found Stranger, the sooner she could be in someone else's company.

"Well, I definitely didn't mean your good twin," she shot back. Dr. Whale's steps paused for a brief second. She actually thought she lost him, until he started following her again. _Why doesn't this hospital have a code blue or code red when I need one? _

"Ouch. Harsh words, Sheriff." Emma rolled her eyes. _I'm sure it hurt your ego real well._ "Luckily, I'm talented enough to be whoever you want me to be, baby."

It was then that he made the mistake of swiping his hand across her butt.

Bristling like an angry cat, Emma whipped around in a golden fury and grabbed Dr. Whale's wrist. Before he knew it, he was pinned against the wall with his arm secured behind his back. Painfully. Emma leaned in close so only he could hear her.

"Touch me again, doctor, and the next thing you'll be practicing is how to keep yourself occupied in a jail cell next to Leroy. Alcohol, loose behavior, karaoke, and missing clothing…sounds like your kind of thing," she hissed in his ear.

Emma loosened up on him and rubbed her hands on her jeans. She noticed a small crowd had gathered—mostly women and nurses including the one that Dr. Whale had been mentally undressing moments ago.

"False alarm! He's clean. Better safe than sorry," Emma announced, her green eyes aiming darts at Dr. Whale as he rubbed his red wrist. He didn't look too smug now. Good.

"Hmm, I'll be using that excuse next time I tackle him," a nurse whispered to one of her friends, who snickered. It turned Emma's stomach.

"Again," Emma stated once the crowd had dispersed, "where is he?" Dr. Whale motioned his head further down the hallway, completely keen on cooperating with her.

"Last room at the end of the hall, Sheriff," he mumbled, taking the lead. Emma smirked as she matched his upset strides.

"Much better."

…..

The Stranger was lying in the hospital bed with his eyes covered by white bandages. _Bewitched_ was playing on the television set hooked to the wall. The Stranger was oddly still as he lay in the bed.

Emma glanced back at Dr. Whale questioningly.

"Is he asleep?" She mouthed the words, just in case. Dr. Whale shrugged and moved to the side of the bed.

"Mr. Booth?" Dr. Whale waited for a response, but there was only the sound of breathing. Her eyes flickered to the monitor next to his bed—his vital signs were okay. He sure as hell wasn't flat-lining. Emma gazed back at Dr. Whale in alarm as something clicked with her.

"You know his name?" Dr. Whale gave her a strange look that could only read '_duh, you idiot.'_ He was obviously still picky with her for making a scene in the hallway. Emma didn't care; he deserved it, anyway.

"Did you think we let anyone walk in here?" Dr. Whale leaned over the Stranger—Mr. Booth, apparently. _Mr. Booth? It's probably an alias. He is a writer, isn't he?_ Dr. Whale prodded the man's chest. "Mr. Boo—"

The Stranger's body lurched and his arm jolted up to connect with Dr. Whale's nose. There was a sharp crack and Dr. Whale groaned as blood spurted out his nose onto the tiled floor. Emma pursed her lips to hold in her laughter. _Nice one._

"Oh, I'm sorry. You startled me," Booth apologized, reaching out blindly. Dr. Whale backed up and grabbed a handful of Kleenex to press to his nose.

"Really, it's fine—"

"Oh, it's just you. Never mind," the Stranger muttered. Emma smiled; maybe this Stranger wasn't so bad after all. He was certainly a good judge of character, as far as Whale went. The good doctor shook his head miserably.

"Arrogant as hell. The only time he's considerably charming is around the nurses," Dr. Whale complained, his voice horribly nasally due to the tissue. Emma tilted her head.

"Gee, sound like anyone?" Dr. Whale narrowed his piercing eyes at her. The Stranger raised his head as if he'd just heard the chorus of angels. His nose twitched as if he were smelling her out.

"Emma? Just the woman I wanted to see," he happily remarked. He extended his hand for her but grazed Dr. Whale's chest instead. "Uh, Emma…are you wearing a bra today? It doesn't seem to have much support." The Stranger reached out both hands to clench Dr. Whale's shirt. If it had been Emma, he'd be groping her breasts by now.

"Stranger? Booth? Whoever you are. I'm over here," she called out, waving a hand. She foolishly let it drop when she remembered he couldn't see.

The Stranger turned his head in her direction, then faced the spot where Dr. Whale stood perplexed by his blind patient. His hands were still gripping the doctor's shirt.

"Why are _you_ still here? I asked to talk to Emma, not you. Are you blonde and good-looking with the tendency to wear leather jackets?" Dr. Whale scraped a hand along his jaw and through his blonde hair. Emma sighed. "Well…you don't wear leather so obviously, I wasn't talking about you."

Dr. Whale shoved the Stranger's hands off and stalked past Emma, but not before giving her a particularly sharp look. Emma barely flinched and even waved to his back as he retreated. _Oh, get over yourself, doctor. I suppose I should warn Ruby, though. No doubt he'll be wolf-whistling after her all night._

"Is he gone?" The Stranger's head was whipping around like the Exorcist. It must have been a pain for him not to see. For his sake, Emma hoped the blindness wasn't permanent. For one thing, he could say goodbye to his motorcycle.

"The coast is clear," she assured him with relief. The Stranger released the same sort of sigh and laid his head back on the pillow.

"Finally. Isn't he just so…so…" The Stranger snapped his fingers, trying to call up the word that was evading his tongue. Emma frowned thoughtfully. If a nurse were here, she'd probably say dreamy. And then the Stranger would kick her out.

"Arrogant?" The Stranger dropped his hand and his lips settled in a thin, appreciative line.

"I was going to say supercilious." Emma huffed in irritation. _Of course you were. Show-off._ "It means the same thing, just so you know." Emma balled her fists up.

"I know what the word means," she retorted hotly, flipping a piece of loose hair out of her eyes. The Stranger chuckled. Even when he was blind he thought he had control of the conversation. If anyone was supercilious, it was _him._

"Smart girl. I like that. He hates _Bewitched,_ you know. I figured he'd be all over Samantha. But he grumbles about it every time it's on the televisions here. And suddenly it's my favorite show. _Duh-duh, duh-duh…" _

The Stranger started twirling his arms and singing the tune of _Bewitched._ It was downright ridiculous to watch, especially since the Stranger came pretty close to knocking over the lamp on the bedside table. Emma couldn't help herself—she laughed.

The Stranger halted in his dancing and thrust his arm straight into the air. It reminded her of Judd Nelson from _The Breakfast Club._

"Yes! I have done it! I made you laugh," the Stranger exclaimed and whooped. "That's another goal crossed off my Emma checklist." Emma blanched and crossed her arms.

"You have an Emma checklist? And what exactly is on this checklist?" The Stranger shrugged and held up three fingers. He started ticking off items.

"Currently, it includes 'having a picnic in the park', 'breaking down in front of your house as an excuse to get _inside_ your house', and 'bump into you on the street and then invite you to a nice lunch followed by dessert.'" Emma's eyes widened._ Oh, God. If Gold knew about this checklist, this man would have to have it taped to his gravestone. _

"First, I don't go for picnics. Gold already tried that one. Second, if you bump into me on the street, I'm more than ready to decline your offer on that lunch. And if you ever even think about breaking down in front of our house, Gold's leg will probably be miraculously healed and he'll run after you with his cane."

The Stranger let this sink in, but it didn't seem to bother him that much. He nodded agreeably.

"I'm working on it. I've crossed off that one goal, didn't I? And yet…that was _after_ we kissed. Is it just me or are we moving backwards here?" The rest of Emma's amusement went down the drain. Her mouth fell open and she was glad the Stranger wasn't able to see that.

"We? There is no 'we.' You kissed me, remember?" The Stranger smoothed the palms of his hands over the white bandages. They were probably itching. She was surprised he hadn't ripped them off completely yet.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, Emma. Admit it—it gave you a thrill, kissing someone other than your doting, over-protective, insensitive husband. It gave you a thrill, breaking the rules. Like a red fire racing through your veins that you're trying so hard to control." Emma chose to ignore that ridiculous sentiment. She turned and shut off the television. The Stranger pouted childishly. "I was watching that."

"So what happened to your eyes?" The Stranger instinctively traced the bandages, slowly peeling the edge off. Emma wondered how long it would be before he was allowed to take them off.

"You should know. I have got to give you credit. No one's sent me a box of exploding chocolates since the fifth grade. Damn you, Stacey Zasz."

Emma's brow furrowed with confusion. What kind of medicine were they drugging him with? The Stranger must have mistaken her silence for regret.

"Don't worry. The docs say it's temporary. I should have my sight back within a few days." _How wonderful. Hopefully I'm not the first one he sees. Otherwise, he'll get the impression we're soul-mates._

"Exploding…chocolates?" _Isn't that a Harry Potter thing? Pretty clever, though. Too clever, actually._ The Stranger sat up in his hospital bed.

"Yeah, you know. The exploding chocolates and the ransom note/love letter…" There was a pause that was tense with the silence. The Stranger scratched his head in puzzlement. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Emma started for the door. She could only think of one person that had reason enough and the brilliance enough to send the Stranger a box of detonating chocolates. She supposed she should be grateful it wasn't a box of active grenades.

"Nope, but I'm pretty sure I know someone who does."

…..

Emma strode into the pawnshop carrying a take-out bag from the diner. On a whim, she had bought herself a big M&M cookie and she was looking forward to it as much as she was dreading confronting her husband about the Stranger.

Immediately, Gold glanced up from whatever he was writing and smiled pleasurably.

"Emma," he drawled in the slow, meaningful way she'd secretly come to enjoy. It was the same tone he used when he whispered in her ear during their lovely excursions in bed. Emma shook her head—that was _not _what she needed to be thinking about right now.

Gold's brown eyes spied the bag of food as she laid it on the counter.

"Right on time. If it weren't for you, I think I may have resorted to eating the next person who walks in here. Unless, of course, it was David Nolan. I don't believe that man would taste very good," he quipped. Emma gazed at him flatly as she emptied the contents of the bag.

"Please don't resort to cannibalism on my account. Here," she said, thrusting a sandwich into his hands.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He reached out to caress her chin. "Otherwise, who would I have to snuggle with late at night? Regina?" Emma shuddered at the idea of Gold and Regina being in the same room, let alone the same…bed. _Cue shudder. _

"Knowing you, you'd rather claw her eyes out," Emma retorted. Gold didn't deny it, either. He chuckled at her disgust and bit into his sandwich. His eyes closed in bliss. As soon as he swallowed, he took another generous bite.

"I tell you, getting rent from them might be like pulling teeth, but Granny certainly has wonderful sandwiches," he remarked between bites. _That might just be Gold's twisted form of advertisement for the diner, _Emma thought as she ignored her own turkey sandwich. _I really want that cookie. _

Emma hopped up on the display case to sit. _Well, it's now or never. No, wait, not yet. It doesn't help that the word Stranger is practically illegal to say in his shop. _

"What were you writing?" Emma motioned her head to the counter and the forgotten pen. Gold glanced at it blankly. He pushed the papers and pen off to the side.

"I was just keeping inventory. Checking over the records, that's all," he explained. Emma nodded slowly. For all she knew, it was a list of all the ways to kill the Stranger.

_Does everyone in this town have a secret checklist? Henry wants to strike back at the Queen, Gold wants to kill the Stranger, and the Stranger is trying to make me fall in love with him. Next Archie will be planning to have his crickets take over the world. _

"Oh. I thought it might have been something like…a ransom note love letter. Or a grocery list, whichever one," she mumbled. Gold seemed to quicken his bites, choosing not to answer. "You know, I just heard the funniest story from Ruby," she started again.

Gold was averting his gaze from her on purpose, she knew. He finished one half of his sandwich and raised an eyebrow curiously as he started on the other half.

"Is that so? Is it going to make me…what's the term these days? 'LOL'?" Emma's lips turned up in her effort of trying not to laugh at hearing 'LOL' come out of Gold's Scottish-accented lips. She nearly lost it right there on the display case.

"Maybe. She told me that someone sent the Stranger a box…of exploding chocolates." Emma watched Gold intently, searching for that cunning wisp in his eyes. Carefully, he laid down the remains of his sandwich and licked his lips.

"Oh, I know. This is the part where I…roll on the floor laughing, right?" Emma's smile was no longer there as she stared hard at him. He knew she knew. "Wow. Exploding chocolates. What kind of person would think to send our dear friend Stubble a box of exploding chocolates?"

Gold was playing the innocent card. Well, it wasn't working. Emma slid off the case and cornered him.

"Yeah, what kind of person indeed," the warning tone was clear in her voice. Gold sighed; he must have known there was no way around it than to reason with her. He even held up his hands in surrender.

"Darling, I—"

"You sent him _exploding chocolates? _Are you _mad?" _Emma exploded like the chocolates. Gold gripped her shoulders.

"Emma, it was for his own good," he replied emotionlessly. Emma gaped at him and shook his hands off her. "Next time he'll reconsider licking that icy pole instead of my wife."

"For his own good? Gold, the man is now blind!" Gold waved his hand impatiently and circled around the counter. She simply followed him and blocked his path. _No way is he running out on this one. I'm surprised he didn't set Granny's on fire. _

"It's completely temporary. A trick with some light and a couple of mirrors. Perhaps a few firecrackers to make the chocolates pop. Stubble's sight should return in the matter of a few days," Gold assured her confidently. At least, he was fairly certain it would only be a few days. A week, at the most. "Oh, look. A cookie."

Gold reached his hand in the bag for it, but Emma snatched it up first. Gold frowned.

"Here I thought we agreed to share everything between us, dear. I share my bed, my blanket, my bathroom. I even agreed to share my cane with you and I don't do that for just anyone. Is it too much to ask for half of a cookie?"

"You don't deserve a cookie. Every time there's a chance for you to manipulate the odds or someone does something you don't like, you do psychotic things. Can't you just give them the cold shoulder?" Emma unwrapped the cookie and bit off one of the M&Ms.

"I was defending your honor," Gold insisted. Faster than she could follow, he broke off a piece of the cookie and popped it in his mouth. Emma scowled at him.

"My honor does not need your type of defending. And since when are you a knight in shining armor?" Gold shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nobody's perfect, dear." Emma turned away from him and flicked one of the glass unicorns swinging from the baby mobile. She was not going to thank him for "defending her honor" because doing so would mean his actions were acceptable.

_Like hell they are. I hate it when he does these crazy things. In case he's forgotten, I'd have to be the one to arrest him! Won't that be fun, staring at him in that jail cell. He'd probably find some way to lock me in there with him. _

Emma quietly finished off her cookie and watched as the glass figures cast rainbows over the display case.

"Is anyone buying this?" Emma pointed to the glass unicorn mobile. A delighted spark jumped into Gold's brown eyes. Smoothing a hand over his flawless suit, he instantly took on the air of the professional pawnbroker.

"Why? Are you interested?" Emma gazed longingly at the unicorns and a sense of déjà vu passed over her. _Or maybe there's something in those cookies. _

"I kind of like it. Maybe we could…put it in the baby's room," she suggested lightly. It was taking her some time to accept the idea of having Gold's child, but it was surely weighing on her bit by bit. Gold made a small murmur of agreement.

"A precious item, isn't it? Quite expensive," Gold said as he came up behind Emma and rubbed her arms. Emma shifted in his grip until she was fully facing him, her green eyes sharp.

"Let me get this straight. You would make me pay for something in your shop that's meant for our baby?" _As if I need to ask. Dealing's never done. _Gold dipped his head close to hers, his hands sliding down to her hips.

"In a way, yes," he murmured in her ear. His lips traced the skin of her jaw and a warm feeling raced up her veins. She placed a hand against his chest and urged him back a step.

"I hope this special payment isn't used on all your customers," she hinted testily. Gold smirked and wrapped his arms around her back to draw her closer.

"What, you think I invade just anyone's personal space? Am I that disconcerting?" Emma couldn't help but smile even as she wiggled out of his hold. Grabbing the paper bag that still held her sandwich, she paused once more before Gold.

"We can continue this conversation at home. Just promise me you won't do any other psychotic things like this," she asked him, pointing a finger directly at his face. Gently, he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it, his thumb rubbing across her skin.

"Very well," he said, releasing her so that she could make her way to the door. It didn't occur to her until later that Gold never truly made a promise he couldn't keep.

….

Emma and Henry were in the midst of a strenuous battle. And Henry was winning.

Emma drummed her nails on the kitchen table, green eyes ferociously locked on her son.

Henry raised an eyebrow in challenge, daring her to do her worst.

She narrowed her eyes. Her lips dipped in a tight frown.

She knew what she had to do. It would upset Henry, he'd probably bang his fists in utmost frustration, but it had to be done. There was no other option. So she released a small breath and prepared for the tantrum.

"E7?" Henry banged his fists on the kitchen table in frustration, just like she knew he would, and red and white pegs scattered the table.

"You sank my battleship! What kind of mother are you? I thought you were supposed to be letting me win!" Emma laughed as she placed a red peg on her screen. _Hook, line, and sinker._

For being understanding about the baby—and maybe to anger Regina—Gold had presented Henry with the game Battleship. Emma had been playing with Henry ever since. And he'd won every single time.

Lately, Gold had been quite amicable toward Henry, the way a father would behave toward his son. Where Henry may have had concerns about Gold before, he was now sitting in their kitchen playing Battleship. That was a big step for him.

She suspected it was also a chance to keep tabs on "Rumpelstiltskin" or the "Limping Imp" as Henry had coded Gold. Not that he ever said that in front of Gold himself. Otherwise, Emma would have had to stifle a case of the giggles.

"Please, kid. That's the first ship I've sunk! Where are you parking them? On Mars?" Henry giggled. It was his turn. _Please not my battleship. Please not my battleship. He already sank my cargo ship and the little itty bitty one. And the rest are pretty much goners!_

Just then, the Limping Imp walked into the kitchen and paused for a moment to observe their game. Silently, he made a beeline for the freezer. He was going for the good stuff.

"My bets are on Henry," he announced as he removed a tub of ice cream from the freezer. Emma lurched.

"Whoa, away from the freezer! It's bad enough this kid found my Oreo stash," she complained. Henry furtively wiped the traces of Oreo crumbed from his chin.

"Under the pillow? Not very creative. Where do you think Regina keeps the good stuff?" Henry rolled his eyes as if this was painfully obvious. Emma stared at Gold.

"Thank you, Henry, for that valuable information." Gold smiled at Henry meaningfully while Emma pinched the bridge of her nose.

_That's it. I'm moving my stash. Let's see…the closet? No, those two would find it in a matter of minutes. The...Bug! I'll just put them in the trunk of my Bug! They'll never look there!_

"The next place you'll hide them is in the trunk of your Bug," Henry said. "That's where you put the baseball bat, anyway." Now Emma banged her fists on the table in frustration. _Damn it! Why did my child have to be such a mind reader? Why couldn't he grow up to be like…like…Batman? He has no superpowers at all! _

"Well, _I'm _having dinner soon. And by me, I also mean you," Emma warned Gold, who was moving away from the freezer with the ice cream tucked under his arm.

"Oh, yes, Wouldn't want to spoil my appetite by having an ice cream cone _before_ dinner," Gold replied with his eyes oddly trained on Henry. _Okay…_Emma shifted in her seat to see Henry grinning across from her.

"B4?" Emma shot an angry look at Gold. He shrugged innocently.

"Hit," Emma muttered. _There goes another one of my ships._ Henry bounced the red peg in his palm happily before placing it on his board. Emma rubbed her hands together as she planned her next move. _Okay, kid. My turn now. You are going down. _

"Umm….F4," she called out. She hadn't tried that one yet—there just had to be one there. This was it; she'd get her head back in the game….

Henry shook his proudly, putting a bullet through her hopes.

"Miss," he sang out. He was finding way too much amusement in this. Emma, however, had to pick her mouth up off the floor.

"What? That is not possible! How…but…" Emma gaped at her board.

Gold snickered, followed by a silvery rattle as he searched for a spoon. Emma scratched her head as she stared at her board, demanding for the location of Henry's ships. _This was back before games had cheats and guidebooks online. _

"Emma, dear, do you know where the spoons are? I don't _see one." _

"C1?" Emma scowled as Henry neatly shoved his red peg into his board before she could even answer. _Well, there goes my battleship. _Annoyed, she glared daggers into Gold's back.

"Would you quit helping him?" Gold pressed a hand over his heart in an over-dramatic offended gesture. Emma rolled her eyes impatiently. _I swear, the man should have been an actor. _

"It's not my fault you misplace the spoons," he retorted even as he lifted one from the drawer. Emma pointed at it incredulously.

"And what do you call that? A fork?" Gold helped himself to her vanilla ice cream, making a mountain of the creamy treat. Henry cleared his throat—her turn again. _Oh, joy. Okay, Emma. You can do this. The next one is bound to be a hit. And then who will be laughing? _

Emma gazed hard at her board, as if the answer would start glowing like a firework. Tentatively, she glanced at Gold, but he was rummaging through the fridge. _Probably looking for some chocolate to drizzle on his cone_. She pursed her lips. _Gee, I wish he'd give his darling, loving wife some help. He's just ignoring me on purpose because he wants Henry to win!_

"Hm…H6?"

It was a weak guess, even she knew that. She waited for the gleeful rejection. Instead, miraculously, Henry's enthusiasm drooped. It was like a hobo winning a lottery. She wanted to seize Henry and hear that she had gotten a hit. _Please, please, please…_

"Aw, you hit me."

Emma straightened up in her chair, a victory screech bubbling up in her throat. Never mind that Gold was peering over the door of the fridge with his expression contorted in confusion. Excitement shot through her nerves. _Take that, Gold! I don't need your help! _

"Really?" Henry smirked deviously.

"No. _Mi-iss!" _He laughed at her outrage as she reluctantly grabbed a white peg. Her board looked like a picture of snow falling, with an odd splash of red where she'd sunk Henry's battleship. Gold tapped his fingers against the door of the fridge, but she was determined to shut him out.

"You know, Emma, I was thinking we could have steak for dinner tonight, but it seems you forgot to pick up the A1 steak sauce." Emma slowly glanced at Henry and then down at her board where her last ship was sitting right over A1. _No…no…_

"A1?" Henry immediately rang out. Emma slapped her palms on the table.

"_Gold!" _

Henry jumped up in victory as he realized he'd sunk all of her ships while she had only sunk one. Emma watched him do a little victory dance and she sighed. _That's the fifteenth time he's won. Next time we agree to get him a game, we're getting him Clue. No way can he beat me at that. _

Emma stood, dumping her board into the box. Henry was about to take his pieces off when she skirted around the table.

"Let me see that board!" Henry stepped away to let her view it and she gawked at it.

Somehow, she'd managed to guess every spot but the ones that served Henry's boats. They were all lined near the middle, not a single one on the edges. _How did I manage to miss those? And I'm supposed to be good at finding things!_

"Does that mean I get an ice cream cone for winning?" Henry was practically salivating over the tub of ice cream in Gold's hands.

Emma gasped as she imagined all her vanilla ice cream being emptied before her eyes. She had been saving some for after dinner! Gold eagerly handed Henry the tub of ice cream, grinning at Emma as her son dug right in.

"Are you sure you don't want a cone before dinner, Emma? You're missing out," Gold dared her as he licked up his own ice cream. Emma planted her hands on her hips and her stomach danced with the idea of that ice cream. _Oh, what the hell. _

"Move over, kid. I call dibs first." Henry frowned.

"Hey, no fair!"

"I'm the one eating for two, remember?"

….

_**What would I do without my lovely readers? Who would I give all of these Oreos to? *holds out plate of Oreos***_

_**So thank you DaesGatling, megumisakura, Rheana, KerryPotter1995, RandomWriter101 (welcome back, dearie!), discotimelord, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, The Green Eyed Cat, BlooperLover, Tizmine, Twyla Mercedes, Lyn Harkeran, ParanormalMoonlight, Musicalfan2012, The-Writer2012, Immortalis Charitas, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, and all the Guests that left me reviews! **_

_**You guys are awesome as always. And I just realized this story is nearly up to 475 reviews! Holy cow! That is an amazing blessing—thank you all so much for reading! **_


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! Dearies, besties, whichever you prefer. (-; So, this is mostly a light filler chapter, but I know you guys will probably enjoy it regardless. So, hop to it! **_

"You owe me," Emma said as the nurse peeled off the tape and gauze covering the Stranger's previously blind eyes. According to Dr. Whale, he was free to go—a declaration that nearly made him sing show-tunes.

"Name it, Emma. Dinner? A movie? A ride?" Somehow, Emma didn't think he was referring to his motorcycle. The Stranger rubbed his eyes and the nurse slapped his hands away. She sent a cunning glance at Emma.

"You have handcuffs, Sheriff?" Emma felt heat rise up her neck. This was not going to end well. The Stranger was watching her intently, as much as he could while adjusting to seeing again. The way his eyelids slowly fluttered—first left, then right—made her think of a puppet for some reason.

"Yes, of course I do," she answered, planting her hands on her hips. The handcuffs in question were currently packed into her pocket. The nurse glared at the Stranger.

"If he tries to rub his eyes, use them," she instructed before leaving them alone. The handcuffs were practically burning her skin. When she looked back at the Stranger, he made a show of raising his hands to his eyes.

"Forget it. Rub them to your heart's content," she scowled. The Stranger dropped his hands and frowned. _Spoilsport, _his face read. "And while you're at it, how about staying out of my way?" The Stranger began to gather his belongings and followed her out into the hallway.

Because his bike was still at the inn—and he apparently needed time to adjust his sight again—he had called asking for a ride. _Seventeen times, actually. The phone at the station never rang so much. _

"Can't make any promises, Emma," he replied, shrugging carelessly. They turned the corner and the Stranger smacked right into the wall. Apparently, he had _a lot_ of adjusting to do. Emma stared at him as he stumbled back, rubbing his forehead. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking," he sarcastically shot at her.

"Wow, you never told me you could walk through walls. Impressive. Do it again," she retorted just as bitingly. The Stranger righted himself and brushed off his clothes. "Maybe you'll need glasses," she mumbled, starting forward again.

She paused when she realized the Stranger wasn't following. He was plucking a rose from a vase of flowers outside a hospital room. Sniffing it, he presented it to her with a flourishing bow.

"A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman." Emma hesitated in accepting it. The Stranger's face strained as he remained stuck in that bow. "Could you hurry? This is kind of uncomfortable."

"That's called stealing, you know," she pointed out, turning her nose away from the flower. The Stranger huffed and stood up straight. _What a way for me to ruin the moment, huh, Romeo? _"There's a card attached to it. _'Congratulations on having twins,"_ Emma read out loud.

"Maybe it's a sign," he suggested, pointing to her belly. Emma rolled her eyes and walked away, expecting him to follow. "What'd I say? You're clearly having twins, Emma. We should be celebrating! Or not," he mumbled as he had no choice but to follow her.

…

"Okay. Here we are. Now get out," Emma briskly told the Stranger as she eased her patrol car to a stop outside Granny's Inn. The Stranger frowned with disappointment.

"You're saying there's absolutely no way I can interest you in a coffee?" Those blue-green eyes widened like a puppy's. Emma switched on the radio to drown him out. _Static. Static. Static. Boring talk show. Why is there never anything on the radio? _

"Just so you know, puppy eyes don't work on me," she informed him indifferently. _Ooh, Taylor Swift. That'll get him moving. Unless he happens to be her biggest fan. _The Stranger glared at the radio as he recognized 'Love Story.' He scrunched his nose and fumbled with the door handle.

"I draw the line at Taylor Swift. I get the point," he grumbled as he got out of the car. He leaned his head in the window after slamming the door. Emma was pretty sure a few paint chips fell off the car. "Thanks for the ride, Sheriff. Seriously…a doughnut?"

Emma pressed a button and the window rolled up. The Stranger stepped away and seemed to get the hint. She watched his retreating back until he disappeared near the Inn's entrance.

"Thank God," Emma sighed as she started the engine. It stalled the first time and she shook her head. _I really don't get paid enough for this. _"Come on, come on, work," she encouraged the car.

It stalled for another minute and then started up smoothly. Her green eyes caught a flash of movement near the half-open window and she clenched her teeth. _The guy just doesn't quit, does he? _

"I told you I do not want a doughnut," she growled. Her eyes met those of the person hanging in her window and she froze. Those eyes weren't blue-green. They were brown.

"Duly noted," Gold said as he drummed his fingers on the glass. Emma cursed under her breath. "Oh, Sheriff, I think you're in need of a new air freshener. One that doesn't smell like eau de Stranger." Emma considered rolling the window up on him, too—except Gold might actually smash it with his cane.

"I was giving him a ride in my car," she explained hotly. Gold held up a gloved hand to silence her.

"Please, Emma. I don't need to know where you give _him_ rides," he replied, his tone dripping with _if-you-know-what-I-mean_. She shifted in her seat until her body was almost fully facing him. If _that's _what Gold imagined she did on the job, he had another thing coming.

"No, I gave him a ride home from the hospital. The man can't see straight, remember? Because _someone _thought it was a brilliant idea to send him a box of exploding chocolates!" Emma pointed an annoyed finger at him. Gold smirked. "And aren't you supposed to be at your shop? Not popping up like a _Whack-A-Mole?"_

Gold dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled something out of it. It was a mini doughnut from the diner. Emma rolled her eyes. Typical.

"For an irritating man who has the indecency to hit on my wife, he sure has great taste," Gold commented as he took a bite of the doughnut and walked away. _Note to self: buy air freshener and invest in the Diner's doughnuts. _

…..

This was not a good week for Henry.

Not only did his castle get trashed by the storm—or so Regina said—but the diner only had blueberry pancakes this morning. To top it all off, Regina found out about the Battleship game when the kid tried to sneak it inside. It was now lying in thousands of pieces near her apple tree, killed by an axe. _A treacherous game, _Regina had called it.

Emma had been the one to witness the sadness on Henry's little face. Standing in the kitchen and trying to chop carrots for a dinner salad, she mentally cursed Regina with every name in the book.

That woman had nothing better to do than ruin her son's happiness! And who had to listen to it like a Justin Bieber song on crack? Her. Not Regina 'Smirk-Glare' Mills.

"Careful you don't chop off a finger," a voice startled her from the doorway. The knife slid out of her hands and grazed her forefinger, breaking the skin. She hissed in pain and sucked on the cut as she faced her husband. Her sly, "sneak-up-on-you-when-you-least-expect-it" husband.

"Thanks to you, I think I almost did," she scowled, showing him her bloody finger. Sweeping forward, he grasped it and brought it to his lips. Emma shook her head. "Do you have the magic kiss now?"

"Perhaps it's true love's kiss. True love is the most powerful magic, don't you agree?" Emma's stomach fluttered at the sensation of Gold's smug lips against her skin. "Your bleeding has stopped," he told her as she wrenched back her hand.

Emma gave him a skeptical look and glanced down only to see that he was right. Her cut had slowed in bleeding. Still, she wrapped it with a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid from inside one of the kitchen cupboards. She waved it in his face.

"Really? Scooby-Doo?" Gold smirked and kissed her finger again, just for the hell of it.

"It was either that or Powerpuff Girls," he quipped, winking at her. Emma figured she'd stick with Scooby-Doo. "As you were about to say…Buttercup?" Emma twitched her nose at what could possibly be her new nickname.

"Anyway, I don't believe in true love," she muttered as she turned back to the mutilated carrots. Gold's cane tapped against the kitchen floor, followed by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Pity. I happen to be a big fan of it," he said as the fridge closed again. Whatever Gold had been looking for, he didn't find it. Or else he had been trying to distract himself.

He came up behind Emma and rubbed her shoulders. She immediately closed her eyes and lost herself in his touch as his thumbs rubbed into her neck. God, that felt good. In a minute, she just might start purring like a kitten.

"Done murdering the carrots? I might have a few healthier activities in mind," he hinted, pausing in the massage to kiss the nape of her neck. Emma turned around to meet his eyes.

"You know what? I have a better idea. Let's take a walk," she suggested with false enthusiasm. She desperately needed to clear her head and, as fun as it might be in bed, she was starting to think she was much too worn out to fully satisfy his thirst for her. A simple walk along the street would be nice enough.

Gold stepped back and arched an eyebrow. His slow curving smile read: _Are you sure? _

"Remember what happened last time the two of us took a walk?" Emma remembered all too well. Gold tumbling over a cliff had not been a pretty sight. Even so, Emma shrugged on her jacket and started for the door.

"Yeah, but this time we're staying away from any sudden drops. And I'll be the adult and walk next to the street so that you don't get the urge to jump in front of traffic." Emma held the door for Gold and the two stepped outside into the cool evening air. His brown eyes scanned up and down the street.

"What traffic?"

…

Just as Gold predicted, the streets were quiet. Only a handful of people were still out shopping or doing errands. Orange streaks tainted the sky as the sun started dipping down into the earth. A light breeze lifted Emma's blonde hair from her shoulders as she walked alongside Gold.

"So what do you think of Sidney Glass?" Gold angled his head in her direction. His lips were drawn into an unpleasant line. It was probably the last name he expected to hear coming from her lips. _So I'm guessing you two don't go for poker night? _

"A slippery man. Knows a lot more than he should. Poofs in and out when you least expect it," he offered reluctantly. Distaste clung to his voice.

"Isn't that how everyone in Storybrooke usually describes you?" A teasing smile crossed Emma's face. Gold hardly seemed impressed.

"I suppose, except Sidney Glass has horrible taste. That fedora of his went out of style the minute he dropped it on his head. Whereas my cane will _never_ go out of style."

Gold twirled his cane in his hand for emphasis. With his classic white and black suit coloring, she secretly thought it made him look like the Monopoly guy—minus the top hat and mustache.

"Besides, that idiot is in love with Madame Mayor herself. As I said, horrible taste." Gold smugly wrapped his arm around Emma's waist.

"According to him, Regina fired him from the paper. He seems pretty uptight about it; claims she's corrupted. He says he wants to expose her," she slowly explained. Gold stopped completely in place. Unlike David Nolan, he wasn't naïve enough to not know where this topic could lead.

"Did you not hear what I said? _Sidney Glass _is in _love _with _Regina,_" he drew out her name as if Emma was having trouble understanding. He waved it off impatiently. "You can't trust him, dear."

"Please. I'm in lo—" Emma stumbled to catch herself before the word slipped out. Gold cupped his hand to his ear mockingly.

"What was that?"

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did Gold always need to mess with her thought process? Never had she almost used the 'L' word until tonight. She recited her next words in her head before they reached her tongue.

"I'm married to you and nobody's complaining about my intentions. Except Regina, of course," she mumbled. Gold refused to admit defeat. By the look of him, he was about to salsa dance all over her defense.

"That's because you are the incorruptible Sheriff. If ever you got angry with me, you'd still be willing to throw a vase at my head. Sidney Glass is a lovesick fool who believes Regina Mills can do no wrong. You and I both know that's far from the truth. Unlike her, I have no plans to screw you over based on usefulness."

Emma recognized the truth in his words—all except for the last sentence. She really was trying to trust him lately, especially with the news of her pregnancy. And yet…Opportunist was another word she could attach to her husband.

"Right. Because you've been so open with your evil schemes in the past," she sarcastically retorted. Gold chuckled at her use of 'evil schemes.' It must have been a compliment to him.

"Would it matter if I said your usefulness would never run out?" Emma narrowed her eyes at him testily. Gold exhaled deeply, the euphoria leaving his face. "Emma, if I screw you over, I'd never hear the end of it. That—and I wouldn't see my own bed for a month."

Emma slid in close to him until their lips were inches apart.

"And don't you forget it," she warned him. Crossing her arms, she started walking again with Gold matching her strides. For a guy with a cane, he sure kept up well.

The pet store was what caught her eye. In the window beneath the frosted letters reading _Storybrooke Pet Land_ were adorable pets of all types. The kind that would attract a kid to the window and press their noses to the glass.

There was a pen of rabbits, all bouncing around. One brown rabbit nudged a little, rattle-sounding ball with its pink nose while another gray one couldn't stop thumping its back leg.

There were hamsters all curled up in a huddled mass of fur, their little wheel spinning lazily back and forth from recent exercise. There was even a tank full of baby turtles swimming against the glass. It made Emma smile the most.

"Reminds me of Henry's turtle," she mused out loud. The poor little guy. Emma wondered if this was where Henry had found him. On the heels of that, she wondered if the person who sold it to him was still working here or if Regina personally fed him to the tank of turtles.

"Oh, yes. Little Speedy McRoy. I believe Regina still owes me the fifteen dollars for that little bugger," he said, shaking his head. Emma spun in surprise.

"_You _gave Henry the turtle?" _No wonder it was a snapping turtle!_ Gold's wan smile was answer enough for that one. Then again, Henry never did tell her where he had gotten the turtle in the first place.

"I figured the boy could use something that was friendlier than Regina. He was quite lonely before you arrived to rescue him." Emma had no trouble believing that. It seemed Regina's life revolved around making everyone miserable for her own entertainment. Poor kid.

Emma turned back to the pet shop, the wheels turning in her head. Only a second more and the light-bulb clicked on.

"You have money, right?" Gold scoffed at the ridiculous question. He was only the richest man in Storybrooke, after all.

"No, Emma. We're dirt poor now and will be forced to sell our things and huddle together in cardboard boxes on the streets while holding signs that say '_will work for food.' _I was planning to break it to you gently over candlelight, dinner and caviar," he sarcastically spouted. Emma huffed, her face becoming red. "Why?"

"I want to cheer Henry up. And I think I know the right way to do it."

…..

Emma shivered as she sat on the porch stairs, waiting for Henry to show up. Last she heard via the walkie-talkie, he was sneaking out of his window with a rope made of bed sheets. She didn't ask how he had learned to do that or even how often he did it.

"Come on, kid. Hurry up," she whispered to herself, rubbing her arms. Finally she heard the soft pattern of footsteps along the pavement and Henry popped up from the side of the house. He was still in his pajamas.

"You said you had a surprise for me?" Emma couldn't help smiling as the kid nearly bounced anxiously up and down. He sure didn't beat around the bush, did he?

"Nice to see you, too, kid," she teased him. Henry frowned impatiently before stifling a yawn. He checked over her shoulder at the front door. Emma sighed and got to her feet. Better do this now before the kid practiced breaking and entering through the window. "Okay. But first you have to close your eyes."

Henry pouted for a minute but then did as she asked.

"No peeking," she warned him. Tugging his arm, she led him up the stairs and through the front door. Through the hall, past the living room, to the kitchen. _This kid better be happy with his surprise. Otherwise, I'll hang Regina from her tree for his birthday piñata. _

"Are we there yet?" Henry groaned.

Emma met Gold's irritated brown eyes as she positioned Henry in the right spot. He twirled his finger in circles to tell her to hurry up. _Okay, _she mouthed back. She released Henry's shoulders and stepped back.

"Okay, kid…open." Henry's eyes shot open wide and his mouth dropped open.

There, being difficultly restrained by Gold, was a tiny yellow Lab. Its tail wagged faster than Emma could follow, its paws padding against Gold's arm as it tried to squirm away. Emma dipped her head slightly and Gold gladly took his hands away from the dog.

Immediately, it bounded across the floor and Henry knelt to catch it in his arms. He giggled as its pink tongue gave him thousands of kisses. He actually fell among the floor as the puppy tackled him.

"Whoa," Henry breathed with excitement through his laughter. Emma shook her head in amazement. "Down, boy."

"A girl, actually," Gold pointed out. Henry didn't appear to hear—he was too caught up in having his own pet again.

"You see? _She_ already likes you. And we'll keep her here so that Regina can't say anything about it or send it to the meat factory," Emma said as she knelt to scratch the dog's ear. The dog let up on Henry and ran around him in circles. _For a tiny thing, it sure has a lot of energy. _

"Thank you, Emma," Henry jumped up and threw his arms around Emma in a massive hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Emma rubbed his head and glanced at Gold, who was oddly stiff in the corner of the kitchen. _He deserves some excitement, too. _

"It was my idea…but it wasn't my money that paid for the dog," she hinted, pointing at Gold. She noticed her husband's eyes roll in a typical _here-we-go_ fashion. Henry let go of Emma and quickly trapped Gold in just as tight a hug. A faint pink touched his face—Emma laughed as she realized Gold was blushing.

"Thank you," Henry murmured, easing up on Gold. Emma raised an eyebrow as he shook himself off. It was all for show and they all knew it.

"Oh, please. You know you enjoyed that," Emma taunted him. _Better get used to it, Gold, if you're going to be the ideal father. With any luck, you'll be getting hugged every day. _

"Well, don't go shouting it from the rooftops, dear. Otherwise, everyone will think they have the right to hug me when they're late on their rent," he mumbled, straightening his suit. Henry gave him an apologetic look.

"Sorry. I won't tell anyone," he assured the pawnbroker. The dog stood up on its hind legs and leaned against Henry's legs, begging for attention. Henry cooed at it and petted it again. _Yep, those two are perfect together. _

"So what are you going to name her?" Henry's face became thoughtful as he considered it. His fingers combed the dog's short golden fur and then he smiled. _I'll bet it has some connection to his theory of fairy tales, _Emma thought.

"I'll name her…Goldilocks," he declared. _I knew I should have bet on that with Gold. At least it fits. _"Goldie for short." Emma nodded approvingly.

"Goldilocks it is."

And then the puppy trotted off to mark its spot on Gold's cane. Gold scowled and lifted his cane away from the dog, which meant the mess got on his shoes instead. Emma bit her lip while Henry hid his laughter behind a goofy smile.

"Oh, Goldilocks! No!" Gold glanced up at Emma, clearly not pleased with the new addition to his suit.

"Just remember, Emma. It was your idea."

….

There was a crescent moon in the sky tonight. The pale light drifted across the floorboards and illuminated the curled figure under the blankets. A light breeze flowed in through the open window, fluttering the curtains.

Emma smiled as she felt Gold fall into bed beside her. Henry had reluctantly gone home after an hour of playing with Goldilocks. The house was quiet and it was far past their bedtime.

"Now that we've got the place to ourselves…" Gold hinted as he took her into his arms and kissed her. Emma immediately responded, shifting in his embrace until Gold was satisfyingly wrapped around her. She settled her head back on the pillow as he kissed her neck.

"Mm…I'm too tired tonight," she whispered as her body refused to cooperate. Her muscles ached and a yawn was coming as she spoke. Gold's lips didn't falter.

"Be grateful you have a husband capable of handling most of the work, then," he breathed into her ear before he kissed her again. _Fine, Gold…have it your way, _she thought as she lost herself in the feel of his lips against hers.

Something furry touched their skin. Gold paused and gazed down at Emma curiously.

"Emma, when was the last time you shaved your legs?" Emma squirmed in his arms to see over his shoulder at the end of the bed. Something was moving under their blanket, a little bump tunneling up to them.

"That is not me! It's—" Goldilocks poked her yellow head out of the blankets, squeezing between Emma and Gold. The dog's hot breath covered their faces as it seemed to whip its head back and forth. Emma could just read the message in those puppy eyes: _what'd I miss? _

"Oh, for God's sake," Gold muttered as the dog's tail wagged in his face. Emma scratched the dog's head and eyed it sympathetically. The poor thing probably didn't want to be alone its first night. And those puppy eyes…Sometimes there were exceptions for Emma.

"It's just for one night, Gold. Maybe she's a snuggler like you."

Goldilocks must have taken that as a 'yes'. The dog circled in place twice, rolled onto its back and placed a paw over its black nose. Emma smiled—it looked like Goldilocks was already sleeping.

Gold gave a pointed look and sighed, settling down next to the dog.

"Just for tonight," he begrudgingly agreed. Gold fluffed up his pillow and reached his arm out in his habit of snuggling. "Emma, how exactly do I snuggle with a dog?"

….

_**R.I.P. Speedy McRoy. The little guy's swimming in the big tank in the sky. **_

_**Can't you just imagine all the things Gold would do with a puppy? I guess running in the park is out, but at least he could probably still throw a Frisbee. (-; And I figured it would cheer Henry up after Regina symbolically destroys his castle. **_

_**I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you DaesGatling, Lyn Harkeran, DragonRose4, ParanormalMoonlight, discotimelord, Immortalis Charitas, thedoctorsgirl42, megumisakura, foxfireOUAT, Tizmine, dontleavetonight and all the Guests that reviewed. You guys rock. **_

_**To answer someone's question in one of the reviews, I'm pegging Emma's pregnancy right now to be about a few weeks along. **_

_**Also, I've been thinking about having an official story cover for this story. Would anyone be interested in trying to make me one? If not, I'll manage. **_


	29. Chapter 29

_**A/N: Hey, good readers! I know this chapter has taken a little bit longer for me to write, but…what can I say? It takes place around the 11**__**th**__** ep and that's not…exactly…one of my favorite episodes. Let's hope I dished out a good chapter, though. **_

Gold was the first thing that Emma saw when she opened her eyes, blinking against the morning sun. Both individuals of that name, actually.

Perching her elbow on the pillow, she gazed down at the spot beside her that was occupied by two bodies instead of one.

It was an incredible sight; Goldilocks hogged half of Gold's pillow, little furry body stretched out as far as the dog could go. Eyes closed, one paw twitched as if Goldilocks was dreaming of running in a field. Occasionally that black nose would scrunch and there'd be a little snort that sounded too much like snoring.

If Emma could preserve that moment, maybe snap a picture to taunt Gold later, she would have. Her hand was actually reaching for her cell phone that had a little camera on the front.

Apparently the dog wasn't photogenic.

Goldilocks' head lifted from the pillow, one ear perked up and listening to something Emma's ears couldn't catch yet. Like a shot, the dog was bounding across the floor, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. _Okay. Never mind about that picture, then. _

Emma curled her arm under her head and her eyes drifted closed once more. She pressed her face into the pillow, which was still warm from Goldilocks.

"The dog is finally gone," Gold murmured to her without opening his eyes. Emma hadn't even known he was awake. His hand reached out to her under the covers and traced along her spine.

"Mhm," she sleepily mumbled back. Her brain was still thick and dreamy—at this rate, she could easily fall back asleep. Maybe another hour wouldn't be so bad…

A crash came from downstairs—it was the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Emma jerked to full alertness and even scrambled for the gun she kept close by with her leather jacket. Gold immediately pulled her back onto the bed. His brow furrowed.

"And it broke my good lamp. Just so you know, it's not hunting season yet," he advised her, motioning to the gun that she had been racing for. Emma settled back into bed as she heard the sound of Goldilocks running around downstairs.

"Better to be safe than sorry, right?" Emma buried her face into the pillow, if only to hide the silly pink flush to her face. Gold patted her arm and a low, dry laugh reached her ears. She turned her green eyes up at him and frowned at his amusement.

"Let's hope I don't trip over anything on my way downstairs, then. You'd come after me pointing that gun like a one-woman SWAT team," he quipped.

Gold stretched and groaned as he made to slip out of bed, probably to check on the damage downstairs. He was already grabbing his cane when Emma tugged on his arm.

"I was just getting comfortable again," she protested, snuggling deeper into her pillow to savor the remaining warmth. A cold chill seeped into the spot that Gold had left, but it was wonderfully short-lived as he eased back into bed. _The dog is perfectly capable of occupying itself. I just hope Gold wasn't planning on selling that stuff anytime soon. _

Emma rolled over and Gold wrapped his arm around her to hold her close. The sun's rays were too bright as they streamed through the window. Minutes passed as she shifted around looking for that one good spot. She clenched her eyes shut, but couldn't fall back asleep. The clock claimed it was only seven.

"I don't want to get up yet," she complained, mostly to herself. All she wanted was a few more blessed minutes of sleep—was that too much to ask?

Rolling over again, she nuzzled into Gold's chest. It was no use—she was awake now. _Why is it impossible for me to sleep in in this town? _

"Who says we have to?" Emma would have liked nothing more than to lie in bed all day, endure a peaceful day for once in Storybrooke. Much as she hated to admit it, that luxury was impossible. Her stomach growled as if to encourage her further. _Alright, alright, I'm awake. Happy? _

"My appetite. My job. Regina," she reminded him miserably. Emma was surprised Regina didn't have the station bugged, just so she could secretly watch her 24-7. Gold grumbled beside her.

"Since when do you take orders from Madame Mayor lest it concern your boy?" Emma lifted her chin to meet Gold's brown eyes. Those eyes were always watching her. Gold didn't need to bug the place. He just knew…things. _Maybe he's psychic. _

"Never," she scoffed. The only time she'd obey Regina was if the woman asked her to take Henry out of her hands. Like that would ever happen. "But if I don't do my job, Regina won't hesitate to hold it against me. What good will that do?"

Gold shrugged carelessly, but he was still pouting about it. His fingers combed through her wavy blonde hair, working out the bed-ridden tangles.

"Take the day off. Tell Regina what she can do with her authority, as you have done so well in the past. Then, it'll be just you, me, and the sheets," he whispered to her. Gold's hand delved beneath the sheet to rub her back. Like everything with him, it was a tempting form of bribery. _Got to work, got to work. Regina will chew me out, got to work. Ugh…_

God, it was working. Surprisingly, though, Gold paused with a thoughtful look dawning on his face. _Great. And he's having an epiphany. _

"Well, technically, it'd be you, me, our baby, and the sheets….and possibly Goldilocks. But somehow that just sounds wrong," he corrected, making her smile. "That dog is not just a snuggler, Emma. It's a pillow-hogger. The worst of the worst."

Emma shook her head wistfully and tried to land a playful punch on his chest, but he easily caught her fist. Bringing it to his lips, he lightly kissed her knuckles, smoothing them out.

"Storybrooke does not need you this morning," he insisted, trailing his lips along her arm. Emma pulled her hand away and sat upright in bed.

"Says the guy who set City Hall on fire just to put me in this position," she barked back. "How many women get that from their husbands?" Emma crossed her legs under the sheet and pulled her mess of blonde hair off her neck. Gold merely smirked.

"I admit I'm quite the devoted husband," he boasted.

Emma's mouth dropped open in disbelief. _I swear, they could build monuments to Gold's narcissism. And that still wouldn't even be close to his level. Hell, he'd have David build them. But then they'd probably crash. _

"Devoted? I call that maniacal."

Emma blew a loose wisp of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Gold sat up beside her and used the headboard for support. With one of his hands guiding her, she loosened up enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

"You know, you haven't had a chance to give in to my charms since the night you accepted our bundle of joy," he hinted devilishly. Emma gave him a serious look, even though her lips were threatening to lift. _It would've happened last night, if it weren't for that meddling dog. Maybe we'll have to resort to college days and hang a tie on the doorknob. _

"Gold, it's been a little over a week," she replied. Gold made an obvious 'there-you-go' wave of his hand, as if that proved his point. She wondered how he survived the nights before she'd drunkenly married him.

"Exactly. One week too long."

In a split second, Gold's hand cupped the back of her neck and his lips captured hers, wiping every other priority away. There was another crash downstairs, but they ignored it. Let the dog have its fun while they enjoyed their own. _Got to work, got to work…oh, forget it, _she thought as she decidedly kissed him back.

* * *

><p>Afterwards, the two of them lay entangled together, both breathing heavily. Emma sighed with content. <em>Well, if the neighbors weren't awake yet, they are now. <em>

Gold gently kissed the spot where her heart was beating rapidly in her throat and laid his head down. She wondered what excuse she would give Regina if she ran into her. _Oh, sorry, Madame Mayor. I was…busy this morning. Very, very busy. _

"How in the world did you get so…good?" Gold chuckled and met her green eyes. A pleased smile crossed his lips—she knew how much he adored compliments. She wasn't sure about hers, but his brown eyes were still clouded with a hint of lust.

"Believe it or not, Emma, I ask my reflection the same question every morning."

Emma's laughter was abrupt and bubbled deep inside her throat. It died off with the trill of her phone. Gold closed his eyes and rested his head in the space between her neck and shoulder. "Ignore it."

Ignoring _him, _Emma rolled out from under him and grabbed up the phone before it went to voicemail. For all she knew, it could be Henry. Then again, she hadn't had much luck with phone calls since marrying Gold. Their honeymoon was proof of that.

She scanned the ID and relief poured through her. It was technically the Mills' kitchen phone—the one Regina supposedly never used. _Maybe my technological impairment is easing up. _

"If it's Regina, tell her you're…working," Gold advised with a grin.

"No, it's Henry," she said with more than a little enthusiasm. The kid was growing on her. It bothered her if she went one day without seeing him or hearing his voice now. And Gold knew it. Still, he shrugged and made no move to depart from the sheets.

"Even easier. Tell him we're playing a morning game of Twister. And I won." Emma was already talking to Henry and only caught half of Gold's words.

Gold had the childish urge to pout. _She's the only woman in this town who can ignore me at will. Must be those Charming genes again. For our baby's sake, I hope they're not dominant. It'll be the day when one of my offspring ends up like Charming. _

A frown crossed Emma's face and deepened as the seconds wore on. She finished talking with Henry after assuring him twelve times that she'd "be right there." Immediately, she jumped up and threw on her clothes from yesterday.

Gold uneasily watched her every hustled move.

"Has Regina thrown him under the stairs again? Hard to believe that woman wins 'Mother of the Year' in this town," he muttered. Emma was halfway through pulling on her shirt when her head popped through the opening in surprise.

"Regina does that?" Gold knew he caught her attention and couldn't help the victorious smile that danced on his lips. If it made her fight harder for Henry, so be it.

"Rumor has it," he humbly replied, wrenching the sheets up in his fist to cover himself. Emma quickly clipped her badge to her jeans and grabbed her phone.

"Regina's tearing down his castle," she told him, not without well-deserved bitterness. She headed for the stairs, but turned around with a cry of frustration. "God, can't that woman do anything besides ruin everything Henry loves?"

Gold would rather not think about Regina and her tendency to suck away happiness like a vampire. His morning would be much better off.

"Of course she can," Gold answered distastefully. "Regina makes one wicked apple pie."

* * *

><p>When Emma trudged into the pawnshop the next day, Gold was busy in the front of the store, talking on the phone. It was the first time she'd ever seen it and her eyes boggled for a second. <em>Maybe that's why there aren't any customers. They call instead. <em>

He was lounging in a chair, his back facing her with the phone cradled on his shoulder. As Emma drew closer, she noticed that he was slightly hunched forward and his hands were moving rapidly back and forth. She froze and gaped at him.

"What…what are you _doing?"_ She blurted out before she could help herself.

Heat traveled up her neck and the light hairs there prickled with uneasiness. Shifting in his chair, Gold half-turned toward her and she could see him better. His hands were massaging his leg. _Oh. Right. _

"Talking on the phone. What did you think I was doing? Entertaining myself?" Gold tilted his head at her curiously while she blushed furiously. _That's one way to put it. _

"No, I meant…I thought…never mind," she mumbled.

Gold returned to talking with whoever was occupying his attention. She leaned against the closest display case until the raw embarrassment subsided. Bits of his conversation reached her ears.

"And what about the rest of the money?" Garble on the other end; Emma couldn't hear what was being said. Gold made a low, unconvinced _mhm_, "You do realize the deadline is today? I don't like to be kept waiting on what's owed to me," he warned.

There were a couple more seconds of murmuring before Gold hung up.

"Problems with rent?" Gold swiveled in the chair and stood to his feet. With his bad leg, she didn't know how he could be so…graceful. _Must be the morning exercises. _

All of a sudden, Gold appeared worn down, his face lined as he sighed tiredly.

"It's certainly not unheard of in this town. I believe I'll actually have to evict someone soon in order to keep them on their toes." He put on a wry smile for her as he picked up a rag and started to clean off the display case.

"Have you ever actually evicted someone?" Emma gave him a doubtful look. Plus, if the kid was right—not that she was admitting it—then these people couldn't leave Storybrooke, anyway. It was a show performed by Gold.

"Believe it or not, no. However, if I give them cause to think I'll readily evict someone, then they'll be afraid. If they're afraid, there's a better chance I'll get my money and those civilized people keep living their lives here. Everyone is more or less…happy," he explained.

All the while, Emma's eyes widened. _Does he practice these lines in front of the mirror or does he just make it up as he goes along? _

"Gold…I think you outdid yourself on crazy logic that somehow works in your favor," she replied. He paused in cleaning and smiled victoriously.

"What can I say? Sometimes I even surprise myself," he boasted. Emma smirked at him as he folded his hands atop the counter. "What ever shall I do for you, darling?"

Gold leaned forward intently, gently squeezing her arm. Emma shrugged in reply; she didn't know what brought her here. Maybe it was a habit from visiting him so often lately, if only to vent. That and she was getting bored of listening to Sidney test out his "detective skills." _Harriet the Spy would have figured it out by now. _

"Just thought I'd stop by and see if Ashley was breaking in again. It'd give me something to do," she cast it off. Gold made a dramatic show of checking around his shop, even poking his head behind the curtain. Emma's lips quirked.

"Hmm…no emotional pregnant women here. Ah, except for you, of course," he pointed out, coming around to stand close beside her. His eyes roamed over her belly, where their unborn child was growing. "You're not taking lessons from Miss Boyd, are you?"

"Yeah, Gold. I've decided today's the day I'm going to rob you. I'll tie you up and I'll take the swords, the Mickey phone, the boat…Hell, I'll take the puppets, too. Maybe then you'll stop scaring people off," she sarcastically retorted. Gold's smile intensified and a spark danced in his eyes. It was the look he got when he was really keen on playing along.

"In that case, I'm sure I have some rope in the back. I'll even gift wrap the goods. All except for the boat. I'm afraid you'll have to ride that out, dear."

Emma suddenly pictured herself trying to row down Storybrooke's main street. _Oh, hello David—watch out for that tree! Ashley, how's the kid? Oh, Madame Mayor—what do you think of my new Sheriff transportation? I already pulled over Leroy today! _

She couldn't help herself; she snorted with laughter. Gold placed an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him.

"It's almost four. Perhaps I could…say…close up early. You and I could grab some dinner. I hear Ruby's practically giving spaghetti away," he hinted as he twirled a piece of her loose hair between his fingers. Emma grimaced and recalled her plan to meet up with Sidney in a little over an hour. Not that Gold needed to know that.

"I can't. I…I told Henry I'd meet him soon. Top secret stuff," she immediately played the kid card. It wasn't a complete lie. Henry had mentioned his missing book, which more or less connected to Operation: Cobra.

"I'm sure Henry enjoys spaghetti," Gold persisted.

Emma squirmed out of his grasp, making him frown. What was she supposed to say now? That the kid was allergic to Granny's spaghetti? Or—

"It must have been a while since I've seen little Henry. I don't remember him sporting a foolish fedora, terrible reporting skills, and an infatuation with his adoptive mother. My, they grow so fast."

Gold stared at her, waiting. Emma bit down on her tongue and swore under her breath as she tasted a little blood. He knew.

"You wanted me to fight against Regina. This is me doing it," she thundered back, confirming his suspicions. Gold's lips thinned anxiously and he took Emma by the arms.

"Yes, but not like this. If you truly want an ally, Emma, it should be me," he told her. His brown eyes burned into hers. She wanted to trust him, but his methods were questionable. She shook her head.

"Yeah, okay," she flatly responded, avoiding his piercing gaze. She could still feel his body stiffen, his hands tightening around her forearms, spawned from pure disbelief. Gold removed his hands and openly scoffed at her.

"Why does that sound like a _'no way in hell'?"_ Gold's words bit into her skin through clenched teeth. He was displeased and she'd never hear the end of it. Tiredly, she rubbed her aching eyes. She was too tired to deal with this now.

"Maybe because it is. When it comes to reasonable allies, you're not exactly a strong candidate," she snapped back before striding out of the shop. She wondered if he was still watching her retreat. _Huh, maybe I am an emotional pregnant woman after all. _

* * *

><p>Being emotional and pregnant was a dangerous combo.<p>

_I've had enough of this. I'm going to expose Regina if it's the last thing I do,_ Emma mentally seethed as she tore through the woods in pursuit of Regina. Rocks were brutally kicked out of her path and her fingers wrenched the leaves from branches, crumbling them into green snow in her palms.

Sidney huffed behind her, clutching his fedora on his head as he struggled to keep up. The moment he chose to slow and catch his breath, a branch whacked him in the face. _Whoops, _Emma thought, though she was too bent on her murderous rampage to mean it. Maybe she'd make up for it and buy him…a…cake or something.

Damn it all to hell. Regina had found the bug she'd planted in her office. Emma knew it had been a bad idea, had bitten her nails to the quick thinking about her abrupt shift in morality. Was she so ready to stoop to Regina's level?

No, what made Emma really mad was the fact that Regina had cut her brakes. This woman was clearly psychotic. _So, why is it so damn hard to expose her for the ugly dragon she really is? _

And now Sidney was wheezing and clambering about turning back? Hell no. _Maybe Gold was right. You are a spineless snail, Sidney. _

"No way," Emma shot back over her shoulder, punching a crooked branch out of her face. "She tried to have me killed! Hell, my _baby _could have been killed! No, I'm going to find out what the hell she's doing here."

As she said it, Emma rubbed her belly, but felt no pain. It wasn't that hard of an impact—surely, it would be okay. It still didn't excuse Regina's actions. And if things weren't okay, she'd make sure Regina heard about it. _She's going to have to put a rock under her apple tree. And by rock I mean grave because I'll kill her. _

"I want to know who she was meeting," Emma muttered, releasing the branch in her grip.

She heard a sharp _crack _and a yelp of pain. Sidney rubbed his red nose. _Okay…guess I'm buying him a cake and throwing him a surprise party to make up for it. I'm pretty sure Archie will decorate. _

"She was meeting me," a piercingly familiar Scottish voice interrupted her remorseful party planning. Emma groaned. _Somehow, I don't think that's the leprechaun from the Lucky Charms commercial. _

Stiffening, she exhaled angrily and revolved to face Gold. Powerful, smug Gold.

"What are _you_ doing out here with _her?" _A sneer marred her lips. _Great, now I'm copying her facial expressions. Next I'll be strutting around in tight little business suits. Gold and I could match. _

And then she winced. Even to her ears, she sounded like a jealous housewife. _Forget the suits. Might as well put me in an apron and knead dough out of my own tears and frustration. And make my hair curly and red like Lucille Ball. _

"Jealous?" Gold's grin widened—he had a knack for reading her mind. Sidney shuffled his feet along some twigs behind her, keeping his eyes averted. It reminded her just how uneasy some people were around her husband.

"Please. If I thought for one minute you were getting it on with Regina—which, by the way, is disturbing—the only person you'd be snuggling with is Goldilocks," Emma argued. Gold sleeping around with Regina—now _that _was funny. It was a good thing Gold hated Regina almost as much as she did.

Gold took a couple careful steps closer, his cane digging into the soft soil beneath their feet. She noticed the briefcase in hand; no doubt filled with Regina's money. _Looks like we'll be dining out this week. Thank you, Regina, for your patronage. _

"Luckily, my purpose out here is not so intimate. The only person in Storybrooke I care to…'_get it on with'…_is you." A delicate wave of his gloved hand, an arched eyebrow, the unspoken message: _if you know what I mean. _

Sidney coughed, clearing his throat to gain their attention. And he was blushing. _Bet you regret tagging along now, don't you? _Emma couldn't help the small smile rising.

"Um…I'm, uh…still…here," he choked out in his embarrassment. For the first time that night, Gold's brown eyes swiveled to the reporter, now empty of all potential warmth, instead narrowing distastefully.

"Regrettably," he spat. "I'm sure Emma would love for me to prove my point right here. A clearing in the woods with the stars above. Just the two of us. Are you planning on leaving anytime soon?" Her husband could be so brutally selfish sometimes. Sidney's mouth opened and closed like a fish, gaping.

"Romantic," Emma flatly replied. "Pine needles in places I don't want them, bugs invading my personal bubble, and little woodland creatures watching us. Somehow, I don't think Bambi would enjoy the show." Emma paused to note Gold's amused silence and Sidney's quickening distress. "What…are…you…_doing…_here?"

"Just a little business transaction," Gold instantly answered, though it meant little to Emma. Would it kill him to be less…vague? Emma spread her arms out, waiting for more.

"Which means...?" Gold didn't offer any details, not that she much expected him to in the long-run. Gold never discussed other business matters with those who weren't directly involved.

"What's in the briefcase?" Sidney gestured to it, no longer a fish out of water. Emma already knew that answer, but apparently Sidney needed his news spelled out. Gold lifted it up for them to see it properly.

"All…no, everything comes with a price. Land is no different," he responded, appearing quite relieved. Emma wondered what he had been about to say before the correction. She glanced down at the ground with new bitterness.

"Regina bought your land?" Then again, Gold owned the entire town, including his own remote cabin in the woods. She doubted he'd miss this little piece of it. Gold shrugged.

"The very ground you're standing on," he confirmed, inching closer to them. Sidney backed up a little and Emma rolled her eyes. _Oh, stop being a spineless snail! Has Gold ever really hit anyone with that cane? _

"What does she want it for?" At last, a spark of irritation clouded Gold's eyes. He sighed deeply.

"Emma, if this is an interrogation and you're planning to cuff me, I'd say do it and get it over with." Sidney sputtered and nearly tripped over his own feet at the insinuation that slipped from Gold's lips. He coughed and leaned against a tree. "The question is, Emma, why are you standing out here in the middle of the night with Mr. Glass?"

Gold stared at Sidney expectantly, but the reporter's mouth blubbered without sound. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. _Somebody pull his string; he's not talking. _"I could get a better answer from a mute mermaid. At least they appreciate the value of charades," Gold scoffed.

"Now who's jealous?" Emma crossed her arms and smirked. Gold barely looked perturbed by the accusation. Actually, he seemed to welcome it, gloating limping imp that he was.

"Oh, Emma. Don't be silly. You can do much better than _him. _That's why you married me, remember?" He flashed a toothy smile her way and cast Sidney off as if he were just another tree. Sidney's brow furrowed and he charged forward.

"Hey, wait a minute. What is that supposed to mean? I must be better than David Nolan and…and Archie, right?" Even Emma had to gaze at Sidney as if he were mad. _Better than David? Maybe. Archie? Don't know what to tell you, Sidney. Everyone likes Archie. _

Gold pointed a finger at him. Not a good sign. _And here he goes, _she mentally sighed.

"Let's examine that claim. I'd say you're one step above David Nolan and he's at the bottom of the Storybrooke food chain. As for Archie, you hardly deserve to be in the same room as his crickets," Gold declared.

Emma's eyebrows rose in surprise. That was the closest Gold had ever come to complimenting someone. Sidney, on the other hand, just got mentally cane-throttled. Usually only Regina and David got that Gold treatment during the week.

"Wow, Gold. When's the first date?" Emma snickered in his expense. Sidney started to chuckle, but turned it into a deep-throated cough as Gold's fingers tightened over his cane. _Make that mentally and physically cane-throttled. _

"Is it so hard to believe that Archie and I have a mutual form of respect?" Emma and Sidney stared dubiously at him. She'd have to remember to ask Archie about that one. "I'll take that as a _yes._"

"You don't know what Regina did to me or her son. We can't just sit idly by," Sidney protested, his face growing lined and anxious. Gold's eyes gleamed darkly before they met Emma's. He stared hard at her as if waiting for her to say otherwise, but her mind was already made up.

"Of course you can. Be careful—emotional entanglements can lead us down very dangerous paths."

Gold exchanged one last stony look with her before passing on his way toward the mouth of the woods. Emma stared after him, suddenly wishing her brakes hadn't been cut. She sighed.

"I hate it when he talks like a fortune cookie."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you all for the absolutely marvelous reviews, by the way. They really make my day. <strong>_

_**Here's to DaesGatling, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, BlooperLover, RandomWriter101, Rebekkalee Mouri-Hibiki, Lyn Harkeran, SBM-AnGiE, megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, discotimelord, OfTheDark, Twyla Mercedes, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, dreams and fantasies, EnigmaSphinx, Tizmine, Immortalis Charitas, DragonRose4, The-Writer2012, thedoctorsgirl42, and all the Guests that also reviewed. **_

_**And this story has surpassed 500 reviews. *dies of happiness* I'm glad so many people are loving this story so much. Thank you all for the continued support! **_


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: Wow, chapter 30 already. My, how time flys when you're waiting for season 2. **_

_**Well, two chapters in a week. You guys are so lucky. (-; I hope you all enjoy it; I think you'll find this one pretty interesting. **_

It was well in the evening when Emma got home.

The sun was settling into the earth, the bright orange filling the entire kitchen. The laughter and shrieks of children running free around their new playground scorched her ears, especially the voice of her own kid.

The minute she entered the house, she shrugged off her leather jacket and boots. Goldilocks met her at the door, nipping at the bottoms of her jeans as she headed for the fridge. The broken frame of the lamp still lay discarded on the living room floor and she vehemently kicked it aside.

Goldilocks nipped her ankles again and bounded around her feet. The life of a dog must be so carefree—nothing to do but sleep, eat, and chase your tail.

"Not now, Goldie," Emma sighed, darting around the little pup. Emma pulled open the fridge and glanced around. Her throat was parched. There was orange juice, water, an elegant bottle of wine…

"No alcohol," Gold's voice startled her.

Emma's head jerked upwards and banged against the roof of the fridge. She rubbed the sore spot and turned to see him sitting in a chair with his leg propped up. A ghost of a smile clung to his lips.

"My, aren't we jumpy this week?"

Emma gripped the door of the fridge and sent a stony glare his way. Her head throbbed angrily. _Thanks to him, I'll probably have a concussion and turn out to be Sleeping Beauty. And Regina's the dragon._

"Why do you _do_ that?" Gold maintained a blank, innocent façade. His hands were folded over his chest, a seamless ladder of fingers over his heart.

"Do what, dearie?"

Emma pounded her fist against the door. Goldilocks whined and cocked her head to one side, as if saying: _What's your problem?_ It didn't help that the one time she desperately needed a drink, she couldn't have it. She needed to think of the baby she was carrying.

"You pop up out of nowhere! No wonder Granny has a heart attack every month." Emma stuck her head in the fridge again and settled for a bottle of water. Even with her back turned, she could sense Gold's smirk aimed at her. "And, before you say it, I know I made a total fool of myself."

Emma slammed the door of the fridge and leaned against it, sipping her water. That seemed to be good enough for Goldilocks, who trotted over to curl up under Gold's chair. The little thing was practically sewn to his hip lately.

"Well, it's not every day one makes Regina look like Mother Superior's 'bestie', as Miss Blanchard would call it," Gold remarked, using air-quotes. He exhaled a deep sigh through his nose and pinched the bridge of it. "You truly know how to pick your allies, Emma." The sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Capping her water, Emma bristled. She squeezed the water bottle until the cap threatened to burst off again and land God knows where.

"Sidney is-"

"As brilliant as David Nolan, I would say. Except Mr. Glass has never had a pregnancy scare," Gold finished her sentence.

A low laugh escaped his lips as he rose from his seat. Crossing to her almost swiftly, he placed his hands on either side of her head, trapping her. Goldilocks raised her gold head to watch, one paw scratching the floor. _Dinner and a show._

"It's funny. You've kissed me, snuggled with me, made love to me…but you're unwilling to have me as your ally. Am I that difficult to trust?" Emma barely flinched as his face loomed close to hers. One of her fingers caressed the lapels of his suit.

"It's not that I'm unwilling to trust you. I just don't trust your methods," she clarified, pointing her finger in his chest to give her an inch more of room. "Did you forget what happened last time I agreed to an alliance with you? You started a fire. Next time you want to blow something up, try Grand Theft Auto."

Emma ducked under his arm before he could stop her. She wandered to the table and played with the tiny golden swan dangling from her bracelet.

All she wanted to do was fall asleep and forget this day ever happened. _I'm sorry, Henry. I screwed up. And it isn't even really Regina's fault this time. _

"It's hard being away from your boy, isn't it?" Gold's voice hovered over her shoulder, etched with understanding. Emma's throat grew tight with a wave of emotion and all she could see was that little golden swan.

"What can I say? The kid's grown on me," she admitted, blinking back angry, hot tears from her eyes. She wiped them back furiously. How was she going to fix this one? Sure, she made an alliance with Sidney, but…it just wasn't good enough. _Damn Regina._

Gold's body brushed hers, his hips fitting perfectly with her body. His arms wrapped around her waist and he held her close to him, his lips burying into her blonde hair. Emma gladly leaned her head back into his neck and his lips kissed her temple. His breath warmed her skin and she closed her eyes, savoring his comforting embrace.

Goldilocks made a little whine and skittered off into the living room, a golden flash of fur vanishing up the stairs. _Probably thought she was intruding. Or she's left out. Poor dog._

Emma made to slip out of Gold's embrace, even though the comfort was what she really craved. Comfort was something she'd never really had before. As though reading her mind, Gold's arms tightened around her and refused to break away.

"Sh, Emma. Let me take your pain away…at least for tonight," he insisted. Emma allowed him to hold her. Tonight…tonight she didn't have the desire to argue with him.

Guiding her over to the chairs of the table, Gold lowered his body into one of them and she willingly curled on the chair with him, practically lounging in his lap. Gold's arms circled her as she laid her head on his shoulder. Soon, he placed small kisses on her skin and gently rocked her until she fell into a dreamless sleep.

She had half-expected him to sing a lullaby.

…..

That night, there was a thunderstorm. The kind that sent black clouds rolling mightily over the sky and forks of blue lightning split the sky so fiercely; it rivaled bolts from Zeus' own god-like hands.

In the Gold household, a wave of unsettlement thickened the too humid air. Goldilocks repeatedly whined before padding across the bed, tail between its legs, and squatting in the middle of Gold's chest. Two golden paws scratched furiously until he stirred.

"Gods, dog. What is bothering you now?" Then his ears heard it—a fresh clap of thunder that almost made the bed shake.

Moaning, his arm stretched out for Emma, but his palm fell flat against the cool mattress. His eyes shot open and he craned his neck sideways.

It wasn't a trick of his imagination. Emma wasn't in bed. _Where has she up and gone in the middle of a thunderstorm? More ice cream? _

Laying his head back on the pillow, the dog pawing his chest and howling, he listened carefully to see if she had simply made a trip to the bathroom. Nothing. The house was silent as a graveyard, save for the storm brewing outside.

"Emma?" He called out, but the silence of the house suffocated him. Shoving the dog off his chest, he hustled to grab his cane and wrapped a black bathrobe around him before ambling toward the stairs.

Goldilocks trailed on his heels. _The one animal that actually likes me. Every other thing in the realms ran screaming the opposite way. _

"Emma?" He called her name again as he descended the stairs. He slowed near the living room. And there she was. Sitting on the floor in a white bathrobe, legs spread out in front of her. Her green eyes were trained on the window as another stroke of lightning illuminated the room.

She knew he was there. All she said were three words.

"I hate thunderstorms." And suddenly the light bulb clicked on. Suddenly he understood the setup of this scene quite reasonably.

Taking a step further into the living room, his brown eyes traveled to the window where he could see the black clouds filling the sky. It instantly reminded him of the magical, thunderous cloud that had swept over the Enchanted Forest the moment the curse hit.

His eyes returned to Emma and he noticed that her back was settled against a white wardrobe that had turned up in his shop not too long ago. A wardrobe, the very type of vessel that had carried her off to this world, safely away from the curse. _Interesting. Though I'll bet she doesn't remember enough to know why. _

"Apparently so does Goldilocks," he muttered, motioning his cane to the dog that was circling his feet. Emma's gaze broke away from the window and turned to the dog, though she made no move in their direction.

Sighing, Gold crossed the room and slid his back down the wardrobe to sit beside her. He winced as his leg made contact with the floor, aching for a minute. He just wasn't built for sitting on the floor, anymore. _Oh, the pain I endure for you, Emma. You owe me. _

"Looks like neither of us are getting any sleep tonight," she murmured as his shoulder brushed hers. The dog trotted over to cower between them.

"Yes, but not for the reason I would have hoped," he replied, daring to rest a hand on her leg. Emma smiled and covered his hand to hold it there, though she doubted Gold would have moved it anytime soon.

Another flash of lightning and the dog howled in their ears. Gold glared down at it and then leveled a serious gaze with her.

"Oh, look, Emma. A nice little rabbit that thumps its foot. Perfect for Henry," he mocked her. "_No, darling! I want the little golden puppy that chews through canes and wakes you up during a thunderstorm to howl until you need a hearing aid!"_ Gold imitated her voice, which made her sound like a Scottish schoolgirl. "Who the hell chews through lacquered wood?"

Emma's tight smile betrayed her amusement. She defiantly stroked Goldilocks' fur, which seemed to calm it a little.

"Don't blame the dog. She's afraid," she said, scratching it behind the ears. Gold scowled.

"Still doesn't give it the right to ruin my cane." Gold protectively placed his cane the farthest he could from Goldilocks. _It's not like you couldn't afford a new one, Gold. _

"Maybe Goldilocks hated that cane," she suggested, rolling her head back against the wardrobe. "So, what are we doing for Valentine's Day? It's coming up soon." Her green eyes burned into Gold's expectantly. He grinned.

"Well, dear…I didn't want to ruin the surprise, but I already made plans with the florist. I shall cover the whole house in roses, dress in a shiny red suit, climb on the rooftop, and scream _'I love Emma' _until I can't anymore. I'll even buy you one of those cards that sings a silly little tune," he quipped.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, her cheeks turning red.

"You wouldn't dare," she challenged him. Gold shrugged and scooted closer to her. He wrapped an arm around her body until Goldilocks was sandwiched between them. Just a little golden head poking up. _Silly dog. You're ruining the moment, _he silently berated.

"Cabin in the woods it is, then," he declared. Emma barely heard the thunder anymore as she rested her head on Gold's shoulder. "The dog, however, is staying home."

"Fine. But you're walking the dog this week," she said before slipping off to sleep in his arms. Gold eyed the puppy that was staring up at him curiously. The dog's little white teeth were showing. Could dogs smile?

"Looks like it's just you and me, then," he sighed. He made a mental note to train the dog in case he ever crossed paths with Madame Mayor. Maybe then she'd quit ruining his days.

Speedy McRoy would be the least of her problems. _I just hope she knows to wear sensible running shoes. _

….

"I never knew you had a fear of thunderstorms," Mary Margaret exclaimed as she sipped her steaming cup of cocoa.

It was a slow day at the station and Emma had replaced Henry with bubbly, mother-like Mary Margaret. The brunette didn't seem to mind. Emma actually thought her former roommate felt bad for her. Somehow, that just made it worse.

"I do not have a fear of thunderstorms," Emma protested hotly. The cup of cocoa did little to soothe her nerves. "I just…hate them. I always have."

Emma's eyes scoured the diner longingly. She almost wished Henry would be his rebellious little self and come rushing into the diner, just so she would have an excuse to see him. No matter what Regina thought, the kid would not be stopped if he really wanted to see her.

Mary Margaret must have noticed how distracted she was; there were the worried lines on her forehead, the slight downturn of her lips. Emma snapped back to attention. _What were we talking about? _

"Maybe you were caught in a thunderstorm as a child?" Mary Margaret shrugged cluelessly. "A fear of thunderstorms isn't the strangest thing I've heard. There's a young girl in my class who dropped a ball down the well and a frog jumped onto her face. Now she's terrified of them. I think she believes one of them intends to play '7 Minutes in Heaven'," Mary Margaret explained.

Hands curled around her cup of cocoa, Emma stared at Mary Margaret curiously. _What is with these kids in this town? Who the hell drops a ball down a well? Don't tell me the frog turned into a prince._

Mary Margaret must have mistaken her disbelief for confusion.

"You know…7 Minutes in Heaven? Where you go into a closet with someone and—"

"Yeah, I know. I've played," Emma waved it off. Ruby slid up to their table, a gleaming wolfish grin displayed on her face. _Here we go, _Emma internally moaned.

"So, you're saying you _wouldn't_ want to be caught in the pouring rain with Goldie like he's some kind of Ryan Gosling wannabe, pouring his heart out in a little black notebook?" Ruby touched a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "If I were you, I'd check under the mattress. And then send me a copy." Ruby gave Emma an excited thumbs-up.

"I really don't think getting caught in the rain with 'Goldie' will do me much good," Emma argued, pushing her cup away with a finger. Ruby and Mary Margaret exchanged suspicious, confused glances. "Goldie is our dog."

Both women made little _Oh_'s and nodded.

"Aw, I absolutely love puppies," Mary Margaret gushed. "Henry adores that dog. Trust me; it's all he talks about," she assured Emma. Six hours a day probably never felt so long. _Too bad I'm not cut out to be a teacher. _

Ruby scanned the diner crowd and smiled devilishly when she spotted the right person.

"Hey, Archie! You have a new dog-walking partner!" Ruby glanced down at Emma over her shoulder, whose blonde head had sunken into her hands. "He _is _walking the dog, right? Not that you and Cricket Master wouldn't be cute with your dogs, strolling side by side…"

At the bar, only a few feet away, Archie blushed a tell-tale scarlet. At least Pongo would enjoy the company of Goldilocks, in any case. _Unless our dogs start to like each other. Having one pregnant lady in our house is enough for Gold. _

Just then, Granny appeared from the back of the diner and she did not look happy by any means. Her bespectacled eyes fell on Ruby and narrowed.

"Ruby, these people aren't going to serve themselves!" Every head jerked up and turned toward Ruby, spectators in their latest quarrel. Ruby dropped her hands to her sides and grumbled.

"Well, maybe some of them should start," she muttered under her breath, glaring at Leroy across the diner. One thing Emma had learned since her arrival…Granny had good hearing. On her way to the kitchen, the old woman spun on her heel.

"What was that?" Ruby planted her hands on her hips defiantly, her red-streaked hair practically fizzling with irritation.

"I _said…_right on it," she relented, dashing off with a couple menus to serve other waiting customers.

"That's what I thought," Granny huffed before stalking into the kitchen. Mary Margaret and Emma exchanged odd glances. _That was quite the show, _Emma thought. Archie swiveled in his seat, his blush diminishing now that Ruby was gone.

"Emma, I couldn't help overhearing about your fear of thunderstorms," he admitted, clasping his hands together.

She knew where this was going and she didn't bother hiding her displeasure. _If only he had a pen and paper, he'd probably start our therapy session right here. Emma, how do you feeeel about that?_

"I…do not…have a fear…of thunderstorms," she insisted slowly, just in case they somehow weren't processing that notion. Mary Margaret's green eyes widened with the upmost sympathy. _I swear, you'd think I was denying that the world is round. _

"Plenty of people are uncomfortable during thunderstorms. And Emma is the strongest person I know," Mary Margaret said, laying a reassuring hand over Emma's. Out of habit, Emma drew back her hand and pointed at Mary Margaret for Archie to see.

"See? I am fine. I have other things to worry about besides thunderstorms. Like the baby that's taken up residence in there," she retorted, patting her belly. Archie's eyes flickered down to her belly for a second and then darted away.

"Well, maybe I can help you break your fe—uh, hatred—of thunderstorms. And I'd also like to assess how you're coping with your separation from Henry. It can't be easy." Archie's face softened as he studied Emma behind his glasses. The doc had a soft spot for Henry, even if he thought the kid's theory was delusional.

Emma flicked her blonde hair back from her face and shot Archie an accusing look.

"You just want to get me on your little black couch," she teased him. Mary Margaret nearly spewed out her cocoa until it came out her nose. Archie's eyes widened, his mouth dropped, and his face was suddenly a perfect tomato.

Ruby passed by carrying a tray and paused to stare at Archie's stunned expression. Emma was surprised he didn't faint off the stool. At the very least, she had fried his brain sunny-side up.

"Don't tell me. You're taking him to see the world's largest cricket."

Archie sputtered and gasped before downing a whole glass of water. He breathed slowly in and out until his face lost its redness. Ruby rolled her eyes and snickered as she returned to her job. _Yep, this will be all over the town by tonight. _

"Okay, if I agree to let you…examine me or whatever you want to do…then—" Emma thought hard for a long moment. Mary Margaret was still pinching her nose from the burning cocoa.

An idea hit her and she grinned madly. _Oh, this is going to be fun._

"Then you have to spend one whole guys' night out with Gold."

This time Archie did fall off the stool. He scrambled to get back on his feet and Mary Margaret had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling.

"Wha…what? But…what exactly does that entail?" Emma shrugged.

"I don't know. Take him bowling or something. Or…karaoke night. Figure it out," she retorted, crossing her arms. _That's my condition, doc. Or I don't agree and my butt will never sit on that black couch. _

Archie took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead with exasperation. Emma drummed her fingers on the table as she waited. Finally, he nodded.

"Deal." And they shook on it.

….

_**Hehe, I love torturing Gold. Too much fun. If any of you have any suggestions you want to throw at me concerning our little 'guys' night out', feel free. **_

_**Just for the record, this will be the last chapter for about a week or so. But don't worry; I'll be brainstorming for Sunshine while I'm away from my computer. **_

_**The reviews never fail to make me smile. They're always awesome to read! Shout-outs go to lovely reviewers DaesGatling, Immortalis Charitas, DragonRose4, RandomWriter101, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, dontleavetonight, ParanormalMoonlight, discotimelord, OfTheDark, thedoctorsgirl42, Twyla Mercedes, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, hadrianlopez1, sundancemc, foxfireOUAT, Tizmine, olverabonk (welcome back and thanks for all the reviews!), Musicalfan2012, and the anonymous Guests that have reviewed. **_

_**Thank you everyone! **_


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N: Okay, I lied. I'm slipping in one more Sunshine chapter for you, guys! And I think you'll really like this one, too. Lots of good Golden Swan. **_

_**Also, it is with extremely great sadness that I mention the passing of a dedicated Oncer and a supporter of this story: FoxfireOUAT. I have just recently learned of this news and, in her honor, I am dedicating this chapter to her. RIP Foxfire—my heart goes out to you.**_

_**Chapter Thirty-One**_

"Come along, you mangy thing," Gold muttered as he pulled Goldilocks along on her hot pink leash. Of all the colors of leashes Emma had to choose. Hot pink. It didn't match his suit at all.

As he had promised Emma, he was walking the dog. It was the price for a pleasurable weekend in the cabin in the woods, in which he would be highly rewarded for his efforts. But, God, this was complicated!

It wasn't exactly cakewalk, using a cane while walking the dog. The leash kept getting tangled around his legs as the dog barked at the smallest moving thing. A leaf could scuttle by and you would think someone was pulling a knife.

Whenever Goldilocks ran too far ahead, Gold's cane would slip. Twice already he'd almost sprawled on the cement. How embarrassing was that? _Oh, yes. Emma's end of the deal should be quite generous. _

Goldilocks paused by a hydrant and twirled around it, taking her time with her business. Gold rubbed his bad leg and gave the dog a pointed look.

"Honestly, how many times do you need to…do that? You, my friend, have urinary problems." The dog finished and tilted its head innocently at Gold. Tugging the leash, the two carried on down the street. His leg was really protesting now—about another block and they were turning around.

From around the corner came Archie and his dog, Pongo. Archie sure had punctual timing. Gold halted in his footsteps, though Goldilocks tugged insistently. _Never mind. We'll be turning around a bit early. _

Too late.

Archie had spotted them and was already closing the distance, a polite smile directed at Gold. And he was…blushing? That was the oddest reaction he'd ever received from any citizen; most simply averted their gaze or crossed the street to avoid him.

Gods, why was his face turning red? _Do I have something on my suit? Has the Mayor been spreading stories of the good old days? Wait until they hear about her wearing a bright blue quinceanera dress. _

"Mr. Gold," Archie quietly addressed him with a goofy grin. Gold did not return the gesture. _What did Ruby put in his coffee this time? _He wished Goldilocks would hurry up.

The dogs were circling each other and sniffing curiously. Their black noses touched and Goldilocks' little pink tongue darted out to give Pongo a kiss. It made Archie blush even more.

"Aw, I think those two like each other," Archie hinted to Mr. Gold, whose mouth had just fallen open in surprise. "Maybe…maybe we can arrange a…play date?"

That snapped him back to attention like a rubber band, his eyes narrowing. _Oh, no. That'll be the last thing that happens. Emma will never let me hear the end of it. _

"That's enough of that," Gold declared, wrapping the dog's leash tighter around his palm and urging Goldilocks away from Pongo. Oh, yes, those two were hitting it off splendidly.

The little gold pup's energy was truly remarkable as it leaped up and latched itself onto Pongo and…and…_Oh, dear gods. Now I'll definitely be purchasing brain bleach on our way home. Bloody hell, the owner of the pet store assured me she was fixed. If he lied to me, he can say goodbye to his business. Oh...How…how is she…doing that?_

"Oh…oh my," Archie gasped while Gold nearly dragged Goldilocks off Pongo. The doc's eyes were wide as saucers behind his glasses. "I…I guess they liked each other better than we thought."

_You're telling me. I hope you enjoyed that get-together, Goldilocks, because it'll not happen again on my watch. And you're not sharing my pillow tonight, either. _

Gold ignored Goldilocks's whining and averted his gaze from Archie. _That's it. Deal or no deal, Emma will be handling the walk next time, _he thought bitterly as he turned toward home. The last thing Archie said, however, startled him worse than Goldilocks' loving tendencies.

"So I guess this is a bad time to tell you that Emma signed us up for a guys' night out?"

…..

Emma sat behind her desk at the station, staring blankly at the paperwork in front of her. The lines blurred as her mind wandered elsewhere until finally she just shoved it aside completely. So much for getting any actual work done today.

All she thought about lately was Henry. And all she could do was do her job in this stuffy, silent station and try not to mess up with Regina even more. It would only play further into the kid's unhappiness.

Lounging back in her chair, Emma rubbed her hands over her belly and turned her thoughts to the baby that was growing inside her. A weak smile lifted her lips and she patted her belly.

"Hey, you in there. If you ever cause me this much anxiety, you are so grounded." Emma rubbed her belly again and imagined being one of those expecting mothers that read or sang to their unborn babies. That was supposed to be good, wasn't it? She had never done that with Henry.

"Emma?" _Speak of the little devil. _

His voice crackled over the special black radio they used for Operation: Cobra. Except recently, it had served a purpose in a few blessed minutes of communication. Emma gladly lifted the walkie-talkie to her lips.

"Kid. What's going on?" There was a bubble of laughter and Emma's smile returned with a vengeance. She never realized how much she missed the kid until Regina had sworn off their contact.

"Oh, I just wanted to say hi," he replied. At least he didn't entirely sound miserable. That would have made her feel even guiltier. "Hi."

"Hi, kid," she answered back. She was suddenly thankful for the fact that the cells were empty today. She wouldn't want to share this moment with anyone else. It was between her and Henry.

"I saw Mr. Gold and Goldilocks today. He took me for some ice cream. Did you know he was going out with Archie?" Emma cradled her head in her hand, stifling her laughter. _Oh, boy. He already knows. That means I'll get the Gold evil eye tonight. Great. _

"Yeah, I kind of set that up," she admitted. "He was the one who said he has a mutual respect with Archie. So I figured he could prove it." The kid's laughter erupted over the walkie-talkie. She wondered where he was right now. In his room? At the new playground?

"Oh. Hey, what does 'being in heat' mean?"

Emma was glad she wasn't drinking water because it would have spewed all over the floor. And then she'd have to clean it up. Her brain echoed with that question. _Did I hear that right? What is Regina doing in that house? _

"Uh…why?" Henry was quiet for a long minute. And then the radio crackled again.

"Because that's what Mr. Gold said about Goldilocks under his breath. He called her a 'witch in heat', except it was with a 'b,'" he explained.

Emma was going to kill him. How did he expect her to explain this one? And what the heck was Gold teaching their dog when all he did was take the thing for a walk? _That man could make the act of drinking a glass of water_ _complicated_, she thought with an exasperated roll of the eyes. 

She combed a shaky hand through her blonde hair.

"Um…maybe there was a…freak incident with the temperature today. It must have rose pretty high. For about two minutes." Emma bit her lip and prayed the kid did not ask any other questions. Like her, he could pretty curious and straightforward at times.

"I didn't notice it," he replied innocently. Emma shook her head. How embarrassing was it to have to explain this over a walkie-talkie? "Uh-oh. Regina's coming up the stairs, probably to check on my homework. Or so she says. I miss you."

"I miss you, too, kid," she told him, but he was already gone.

…..

Emma arrived home with her muscles aching and worn out from sitting at her desk all day. _It's official. I'm not cut-out to be a person with a desk job. Way too boring. When's the last time this town had a good car chase? Or a reason to pull a gun? _

All she did was occupy the station, sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee and a couple of empty cells. Not even Leroy was there to entertain her today. _The day I actually crave Leroy's karaoke also happens to be the day he decides to be sober. Go figure. _

She wondered what it would be like when she was in the late stages of pregnancy and stuck behind that old desk. Who ever heard of a pregnant Sheriff?

All she could think about was the kid. Regina was standing in the way, as usual. She missed taking him to breakfast in the morning, she missed his constant smiles around her. Heck, she even missed his crazy theories about fairy tales.

For the first time in her life—or at least the first time she was being brutally honest—Emma Swan was lonely.

Throughout the hops and skips through the system, Emma had grown up tough, creating a shell around herself that was impenetrable to disappointment. She had stopped expecting comfort and happiness.

Happiness she figured was out of her reach, but comfort….comfort was what she was craving tonight. Someone to talk to, someone who would make her feel safe and tell her everything would be alright, even if she knew they were lying for her sake.

Goldilocks was sleeping on the couch, apparently worn out from that exciting walk. _Lucky you. _

Gradually, Emma shook off her leather jacket and wrestled the band out of her hair as she climbed the stairs. She needed something to ease her muscles as well as her mind, like one of Gold's magical massages.

The bathroom door was closed, but she could hear the sound of running water. As she passed it, she could feel the inviting warmth of steam on her toes. It made the rest of the house feel intolerably cold in comparison.

No, the door wasn't fully closed—she could now see it was slightly ajar. And Gold was in the shower.

Emma didn't really know what made her decide to do it.

Maybe she was just craving the touch that would inevitably comfort her and make her forget the troubles of this week. Maybe she just wanted to be daring. Or maybe it was this whole pregnancy thing that made her emotions run wild like a raging bull.

Either way, her hand pressed against the door, edging it open and she slipped into the humid bathroom. If Gold knew she was there, he gave no notice. Or perhaps he didn't want to risk changing her mind.

Carefully, Emma peeled off her jeans, tank top, and anything else that constituted as clothing. The golden swan necklace and bracelet were the only items left on her body when she swept the curtain aside to join her husband under the hot spray of water.

His back was facing her, but his body paused as he registered her presence. Emma drew close to him and ran her fingers along his back, up to his neck. Curling her arm around his shoulder, her lips kissed the skin of his neck. Resting her head between his shoulder blades, her message was clear: _I need comfort tonight._

Slowly, he turned and gently captured her wrists, entwining them around his neck to bring her closer. Through the warm rain of water, she could read the answer in his brown eyes: If it was comfort she was searching for, he would give it to her.

His fingers caressed the damp strands of her hair, down along her jaw before he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. Droplets of water rolled over their skin as Emma eagerly kissed him back, her fingers taking their turn delving into the tangled strands of his hair.

It was a meaningful, passionate kiss between them—Emma let go of the stress that was clouding her mind and instead chose to stop breathing for two minutes of her life. Breathing Gold tasted so much better right now.

Hands on her hips, he guided her backwards until her back hit the slick wall of the shower. As his hands slipped around her back, his hips nestled over hers. Emma leaned her head back as he kissed the hollow of her throat, her eyes blissfully closing.

"Emma," he whispered close to her ear and she inclined her head to tell him simply: _yes._

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Emma buried her face in his shoulder as Gold—so, so tenderly—made love to her under the steady drum of a warm rain.

….

She wasn't sure when, exactly, but at some point, they had the sense to turn off the shower and dry off. Emma nearly slipped stepping out of the shower, but Gold steadied her. Even so, she was smiling better than she had in a while.

With the tips of her fingers all pruny, Emma wrapped her towel around her body and picked up her damp clothing—a pool of water covered the bathroom floor. That was what she had slipped on. _Leave it to me to become all clumsy. How romantic. _

In the end, the damp clothes only made it to the bedroom before being dropped on the floor in there. The towels proved useless since they were shed rather quickly and the two lost themselves in each other once more on the bed.

Afterwards, Emma curled up on her side while Gold stroked her back. A satisfied smile was stuck on her lips.

"Emma?"

"Mm?" Her eyes were closed, her heart was beating rapidly from their latest excursions.

If Gold was limping worse tomorrow morning on his way to the shop, at least she would know why. One of her fingers played with the golden swan around her neck.

There was a moaning of the bed as Gold rose on his elbow.

"Do you think…you could ever be happy…with me?" Gold sounded tentative, as if he was afraid of her answer. Afraid that she would reject him. Emma opened her eyes, but remained curled in her protective ball.

"Isn't that why we're having a kid?" Her voice was guarded and she knew it. Gold brushed her blonde waves aside and then gently squeezed her shoulder.

"Emma," he repeated her name with nothing short of seriousness. Breathing deeply, Emma rolled over to face him. The smile was gone. She shrugged loosely, hanging onto the golden swan like it was her talisman.

"I don't know," she murmured truthfully. Disappointment lined his face. "I've never really been happy before. I'm not sure what it feels like." Emma drew closer to him until her head was snuggled against his shoulder. "But I think this might be the closest I've ever gotten."

Gold kissed the top of her head and held her close.

"What do you think our baby will be like?" Emma glanced up at Gold, whose eyes were bright with consideration. He smiled along with whatever idea was forming in his mind.

"If it's a boy, he'll be smart, strong, brave. A charmer, just like his father. Harvard graduate, no doubt," Gold boasted confidently. Emma imagined holding Henry as a baby, just for a moment and knowing she could not give him the best he deserved. It was the worst pain she had ever known.

"And what if it's a girl?" Gold paused and caressed Emma's face.

"If it's a girl, she'll be beautiful and good…just like her mother. Perhaps stubborn like you as well and a heartbreaker. Your golden hair and my brown eyes. She'll be fiery alright—a little imp. And I shall spoil her," he declared.

Emma gaped at him, placing a hand firmly on her reasonably flat tummy.

"You will not," she protested. No way was their kid turning into a royal brat just because Gold had the money to throw away. It was a blessing that Henry was still a good kid, living with that witch. Gold pointed a finger at her.

"I will. I plan to give her everything you and I never had. Every whim of hers will be satisfied. She'll want for nothing. And that goes for Henry, too. If she asks me to a tea party, I will gladly attend."

Emma found herself lost in the picture Gold had painted for her. A little white table in the yard set for tea with little stuffed animals and Gold drinking tea with their daughter, pinkie raised and all.

"Let me guess: it'll be by invitation only?" Gold smirked and folded his arms behind his head, kicking his feet up underneath the blanket. He seemed pretty pleased with the picture, too.

"Exactly. Though, I fear for your chances," he hinted, winking at her. Emma pouted and sat upright in bed.

"Why?"

"When our little girl reaches that stage when she knows Daddy will give her anything—including but not limited to a pony—and she naturally resents her mother, I'm afraid your tea-drinking privileges will be revoked."

Emma settled back against her side of the bed, visibly deflating.

"You'll still have Henry, though. You've given the child up to Regina and he still loves you," Gold told her. Emma rolled over so that he could only see her back. She punched the pillow a couple of times.

"Humph. Is that so?" Gold must have sensed her temper simmering; he reached over instantly and laid a kiss on her bare shoulder. And Emma liked it. _I hate it when he does that. Then I can't stay mad at him and he knows it. _

And, _damn him,_ he began to massage her shoulders. Emma curled her toes in pleasure.

"Don't be jealous, dear. I'll still have eyes for you. Promise."

He kissed her skin again. His breath paused by her ear and he tapped her shoulder to gain her full attention.

"Oh, and darling? Next time you wish to arrange a 'guy's night out' for me, let me know. That way, I'll at least have a chance to limp for the border."

…

_**I hope everyone enjoyed that. And, of course, I have so many lovely people to thank for such wonderful reviews. **_

_**So, thank you: DaesGatling, sexysashaas, BlackShadow14, RandomWriter101, onceuponanevilregal, Twyla Mercedes, Immortalis Charitas, olverabonk, Laurinna, TourmalineBlue, discotimelord, megumisakura, fangirlnews, ParanormalMoonlight, sundancemc, Duffer13, thedoctorsgirl42, russianeyes718ouat7ncis (you know, I can totally spell your penname now without double-checking, haha), DragonRose4, ekletic, and the Guests that reviewed. **_

_**Thank you so much everyone for reading!**_


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: I know it's been an extra week than what I promised for the update. Before you mention it, I just want you readers to know that I have been working on this chapter for that entire week straight. Seriously, I spent 12 hours yesterday writing it up…and it still wasn't finished! **_

_**It is a really long chapter for you and I hope (and pray) that you will enjoy it. Hopefully it was well worth the wait and the effort I put into it. **_

_**Want to know just how long it really is? Brace yourself…24 pages. A whopping 13,000 words from my heart. How about that? It's longer than my Christmas chapter. I didn't really want to split in two, either. And it's just for you guys! See how much I love you all?**_

_**It's time for G.N.O.-Guys' Night Out! **__**Three more days until the Season One DVD…is anyone else as excited and impatient as me? **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Two**_

She shouldn't have made that deal. This was a terrible idea.

Emma stood in front of Archie's door and debated whether to even knock. Maybe she should just go home, curl up in bed with Gold and the dog, and leave Archie floundering in his office. Gold's company sounded a lot better than therapy right now. Oddly, she might have required therapy for thinking that at one point.

Then again, it would be worth it to see Gold engage in a night out with someone like Archie. Ruby already promised to fill her in on the details…if she didn't take photos and spread the story around first. Gold would have an aneurism.

It would so be worth it.

_Screw it. _Boldly, she rapped her knuckles on Archie's door. As she waited, she wondered what Archie was planning to do to help her. Hypnosis? Have her draw a picture with crayons? Strand her in the middle of a storm?

_It's not like I'm the worst case he could probably have. David was afraid of a pregnancy scare. I'll bet Archie's still fixing him. _

"Sheriff Swan," Archie's warm, amiable voice stirred her from her thoughts. He stood in the doorway with an inviting smile, cleaning the lens of his glasses on his vest.

"Emma," she automatically corrected. "I hate that title." She pulled the hem of her leather jacket down over the gaudy badge on her hip. _And all because of my devoted husband, I'm stuck with it._ _Better me than Sidney, I guess. _

She could feel Archie's eyes scrutinizing her curiously. She was a bug sitting under his microscope.

"You hate it because…you don't want to be reminded of the responsibility resting on your shoulders. It ties you down," he surmised, jumping right into professional mode. Emma was unimpressed. "Sorry. Old habit. Uh, would you like to come in, Emma?"

Casting him a long look, Emma stepped past him and into the confines of his office. The last time she'd been here, Henry had burrowed his way into a mine shaft. Before that, she was falsely accused of ripping off private records.

Good times.

"So, what exactly are you planning for guys' night?" The door slammed closed as Archie stumbled against it. The nervousness was dripping off him. "I swear I won't warn Gold ahead of time."

Archie's curly hair held no contest to the shade of his face. Whatever guys' night out entailed, it would be quite a show. _Oh, yeah. Gold is going to kill him. And then me. And then Archie again just for the hell of it._

"Um…well…does Mr. Gold…sing?"

Emma was so glad there was a table behind her or she would have landed flat on her butt. Tears streamed down her face as laughter shook her body. She had to clutch her stomach and bend at the waist to catch her breath. Her palm beat against the table, rocking it as giggles spurted from deep inside her throat.

Archie was stiff and bewildered.

"I'll take that as a 'no'?" Emma wiped her face with the back of her hand and whistled out a stream of air. God, it was hot in here.

"Wait…wait, you…you're taking Gold…to _karaoke_?" It sounded like she asked if the moon was made of Swiss cheese. Gold didn't even sing in the shower!

Come to think of it, she'd never witnessed him singing before. To imagine him belting out a song in front of Storybrooke's citizens, most of which despised him…_Here lies Archie Hopper, death by karaoke. Oh, this will so be going up on YouTube, if I know Ruby._

"Is it a bad idea?" Archie shifted uncomfortably near the door. He was probably considering dinner and a movie now. Or maybe he was afraid she'd actually warn Gold about the potential massacre he'd be walking—or limping—into.

"I love it," Emma waved it off. The only possible way it could get worse is if Archie held a _Free Hugs for Gold _night. Her chest heaved as her lungs captured fresh air and the gasps of laughter subsided. "So where should I sit?"

Archie pointed to the black couch in the middle of the room. He noticeably avoided her gaze.

"Over on the, uh, bed—uh, couch," he stammered. _Oh, dear God. What am I getting myself into?_ Emma bit the inside of her cheek and awkwardly perched on one end of the couch while Archie chose to sit directly across from her. There was a box of tissues nearby. How many people actually cried during therapy?

"Are you going to draw me, too?"

Judging by the blank confusion on Archie's face, he didn't get her meaning. It wasn't her type of movie, either, but at least she'd seen _Titanic_ once. _Does everyone in this town live in a black hole? The Stranger would have understood it. And would give me a smirk in return and offer to grant my wish. _

"I can barely draw stick figures," he admitted, taking a pad of notepaper into his hand. The textbook prepared therapist—ready to take notes. Was he expecting some riveting, psychological tale cut from the same cloth as _Sybil? _

"Oh," she flatly murmured. Archie crossed one leg, scribbled something on the notepad. The scratching of his pen was the loudest sound in the room, followed by the constant ticking of a clock and the crickets. _Chirp, tick, chirp, tick…_"Does that ever annoy you?"

Archie glanced up, jarred from his intense note-taking. He followed her gaze to the little tank of crickets on his windowsill. From the pleasant smile on his face, you could have sworn he was admiring his children.

"No, never. I've loved crickets since I was a boy. They always seem so free and happy," he explained. She noticed his voice was filled with nostalgia and dreaminess. The pen started scratching again. Emma clasped her hands between her knees and surveyed the room. Her eyes fell on the black umbrella, one of the things Archie never went without.

"Why do you always carry that umbrella?" The question popped out before she could block it. Archie smiled as if just realizing something.

"I think I can see where Henry gets his curiosity from. He's just like you, always asking questions," Archie told her. Emma's lips dipped in a frown. Was that his kind way of telling her she was being rude? "To answer your question, I always carry my umbrella because you never know when there will be rain."

Rain. Of course. Appropriate given her reason for being here. Maybe he hated it, too.

Archie quickly jotted down a few more notes on his pad. She really had the urge to try to peek over the top of the notepad. Or was that his diary? _Dear diary, I'm taking Gold out for karaoke. It'll be swell. Journey, ABBA, and Air Supply, oh my! In therapy today: Emma Swan. Married but attractive. Crush, crush, crush. Hates her job and asks too many questions. Avoid thunder at all costs. _

Archie snapped the pen down over the notepad, startling Emma from her reverie. He cleared his throat; time to begin. _Let's get this session over with. _

"Alright, Emma. I'll start with a few questions. Just to get an idea about your fear," he said. His tone was slow, as though speaking to child. And then there was the fear thing again.

"I do not have a fear of thunderstorms," she insisted just as slowly. Archie leaned forward and anxious lines marked his forehead. His eyes took on a show of pity. It irked her to no end.

"It's perfectly normal to be in denial, Emma. The first big step is admitting to your fear," he reassured her. She raked her hands through her hair—it was either that or the box of tissues would go flying. She might as well have been joining Leroy in AA. _The first step is admitting you have a problem. _

"I am not—" She stopped herself right there. That was denial in itself, wasn't it? Her fingers curled over the edge of the couch as Archie jotted down some notes. _Emma Swan. Current progress: in denial. _"Oh, would you quit it with the notes?"

Archie jumped, clearly not expecting her sudden outburst. He looked down at his pen as if it had just come alive and bitten him on the nose.

"Okay, no notes. Some people find them uncomfortable," he complied, setting the pad and pen on the table. What was the use, anyway? Emma knew he would probably lunge for the notepad the minute she walked through that door. "First question, then. What normally comes to mind when you think of thunderstorms?"

Was this a trick question?

"Rain. Lightning. Thunder…and storm," she pointed out matter-of-factly. Archie sighed and rubbed his forehead. That was obviously the wrong answer. _Whoops. _

"Emma, those details are basic. Dig a little deeper. Do you feel scared when you hear the rumbling of thunder? Do you panic if there's a flash of lightning?" Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. Did he think she suffered through panic attacks? "Does it ever wake you in the middle of the night, seeking comfort?"

Damn.

Archie's eyebrows lifted and he tilted his head expectantly. Her shoulders slumped as she prepared to throw herself under the bus.

"There was a storm the other night. You obviously know that," Emma started. Archie laughed dryly and nodded.

"Obviously," he repeated. If Madame Mayor had said it, the word would have been cold and belittling. Archie simply stated it as a fact of life. The thunderstorm was why she was sitting on his couch, after all.

"I woke up that night and I heard it. Gold was still asleep and I didn't want to wake him, so I…I went downstairs." She felt like she was pouring out the contents of her soul. No wonder the kid hated therapy. Next time he wanted to hide away in the back of her car, she wouldn't object. This was much worse than karaoke.

"Any particular reason why you decided to go downstairs? A drink to calm your nerves?" Inevitably, Archie's bespectacled eyes traveled down to her belly. She could easily read the concern there.

"I'm not drinking. I'm pregnant, remember?" _Pregnant with Gold's child. _Emma drawled over the delicate word, forcing Archie's attention to return to her face. His cheeks turned pink. Spreading his palms, he silently asked: _As you were saying? _"I don't know why, but I can ignore the storm if I'm near a wardrobe. My husband has one in the living room."

Archie's expression became quizzical. _It's okay, Hopper. I don't understand it, either. That's why I'm here, isn't it? _His fingers drummed on his knee as he concentrated on his choice of words.

"Maybe the wardrobe offers you a sense of security. A place to hide from the storm. Do you ever go inside the wardrobe?" Emma's gaze flickered to the door. What kind of notes would he jot down if she up and walked out of here right now? Would he call off the guys' night out?

"Yeah…and I'm transported to a magical world with a lion and a witch," she sarcastically retorted.

Archie's eyes boggled and his hand twitched an inch closer to the notepad, itching to take notes. She slapped her hands down on her knees.

"It was a joke! All I did was sit on the floor next to the wardrobe. Gold found me a few minutes later. He comforted me and…and the rest you can leave to your imagination." Archie coughed and stared into his lap. A groan issued from Emma's mouth—this was not how she hoped this would go. _I knew I should have gone home and curled up with Gold. _

"What is your most vivid memory of thunderstorms? Any particular time that stands out?"

It took only a moment for the memory to resurface. It was so clear in her mind, she could almost imagine being there again. The musty smell tickled her nose. Honestly, she could almost hear the lyrics of _Walking on Sunshine, _sung in a drunken manner.

"It was thundering the night I gave birth to Henry."

Understanding dawned over Archie's face and he made a small 'O' with his mouth. Yep, he had her all figured out now. It was like a light had sparked on inside his head. Emma really wished she could suck her words back in.

"The night you also decided to give up Henry because you realized you weren't his best chance?" She didn't answer. They both heard the truth ring out. "Perhaps your…dislike of thunderstorms comes from your regret over Henry. It bothers you. Every time you hear a thunderstorm approach, it reminds you of that night."

Emma fidgeted on the couch. _Sure, Hopper. Whatever gets me out of here quicker. That's not the answer, either. _

"I don't think so. It has something to do with the wardrobe. Just a reminder—I gave birth to Henry in a jail cell. Not a wardrobe," she protested vehemently. The clock ticked annoyingly, mocking her with slow minutes. _Tick, tick, tick…_

Archie shrugged. His diagnosis was made.

"As I said, the wardrobe may be a symbol of security for you. Some things can't be entirely explained," he said, getting to his feet. He brushed off his vest and smiled down at her. "I think that's enough for today, don't you?"

Emma breathed a sigh of relief and lounged back against the couch. She was free. No more scrutiny or probing questions. No more therapy—

Wait.

"For today?" Her enthusiasm plummeted. Archie collected the notepad and pen. His brow furrowed with confusion.

"Yes, for today. I said I would help you, Emma. You obviously still have some concerns," he replied. Emma rose and planted her hands defiantly on her hips. This was supposed to be a one-time deal. Where did the idea of added sessions come from?

"No, I meant—"

Intent was meaningless. Gold's mantra scorched through her mind. She'd told Archie he could help her…but she never indicated how many sessions the help would require. She cursed under her breath. _And here I thought I was improving with deals. Gold makes it look so easy! Smug, deceptive imp. _

"I was hoping we could schedule another meeting for tomorrow…if you want," Archie continued, oblivious to her mental self-bashing. Tomorrow. Therapy. If only the kid wasn't off-limits; he'd get her out of this.

"Enjoy your guys' night out," she muttered before storming out of Archie's office. He could forward the bill to her husband, if he wasn't afraid of having it added to his monthly rent. _Admit your fear, Hopper. I recommend therapy. _

…..

He wasn't ready for this.

Much as it pleased him that his habits of deal-making were rubbing off on Emma, he despised the idea of this…this…_guy's night out. _Of all the types of deals she could have made for him. He'd rather turn himself into a snail and offer himself as escargot. That would be less painful.

And these bloody ties were getting him nowhere! _No, not that one. No, I wore that one the other day while collecting Archie's rent. No, that one doesn't match the suit I picked and I'm not changing again after an hour of choosing it. This is frustrating—it's no wonder women take so long preparing for a date. Except this is _not_ a date. _

Gold flung the handful of ties down on the bed. What did a guy even wear on a guys' night out? Would Archie even care? Or would he offer a psychological analysis based on his choice of tie? And why the hell did this button on his suit not want to stay put? _Frustrating to no end. If I didn't crave Emma so much, if she wasn't the mother of my child, I'd kill her. _

A light knock on the bedroom door alerted him. _Speak of the savior and she shall come. _

Emma was leaning against the doorframe, observing his grueling task of dressing up. Much as she tried to shield it from him, her green eyes lit up with fiery amusement. _Sometimes I ask myself why I married her. She has the means to torture me far worse than Regina. _

"Just so you know, this is meant to be a friendly guy's night out. Not a prom," she quipped. The silk ties could have burned a hole in the mattress right then.

Should he just…go without the tie? Or would that be too abnormal? He was so used to dressing fashionably in expensive suits that he didn't own anything the least bit casual. Except for his old pair of pajamas. That was out of the question. _Ah, forget the tie. _

Emma wandered in, clearing her throat to catch his full attention. Or was it a giggle? _Keep giggling, Emma dear. I'll remember this when you attend your therapy session tomorrow and you come home seeking comfort. What will you do if I decline? Who will be giggling then? Me. _

"Archie's here. Downstairs," she informed him. She might as well have told him the president was here.

The ties he had been gathering up slipped from his hands and fluttered to the floor. Archie was here, in his house? And so early? Or was he running late? He had been so preoccupied choosing his outfit that he hadn't even heard him arrive. _Oh, gods. Now I have no choice but to go through with this catastrophe. _

"Keep him busy. And not in the way he fantasizes about in his diary." Gold feigned calmness as he bent to gather the ties. Emma scooped up the rest for him as his bad leg complained. At this rate, he was beginning to really feel those 400 years gaining on him. At least he still looked good.

"He's better than the Stranger, isn't he?" Great. Just what he needed to be thinking about now—the many ways the Stranger planned to put the moves on his wife. Moron. He should have made those explosives stronger.

Emma must have registered his distaste for she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Her touch seemed to burn right through his clothes, straight to the bone.

"Relax, Gold. As a rule, I don't go for doctors."

"Still doesn't rule out the Stranger. He's a writer," he muttered. The way he spat out writer, he might as well have said that the Stranger was a male stripper. Not that he was jealous. Just…protective of his assets.

Even so, he decidedly pried Emma's fingers off his shoulder. He was determined not to fall prey to her touch—it was her fault he was stuck doing this, after all.

"Lucky for you, I don't go for mysterious writers, either. Or reporters who insist on playing detective. Or drunks who have made the station their second home. Or brainless charmers." Emma counted them off on her fingers.

He had barely noticed she had inched closer until he could smell the sweet cinnamon on her lips. He wondered if she tasted just as delicious…No! She was incredibly distracting. And now she was tilting her head so that her soft mouth was just below his. Her blonde waves fell so lightly over her shoulders—he longed to weave his fingers through it.

"I guess that leaves me with well-dressed limping pawnbrokers. Know any good ones?" His stomach coiled with pleasure as he imagined pulling her into a kiss, guiding her backwards onto the bed, and giving her a damn good reference. Excitement fired through his veins as he recalled that Archie was waiting downstairs. That was worth a giggle.

Emma's eyes began to drift closed and her lips parted as she anticipated it. It was what she wanted and who was he to deny her a simple wish? At the last second, as his lips brushed hers without quite kissing her, reason chased the cloud of lust away. He darted around her to locate a mirror, shoving down that tingling sensation.

Yes, better to go without the tie. Much more casual.

"I take it you're still mad at me," she said gruffly to his suited back.

Collar up or collar down? Down. He could see the way Emma's face hardened, the way her arms crossed her chest. He almost pitied her. Until he remembered he had a date with Archie. Would Emma object if he made the excuse of being sick? _Coward, _he scolded himself.

"It's not every day my significant other arranges a date for me with another man," he told her over his shoulder. As secretly as possible, he inhaled to catch the scent coming off his suit. He had meticulously scrubbed in the shower. Should he wear his cologne? Or would that send off the wrong message?

"It's not a date," Emma argued. He eyed her in the mirror as she aimed for the bedroom door.

There was that small curve of her lips again. Did she know something he didn't? Oh gods…did Emma actually know what was in store for him tonight?

"I think it'll be good for you to be seen in public with someone other than me and the general people you threaten to evict. I'll go tell Archie you'll be ready in a few minutes."

A few minutes? At this rate, he needed an extra hour.

Never had he been this jumpy for an arrangement before. Maybe it was because he always arranged meetings with these hazy fools on his terms; he was the one in control and oozing power. Tonight, Archie was calling the shots and he had no clue what that cricket was planning.

The stupid button on his suit popped off. Someone up there was mocking him.

…

Tonight was going to be a disaster.

If breaking buttons, pouring rain, and the coincidental use of "Highway to Hell" on the radio weren't enough signs, Gold didn't know what was. In the end, he threatened to take his cane to the radio if Archie did not shut it off.

Maybe Emma would take the night patrol for once and pull them over just to check on him. That woman was getting feisty after all the time she'd spent with him. It gave him quite a stirring…

No, he was _not _about to repeat that lovely problem while sitting in a car with Archie. The honeymoon had been bad enough on that aspect. Archie would be blushing every time he passed Gold on the street if that were the case.

Even more annoying, Archie had to be the most articulate driver in the world. Or at least in Storybrooke. Two times they'd waited five minutes at a stop sign just to be sure nothing was coming, even though their car was the only moving one in sight. And when there was a red light, forget it.

Hell, they were _still _waiting! Gold drummed his fingers against the length of his cane, staring fixedly at that infuriating red light. He willed it to turn, flash to green, _turn…_

Archie kept fidgeting in his seat. His nervousness radiated off him like cologne that was overly sprayed. The rain beating on the windshield was the loudest sound that interrupted their silence.

"So…" Archie murmured under his breath. It was like a gunshot in the small space between them. The drumming of his fingers slowed and his eyes flickered to Archie. Ugh, he wasn't going to go for the awkward exes talk, was he? Did Archie even have exes? "Can you believe this rain? Emma must hate it."

Even more pathetic. The weather. And Archie thought Emma was curled in a ball at home, knees tucked to her chest, bawling her eyes out over rain. Right. _If ever there was a time I longed to be struck by lightning, it'd be tonight. _

The light was still red. Gods, was the damn thing broken? At this rate, he'd prefer risking his leg in the rain than stay in this little car.

"Oh, drive already," he growled, startling Archie half out of his seat. It was amazing how often people gave him that reaction. Archie's mouth fell open in astonishment—by the look of it, Gold had just claimed he was following in David's footsteps in screaming that his water just broke.

"B-but…the light is red. It means—"

"Stop, yes. Believe it or not, most everyone has learned it. Except for perhaps David Nolan and Regina—David because he is much too easily distracted and Regina because she miraculously runs on a year-long PMS schedule. Go," he urged Archie, waving to the empty road before them. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over Archie's face.

Stupid cricket and his moralistic behavior. Was no one a rebel these days?

"I doubt traffic will magically appear in the next two seconds," he sighed. Archie's hands curled around the steering wheel, turning white. His chest heaved as his breath quickened. And then he nodded.

Archie gunned down on the accelerator, lurching the car forward. Into the intersection they went.

Almost immediately there was a deep screech of tires as a motorcycle cut them off. Archie panicked and slammed on the brake and Gold jerked forward in his seat, the seat belt pulling tight across his chest. _It's a good thing I didn't give Archie my word on that lack of traffic. My mistake. _

"That was close," Archie breathed as he watched the motorcycle roar off. Was it his imagination, or was Stubble smirking as he glanced back at them?

"Yes. Lucky us. It would have been a shame to miss our…date." _And it would have been a shame to rid the town of a previously blind, arrogant, wife-kissing Stranger as well. _

…

Archie took them to The Enchanted Rose, an expensively fancy restaurant that most in Storybrooke could only dream of dining. If they weren't too busy scraping up rent for him, that is. The busiest time for the restaurant was the occasional birthday celebration or holiday. Other than that, it was reserved for those with deep pockets. Like him.

If he wasn't married to Emma, he might have worried that Archie would propose.

Oh, that little cricket was so picking up the tab tonight.

"There's…something I neglected to mention," Archie hinted as they stepped inside from the downpour and a waiter led them to their reserved table. If anyone was surprised that Gold was out in public with Archie, no one dared to say a word. Good. He'd have no qualms about ruining this place financially in a heartbeat.

Gold paused as they neared their table in the corner of the restaurant. Someone was already sitting at their table, their back facing him and obscuring their face. Someone with blonde hair…

Oh, no.

Oh, hell no.

He'd recognize that blonde hair anywhere. Emma's was only a shade lighter. Charming.

"I…uh…invited David along," Archie sheepishly admitted as he took a seat to the left of their third wheel. David shifted in his seat and turned to face Gold, a foolish smile on his face. This man apparently lacked a good sense of character. _Charming could walk into the den of a dragon and try to make friends with it. _

"I see," he murmured, refusing to move any closer.

This was not happening. Archie was one thing, but _Charming? _Could this night possibly get any worse? He had better knock on wood fast because of course it would. David Nolan was not on his list of favorites, but then that list was hopelessly short, anyway.

David stood and offered his hand to Gold. He ignored it.

"Hello, Mr. Gold," David announced with way too much enthusiasm. Gold almost laughed. _Oh, if you only knew I was married to your daughter, you wouldn't be so cheery. And there's even a little one on the way, too. _

Most of the people in the restaurant were turning to watch them now and so he had no choice but to accept his seat at the table. He had no doubt they'd be the talk of the town tomorrow. _A cricket, a prince, and a beast, oh my, _he thought with mild amusement.

"Here I thought you'd be spending the evening with your _wife,"_ Gold said to David. His wife…otherwise known in this world as Mary Margaret. Did David know that he knew their little hard-to-miss-unless-struck-blind affair? David only shrugged.

"Kathryn decided to have dinner with Regina tonight," he explained humbly, poring over the menu. Gold picked up his own menu—if only to avoid staring at these two fools—and smirked as his eyes roamed over the list of dishes. If he was going to be forced to endure this, he might as well enjoy it on his terms.

No doubt Archie would be the one to offer to pick up the bill. Therefore, he would order the most expensive item on this menu, which just happened to be…let's see…

Pumpkin cream soup and lobster crab dip. What in the name of chipping cups was _that?_ It was served in something called a "bread bowl." Who ever heard of serving soup in a bowl made of bread? Did they run out of actual bowls?

Oh, what the hell. There was a first time for everything, right?

"Drinks?" A breathless waitress awaited their order. Why was this girl so out of breath? There were hardly seven tables filled in this restaurant; it wasn't as though she were running around at all hours of her shift. As she hunched over her notepad, pen poised, Gold noticed a button loose on her white blouse, revealing a strip of lip-bruised skin underneath. _At least someone seems to be enjoying their night. _

"How about some wine? Your best," Archie ordered and the waitress skittered off, her blonde ponytail bouncing on her neck. Archie was certainly trying to impress him tonight, wasn't he? He turned back to his menu. Should he order dessert tonight, too? There was a grand slice of chocolate cake or a hot fudge sundae…

A tap on the shoulder caught his attention. It was the breathy waitress again, setting a margarita in front of him. It even had a little pink umbrella. The three of them gawked at it in confusion. Did this woman not know the difference between wine and margaritas? Or was she too distracted to notice?

"Dearie, I didn't order that," he informed her, trying to hand it back to her. A deeper shade of red scorched her face as she urged it back to him with the heel of her hand.

"I know. It's a drink courtesy of that girl right over….there," the waitress pointed across the restaurant to a table occupied by two. His stomach plunged. Leroy and Ruby. Hard to believe those two were here for the food, even as they avoided his searing gaze.

It was a message, obviously. They knew about this guys' night out and would no doubt spread the word. They were mocking him. He passed the margarita off to David, who took the umbrella from the glass and twirled it in his fingers.

Was that a flash of a camera in the corner of his eye? When he spun his head, Ruby was staring off in the other direction and Leroy was whistling. Oh, this was going to be a fantastic night.

…

Someone was knocking at the door.

Goldilocks was barking like mad, nipping at her heels as she strode down the hall. Was it the kid, sneaking out of his house to visit her and Goldie? Or maybe it was Mary Margaret hoping to keep her company while Gold explored the wonders of a guys' night out. She would have guessed it might be someone asking for directions, but most people in Storybrooke would rather stay lost than risk knocking on Gold's door.

Emma finished tying her hair up in a ponytail and pulled open the door. This she did not expect one bit. It was the Stranger. Standing on the porch, soaked from the rain, his bike parked on the curb. _This will be something to discuss in therapy tomorrow. _

"Sheriff, I'd like to report an accident," he declared confidently. Her veins froze over twice and her mind went numb. The feeling was lost in her legs and her ponytail suddenly felt two times too tight. Accident? Was it Leroy again? Oh, God…did something happen to…Gold?

"What accident?" Her voice was hard as nails, controlled. Inside, she was shaking and wanted to grab Stranger by the shirt and shake him until his eyes rolled in his head, demanding him to tell her everything he knew. Archie had been driving, right? It was raining, and it would be difficult to see…

"Well, I was coming through the main intersection, just minding my own business as I rode my motorcycle, and I think you'd be interested to know that I was almost hit by your husband. I could have died," he emphasized with his gleaming blue-green eyes. "I even have a little scratch right here—"

It took her a minute to register what he just said. _Almost _hit? As in…didn't hit? Almost? Scratch? Meaning…

Emma curled her fist and punched the Stranger in the nose. His head shot back with a sharp _crack. _Blood spurted from his nostrils, staining the white shirt he wore under his jacket.

"Gah! What was _that _for?"

Emma glared at him as he pinched his possibly broken nose. If Leroy were here, she'd put bets on the fact that it was. He was lucky she didn't throw a vase at his head or beat him senseless with one of those instruments cluttering the living room. How _dare _he show up out of nowhere and pull a stunt like this!

"You idiot! You had me worried!" The Stranger had the nerve to give a lop-sided grin despite his predicament. Even more astounding was his hand as it dared to touch her shoulder and pull her in for a half-hug.

"Aw, I appreciate your concern. I knew you had a soft spot for me. So, when are you signing the divorce papers?"

The intense smell of him clogged her nose and she shoved him away. She thought about punching him again or sic'ing Goldie on him, but the dog was too busy eating the contents of its bowl to pay attention to the Stranger now. Apparently Goldie didn't see him as a threat.

"Your ego must be huge if you think I was worried about _you. _I was worried that my _husband, _who by the way already has a bad leg, might be suffering in a car wreck on the side of the road. Bastard," she spat at him through clenched teeth. That annoying grin was still there.

"I know, right? The guy never dies," he quipped boldly. That was it—where was the nearest vase? Emma grabbed up a vase of flowers near the door and hurled it at the Stranger's head, but he ducked. It crashed into millions of pieces on the sidewalk. "Touchy. Can I at least have a towel? Maybe a phone so I can call the hospital?"

Emma gripped the edge of the door and wished with every inch of her being that looks could kill. Where was Regina when you needed her glare?

"No! Go _home, _Stranger!" And she slammed the door in his face. He counted to five and then knocked again. Emma wrenched the door back open, her face contorted with anger. He had the urge to laugh—she was so _cute _when she was worked up. "What _now?"_

"You look incredibly sexy with your hair up," he smoothly threw out, leaning against the doorframe. Her mouth dropped open before she collected herself and slammed the door again. It hit his nose and he screamed shrilly as it shifted irregularly. He glanced up at the other houses on the street—good, nobody heard that.

Was the third time the charm? Or maybe it was better not to push too much too fast.

Holding a hand to his throbbing nose, he just knew he'd be making a visit to Whale tonight. Not exactly his choice of company.

"That didn't go as well as I thought it would," he muttered and moaned again as a sharp pain traveled up his leg, locking it for a brief moment. Emma was really costing him recently.

….

That pumpkin cream soup was hands down the most disgusting thing Gold had ever put in his mouth. It left his stomach churning unpleasantly. To top it off, David had not only downed the margarita but had gone through a bottle of their wine. He could practically keep his head off the table.

If he had any luck, this night would be just about done. Unless Archie was planning a movie marathon. _That_ he could not handle.

As if to prove him wrong, one of the waiters announced that tonight was open karaoke night. Never mind. He'd prefer the movie marathon. Hell, he'd offer to share the popcorn and watch _The Princess Bride_ if it got him out of this restaurant in the next ten seconds.

"Any brave volunteers?" He was never so happy to be a coward. Though, he couldn't say the same for Archie. Gold glared intensely at him as the man's face lit up like a Christmas tree on fire. _If he mentions one word about singing, I will clobber him with this cane so hard, he will be the one in need of therapy. Motor skills therapy. _

"Ooh, ooh! I love karaoke," a gruff voice exclaimed from across the room.

Leroy, now slightly tipsy, shot up to the small stage first. His song of choice: _Blame It On The Alcohol._ The crowd covered their ears when they heard Leroy's slurred, off-key voice. _Blame it on the goose, got you feelin' loose; blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol, blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol—_

Gold dared say it fit him perfectly, up until the moment Leroy fell off the stage and collapsed onto another woman. Needless to say, Leroy was kicked out, leaving a red-faced, rolling-with-laughter Ruby alone at her table.

The next person to volunteer was—God help them all—David. He was even worse than Leroy, stumbling up to take the mike. Gold buried his head in his hand.

"Please, don't tell me that man is drunk," he mumbled, mostly to himself. Archie coughed nervously.

"Alright…I won't tell you," he said, confirming Gold's fears. Why was he always surrounded by such idiots? This should be quite the show. He, along with the entire crowd, preferred Leroy's karaoke as David started in on Shania Twain's _Man! I Feel Like A Woman!_ Ridiculous was a complete understatement.

"_Whoa-oh-oh, get in the action! Feel the attraction! Color my hair, do what I dare! Whoa-oh-oh, I wanna be free, yeah, to feel the way I feel…Man! I feel like a woman!" _

It was suddenly clear to him now. He could see where Emma got her drunken singing tendencies. If David fell off the stage, he sure as hell wasn't catching him. Was that a video camera that Ruby was holding?

"Sir! Sir! Come back here!" A waiter was trying to chase David across the stage and grab the mike from his hand, but David went on twirling and singing. At one point, he leaped onto a nearby table and did a dance solo. "Why do we always get the drunks on karaoke night?"

The waiters ushered David out the doors while he was still singing into the mike about the positives of being a woman. Gold knew one thing for sure: David could walk home. That; and he was pretty certain that David and Leroy were now banned from The Enchanted Rose.

The waiters looked royally flustered now. They had the same wide-eyed look as Cinderella's fairy godmother an instant before she blew up into sparkly smithereens. _Bibbity-bobbity-BOOM!_

"Are there any other volunteers for karaoke? Preferably a volunteer who isn't intoxicated?" Archie was staring at Gold from under his eyelashes, puppy-like, his hand twitching on his lap as if he was itching to raise it. There was no possible way Archie could be any worse than the last two.

Grudgingly, he waved his hand to Archie, silently giving him permission. Archie grinned and jumped up, only stopping before the stage so that the waiters could assess that Archie was, in fact, sober. They even did the line test.

A few light notes began and it was only a second before he recognized the tune of Elton John's _Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me_. Not too shabby. How could Archie mess this up, save for pitiful vocals?

And then Archie opened his mouth to sing. It wasn't the chorus of angels, but Gold had to admit that he wasn't that bad. His voice rose with confidence as the song progressed and most everyone was listening intently. _What do you know? The cricket might have a redeeming quality yet, _he thought as Archie belted out the chorus. _Don't let the sun go down on me…although I search myself, it's always someone else I see…_

Gold was just settling back into his chair and sipping his wine as he listened to Archie, when an odd thought niggled at his mind. Wait…wasn't this song often sung as a duet? He almost dropped his wine glass. Damn it. _Please, no. Keep singing. Please, no. _

Sweat broke out over his forehead and Ruby was staring at him, grinning wolfishly, the red light blinking on the video camera…

And then Archie finished the chorus and that brief pause came. And Archie looked directly at him. _If I can avoid this, I swear I will not blow up any more fairies, I will not blow up any more fairies, I will not—_

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Gold!" He exclaimed in place of "Elton John." Oh, gods. Archie had actually done it. That damn cricket.

His face burned with hot embarrassment and shock, his body stiff and frozen in his seat. And then, as if in slow motion, each head turned in his direction as Archie gestured to him. He felt like Carrie at her prom after the pig's blood had dumped all over her and a shrill voice screeched in his head: _They're all gonna laugh at you! They're all gonna laugh at you!_

He couldn't do this. It was…unthinkable. It was somewhat…scary.

Archie was standing there stupidly, all eyes on Gold as everyone awaited for what he would do. Ruby's eyes burned into him and—oh God—was she turning that camera on him? That's it—her and Granny were having their rent raised. They'd be lucky to scrape by in that lousy diner.

And then Ruby made it even worse. Her red lips parted with a mischievous smile and she began to chant his name. At first no one heeded her and then one by one people joined in, encouraging him to do it. It rose to the sound of an avalanche, overwhelming him. _Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold!_

Would they all shut it if he just ignored them and refused to give in? Or would they keep doing it? If he said yes, he'd surely make a fool of himself and never live it down. But if he said no, everyone would know he was a coward and hold it over him in the back of their minds, never be afraid of him again…never let him live it down.

Choices were never easy, were they? And Archie was _still staring…_

He sighed. _I know I'm going to regret this. _Unbelievably even to him, his legs were rising and carrying him in the direction of the stage. Someone handed him a second mike and it was like his body was betraying him, accepting it. If he was smart, he'd walk away. Just walk away…Gods, he had never sung in front of anyone but Bae!

Everyone was staring as the music carried on and the next words were already reaching his tongue as he reluctantly took his place next to Archie, who was smiling at him as foolishly as ever before. _I'm going to regret this…_

It was softly at first that he started. _I can't find, oh the right romantic line…but see me once and see the way I feel…_

Ever so slowly, the crowd quieted and something inside him surged, becoming more comfortable as he got into it. Everyone was watching him in awe. Did they think an old pawnbroker like him could not sing? A slow smile crawled along his face as he dared to prove them wrong. _Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm….But these cuts I have, they need love to help them heal…_

All at once, it was as if the entire town was watching him…and he didn't care. Archie joined him as the chorus started again, their voices blending together across the crowd.

Nothing seemed to matter much as he and Archie dominated their attention. This felt…good. It was an amazing feeling, controlling the community's attention in a way outside of fear. This was power in a completely different sense. Regina would be jealous.

By the time the last line issued from their mouths, the crowd was lost at their feet. _But losing everything is like the sun going down on me! _

Storybrooke just had another earthquake in the form of applause.

…..

"That was fantastic," Archie gushed.

The crowd was obnoxious with spreading their amazement among each other as Gold collected his cane from the steps of the stage. Sense had returned to him—it was like, for a moment, he'd been a completely different person. A more sensible, open person who could honestly be friends with Archie.

That person was being bashed over the head, stuffed in a drawer in the corner of Gold's mind and the key was going in the trash.

"Did you feel that? I couldn't have been imagining it. Underneath those lights, with everyone watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world, and singing to them…I say we give them an encore. Oh, we could try _Truly Madly Deeply _by Savage Garden! I love that song. Oh, I'll practice. _I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy—" _

"We're leaving," Gold abruptly cut him off, motioning for the bill from their waitress. That love song was where he drew the line. Ruby would die in a fit of giggles and he'd be charged for murder by Emma. That is, if his wife didn't die of giggles, too.

"I'll handle the check," Archie offered, just as Gold knew he would. Good thing, too. The total price was over $300. Expensive restaurant, indeed, with his meal having been the priciest, of course. _If you're lucky, I'll reduce your rent just as much. What is wrong with me? I'm in a…generous mood tonight. _

Archie patted his pockets, searching for his money. The waitress and Gold waited somewhat patiently, though it was thinning. One pocket, then the other. Archie's face was growing red.

"Just a moment….I have it here somewhere. I know I put it in this pocket before I left. Or did I….while I was feeding the crickets…" Gold narrowed his eyes. A stone fell straight down into his stomach to join the gruesome pumpkin cream soup.

"Archie, you _did _remember to bring money?" Archie met his eyes hesitantly as he came up empty from digging in his pockets. He looked like he was going to pass out.

"Sorry. I think I might have left it in my office," he murmured, giving Gold the puppy-eyes that begged for help. $300. Damn pumpkin cream soup in a bread bowl. Maybe next time this place should invest in proper merchandise.

…..

The first thing Gold wondered as soon as he arrived home was who had broken his favorite vase. It was just lying there on the sidewalk in little itty bitty shards surrounded by flowers. The answer was obviously Emma—it surely hadn't been the dog. _Why _had she done it? A party? Or did she just not like roses?

Ignoring the shards—he'd deal with them tomorrow—he entered the house and immediately halted on the threshold. His nose twitched as if detecting a horrible odor. Why was there a strange scent of cologne right in this spot? It wasn't his by any means. It took him a minute to place it. Strange, indeed.

"Emma?" He called out for her as he ascended the stairs, picking up his pace with each one.

Had something happened while he was gone? The broken vase, the intruding scent…But, no. He sighed with relief as he found Emma getting dressed for bed, pulling a soft white tank top over her golden head. It felt like a heavy stone had lifted from his lungs as he watched her from the doorway.

"Like what you see?" Their old quip made his lips curl hungrily.

"Immensely," he drawled as he swept towards her and traced his lips along the bare skin of her shoulder. As he did, he inhaled deeply and caught a swirling whiff of that same scent invading the front door. He sniffed again, near her tied back hair.

"Was the night so horrible that you need to find comfort in my smell? Thank God I took a shower today," she teased him as his hands gripped her shoulders, holding her still while his face was half-buried in her sun-kissed hair. Where was the cinnamon scent he smelled earlier?

"And it wouldn't hurt to take another one. You smell like Stranger," he accused in a low voice, breathing in her ear. His suspicion was heavy in that Scottish accent. She turned to face him incredulously. Was he actually insisting that she…and the Stranger…in _here…?_

"Whoa. If you think _I _am cheating on _you _with _him—" _She couldn't even finish that sentence; it was so ridiculous. Did he already forget about their intimacy the other night in the shower? Did he forget about the cabin in the woods? How could the Stranger ever possibly compare with that?

Oh, Gold and his trivial insecurities. He was probably afraid some younger man would sweep in and whisk her off her feet.

"I should hope not, darling. I'd hate to have you moaning…from someone other than me." As he said it, rich and silky, his hands slid from her shoulders to her hips and gently squeezed, earning a small gasp from her. Emma placed her hands on his chest and looked like she had something to say.

"He told me you almost got in a car accident," she said, her lips puckering in a worried pout. He secretly loved it when she did that—it made him want to kiss her hard until that pout softened out. Instead, he maintained a clear head and barely had time to swallow the snicker in his throat.

Did Emma realize the immensity of what she was implying? If she were a fish, he'd sure he'd have her frying in the pan right now, his hooks having dug their deepest. Those frustrated brows of hers knitted together as he snicker slipped past his lips.

"You think that's funny. I was worried," she snapped at him, wiggling out of his embrace. He couldn't help it now—he laughed at the sheer beauty of it. How had he not measured this? It always seemed like a passing dream.

"And _that_, my dear, is the funny part. A part of you does care for my well-being, after all. Enough to throw my favorite vase at the Stranger's head. I forgive you, in case you were _worried,"_ he said, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her eyes. He tucked it behind her ear and let his fingers linger there, an inch above her skin.

"If something did happen, I wouldn't be able to play the husband card and give the Stranger a reason to back off," she huffed. She wasn't putting it into straight words, but he could read it in the depths of her emerald eyes. There had been a moment tonight when she had sincerely feared for his safety. It reminded him of that time he'd rolled off the cliff.

Had she truly lowered her walls so much that they barely rose above his feet?

Inching close, he placed a tender hand on her stomach and kissed her jaw.

"Trust me, Emma. I'm not that easy to kill," he whispered in her ear as she lightly brushed her lips against the warmth of his neck. He tasted like fresh rain.

"If it makes you feel any better, I also punched him. I think I broke his nose," she admitted without feeling that regretful. It was the Stranger's fault. Not hers. Maybe next time he'd think twice about knocking on their door. Gold grinned with approval.

"That's my girl." Emma shrugged modestly, though the corners of her lips were twitching with the ghost of a smile.

"I would have probably killed him, but then we'd have to find someplace to put the body. I don't think dead body fumes would be good for the baby," she quipped, her smile splitting halfway through. Gold pressed his forehead to hers and breathed her in—her true scent came through this time.

"You're right. It's not like I own enough land to bury him in pieces," he sarcastically retorted. If he had his way, there'd already be a burial plot under Regina's apple tree, albeit unmarked.

"Remember what I said, dearie. Better not let strangers into the house, especially that one. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to wash my hair," he announced, slipping away from her in the direction of the hall. Emma frowned thoughtfully.

"Um…why?"

"Because it'll be the closest I can get to scrubbing the memory of this night from my mind."

….

_Round two. And in this corner, Emma Gold formerly known as Swan. _

Emma was back on the couch, though she couldn't really explain why. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. She wasn't afraid of anything.

This whole session was a waste of her time. She could have easily called and said she had trouble at the station or said she'd already made plans with Henry. _Then why didn't I? _For starters, Henry was still off-limits thanks to Regina. Maybe it was also because Gold had refused to dish out any details about last night and her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

Yeah, she'd go with that.

"So how did guys' night go?" If anything, it stalled the session a little.

Gold had been totally enthusiastic when he came home last night. And by enthusiastic, she meant displeased. The least he told her was that the entire night was one little step above Regina's annual birthday party—without the alcohol.

"That's not really what we're here to discuss," Archie side-stepped the question. His face clouded with pink—apparently Gold wasn't overreacting when he'd insisted it was shudder-inducing. Or was it? Emma lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Let me guess. Gold warned you that if you repeated the events of last night to anyone that you'd be evicted and your new living quarters would be six feet under the squirrels?" Archie bit down on his lip. It was as much confirmation as she could have received. _Poor guy. At least he's still breathing, though. _"Right. We're here to discuss how I _don't _have a fear of thunderstorms."

The situation had improved since last time. The pen and pad were nowhere in sight. Good thing, because she could save him the trouble and stick a glowing sign above her head reading _Denial. _

Archie tensed in his seat. He was having a really tough time getting through to her. Emma Swan-Gold, hard as nails. On the other end, Emma was actually calmer than the day before. Her attention was carelessly devoted to snipping a sore hangnail on her thumb, her ankle bobbing in the air as she crossed her legs. _Ready when you are, Hopper. _

"I was thinking we could try something a little different today. Have you ever heard of word association?" Emma's blank expression gave him his answer. "Basically, I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first word that comes to mind. Ready?" Ah, a game. Fun.

"Depends. Is that the first word?" Archie offered her a disapproving look at her reluctance. His patience was straining. Dropping her leg, Emma leaned forward on the couch. "As you were saying?"

Archie pinched the bridge of his nose. If he thought she was difficult, she could always recommend Gold for therapy. He and Archie would have loads to talk about.

"Alright. First word. Thunder," Archie slowly pronounced.

"Storm," Emma answered without hesitation. Easy enough. Archie licked his slightly chapped lips and she could tell he wanted to make a comment about her contribution. Wiping his brow, he let it go.

"Okay, then. Let's continue. Rain." It turned into a quick game between them. Archie fired words at her while she just as rapidly shot back answers.

"Wet," she offered, shrugging.

"Wardrobe."

"Comforting."

"Storm." He was doing the reverse of thunder. She imagined his exasperated expression if she actually gave him the answer of _thunder. _Maybe she shouldn't push him too hard. He was only trying to help, after all.

"Loud," she chose instead. For some reason, Archie paused to study her. Had one of her answers been strange? She'd actually given thought to the last one, but you weren't supposed to do that, were you? The gist of it sounded pretty straightforward, though. Only David could mess it up. "Is there a problem?"

"Emma, you _are _thinking of thunderstorms…right?" What kind of question was that? Was this one of his probing questions again? He could give her some warning before switching so abruptly.

"Yeah. What else would I be thinking about?" The only answers she gave Archie were s_torm, wet, comforting, _and _loud…._Oh. Ugh. It hit her, what the other possibility could be. Archie's averted, shaky gaze confirmed it. "Well, I wasn't thinking about _that_, but thanks to you I am now! Happy?"

Archie fumbled with his glasses, his nerves a jumbled mess.

"Uh…right. Silly of me. Shall we keep going?" _Gee, there's more? _"Henry."

"Kid." That nickname was never far from her tongue. The kid hated it—he actually asked her what she thought about being called 'Mom' the other day.

"Mary Margaret."

"Pristine." He wanted the truth, didn't he? She was fond of Mary Margaret, but the woman was practically a nun without the getup.

"Pregnancy."

"Scare." Just like David. Archie couldn't help chuckling upon recognizing the reference. He slid a hand over his mouth to cover it and turn it into one of those cheap, fake coughs. It wasn't fooling anyone. Gold was right—Archie was too nice for his own good.

"Regina." Oh, lovely topic. A handful of colorful phrases jumped through her mind, which would probably give Archie a heart attack. Was it bad that she'd picked up most of them from Granny?

"Sociopath." Archie's eyes widened. She didn't know why he was so surprised. Everyone knew she disliked Regina and that word was far from the worst one on her list. She was so grateful for doctor-patient confidentiality.

"Stranger." Even better. Arrogant, rude, narcissistic, mysterious…

"Stubble." Archie's face scrunched up with confusion. He hadn't been expecting that answer. Oh, he'd meant the vague form of the word. Whoops. _That explains a lot about the workings of my mind. _

"Huh?" Emma rolled her eyes and wished this little game could end. It was starting to leave a sour taste in her mouth. She waved the subject away. "Last word, then. Gold."

Emma's lips pulled into a smile. This would be such a good end to their session—maybe Archie would rethink asking so many probing questions. He wanted one word; she'd give him three.

"Good. In. Bed." Just as expected, Archie was surprised to the point of tumbling out of his chair. He knocked his knee against the table as he went down. He hissed and rubbed it as he squirmed on the floor. Emma choked back a laugh. "One word? Satisfying."

"I…I think now would be a good time to stop," he mumbled as he dragged himself up off the floor. One of his hands locked around his leg and he groaned in discomfort. It was the same leg that Gold was uncomfortable with as well. _Aw, next time they go for a guys' night, they can carry matching canes. Twins. If there is a next time. _

Emma gladly jumped up from her seat. Archie was still moaning in pain as she started for the door.

"Nice talking to you, Hopper." _Enjoy the bruise. _

…..

"And this is Leroy stage-diving on some old woman….and this is Leroy being escorted out of the restaurant…oh, and this is David dancing on a table! And see, there he fell off the table."

Ruby was leaning over the bar, holding her camera out so that the small crowd could see the pictures she'd taken. She liked to think she did a pretty good job. Maybe she should ditch waitressing and be a photographer. Granny would have a fit.

"Aw, why do I have to miss out on the good stuff? I could have had myself a good laugh last night," Leroy muttered as he nursed his alcoholic drink. Ruby shot a pair of impatient heavy-lidded eyes at him.

"Because you're always too drunk to be socially accepted," she snapped. It was a little harsh, but he would get over it. She flipped to the next picture. Mary Margaret and Ashley stifled a giggle at a picture of Gold with a margarita. The confusion on his face was hysterical. It was Ruby's favorite.

The bell above the diner door rang out and their heads shot up like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. It was only Emma. Ruby relaxed and flashed the blonde a wicked smirk.

"Hey, Mrs. Gold! Did you see these pictures yet? They're spreading like wildfire," she exclaimed, tossing in a wink for good measure. Emma's green eyes flickered to the camera and Ruby could tell she was curious. The sheriff sure had a will of steel.

"Actually, I'm just here for a quick lunch. I have my third session with Archie today," she said, taking a seat on a stool. Mary Margaret loyally occupied the seat beside her, forcing her eyes away from the camera. She was probably beating herself up for looking in the first place. "And I don't need to see the pictures. I'm going to respect the fact that Gold doesn't want to tell me anything."

Ruby waved the camera inches from Emma's face. Daring her to take a peek.

"Are you sure? Wait until you see the videos! Have you ever heard that hubby of yours sing?" Emma almost pulled an Archie and fell out of her chair. Was Ruby serious? Gold had actually gone through with it? No way. Gold…actually…_sang?_

Oh, that camera was tempting.

"Not just singing, either. He did a duet with Archie," Ruby continued, dangling that in front of Emma like a piece of delicious meat on an empty island. _Go on. Look at it. You know you want to. What's the harm? _

"You don't have to look at it, Emma. You're right; you should respect your husband's wishes," Mary Margaret said from her left. Ashley perched on the stool to Emma's right—she could fit now that she didn't have a swollen belly in front of her. Emma cringed; in a handful of months, she wouldn't be able to fit on this stool. Pleasant.

"What's the big deal? It's not as if he'll know she saw it. Not if you don't tell him. Besides, it might bring her closer to her husband," she argued. "Maybe he just has stage-fright." They stared at Emma expectantly while Ruby held out the camera, her finger hovering above the play button.

"Videos," she taunted in sing-song.

Emma couldn't help it; she leaned forward attentively. Gold singing a duet? In public? She had to see this for herself. Halfway through, they were all bursting out laughing with tears streaming down their faces. Even Mary Margaret had given in to the giggles, the apples of her cheeks turning red. Who knew Gold could belt it out?

It was a shame Emma's ears were clouded with the raucous laughter of her acquaintances.

"Something funny, ladies?"

The laughter slowed and died off, as if a meteor just hit the diner. Emma froze in her seat, unwilling to turn and meet those brown eyes. Even Ruby had paled and was biting nervously down on her bottom lip. She tried to switch the camera off, but Emma knew Gold would have recognized his own voice issuing from the camera. _I guess this isn't a good time to ask for an encore? _

"We were…um, we just…" Mary Margaret tried to explain, but the words refused to come out. Emma winced as her friend slipped into an embarrassed silence. _Thanks for the effort, Mary. _Ruby was the opposite, squaring her shoulders defensively as soon as she regained her composure.

"What Mary Margaret was trying to say was that we were busy looking at a picture of David singing karaoke last night. When he was dancing on a table, remember?" Ruby tested out her natural, boy-melting lusty eyes. Figures that Gold would be immune to her charm.

"Is that so?" His hand clamped down on Emma's shoulder, a warning. She shook it off and imagined the downturn of his lips as his gaze burned a hole in her back. "May I see, Ruby?"

His hand swept into her view, outstretched, waiting for the camera. Ruby's lips pulled into a tight line as she internally debated whether to hand it over. Reluctantly, she obliged, making sure the picture was one of David first.

Everyone was uncomfortably quiet as Gold's hands drew back and he inspected the screen of the camera. Emma held her breath as she waited for his reaction. Would he hold it in until they were home? Vent to her late at night when she was on the cusp of falling asleep?

"Ah, yes. How could I forget?"

Gold sounded calm. Too calm. To the others, that would be a good sign. Emma knew better—she knew the wheels never stopped turning in his head even when he slept, and that his calmness was a mask hiding his emotions. Building like a volcano, ready to burst forth in the subtlest of ways. _Wait for it…wait for it… _

Gold seemingly dropped the camera out of clumsiness. Emma saw past that, too. Someone as graceful as Gold could not be clumsy. Ruby screeched as the camera hit the floor, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. Instead of picking it up, Gold lifted his cane and smashed the camera with the end of it.

"My apologies, Ruby," Gold flatly stated as he handed the crumpled, shattered remains into Ruby's shaking hands. He certainly didn't sound sorry by any means. He was about to turn to leave when Emma caught him by the arm, finally spinning toward him. That had been uncalled for.

"Where exactly are you going? That is destruction of personal property," she told him, assuming her sheriff side.

She had warned him that he wasn't going to get off easy just because he was married to her. If he expected to just walk away and get away with this, he was dead wrong. His eyes locked with hers and she watched them narrow half an inch, challenging her.

"Are you going to arrest me…Sheriff?" The impact of the uncaring words whiplashed her. Ever since the guys' night out, his mood had been black and unrelenting. It was the first time in a while that she'd gone straight to bed at night due to the fact that he wouldn't even meet her eyes. Was he ashamed of what happened in that video?

It still didn't give him the right to act like this.

"If you didn't go around ruining other people's property because it puts you in a bad light, then I wouldn't have a reason to arrest you," she shot back, her face growing warm with her temper. Stone-like, masked, he returned her brutal stare. This reminded her of the way they were before she'd married him or they had that honeymoon, and it bothered her.

"Perhaps you should question whether Ruby is bothered by it before slapping those handcuffs on me," he suggested, switching his attention to Ruby, who was still cradling the destroyed camera. By the look on her face, the camera might have been a newborn baby in her arms. Her dark eyes rose to catch Gold's and she dropped the pieces onto the bar.

"Ruby—" Emma started, but she was still looking at Gold, whose gaze could be penetrating on the best of days. There was a hint of understanding in her face and then she glanced at Emma with a look of pure resignation.

"It's okay, Emma. I'll just buy a new camera with the little money I have and be more careful who I lend it to," she said before scraping the scraps of camera into a wastebasket and storming off. Emma's gut twisted as she faced Gold again. Just innocent, wasn't he?

"Why do you have to use rent to manipulate people?" It came out as a harried complaint. Mary Margaret and Ashley looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them. Slowly, Gold moved in on her and flicked a pebble of the camera that Ruby had missed.

"I hope you enjoyed that performance, Emma. You'll never see it again," he said to her before turning and striding out of the diner, leaving complete baffled silence in his wake.

…..

"Okay, Emma. I think you'll find this session a little more effective." Archie plugged in a large fan that was positioned on the table and adjusted it to the lowest setting. Emma's hair lightly lifted from her shoulders and a slight chill reverberated along her veins.

What was he planning to use the fan for? It wasn't even hot out! Granted, it wasn't raining, but it wasn't that warm, either. And why was Leroy standing in the corner of the office with a bucket of water? Was he doing community service and washing Archie's car?

"Just so you know, Leroy had agreed to help me today with this activity," Archie explained, gesturing to Leroy. The short man rolled his eyes and licked his dry lips. Leroy? Agree to help? There had to be a catch to this.

"How much did Archie pay you?" Leroy scoffed at her, looking quite defensive.

"What, can't a guy like me do something for the good of the town?" Emma gave him a stern look. He broke down, mumbling something under his breath. "A twenty, sister," he gruffly responded, patting his pockets to make sure the twenty was there. And it was doubtlessly going to be spent in its entirety at the diner.

Or maybe Leroy was saving up for a karaoke set. There was a children's one in Gold's shop. Emma was surprised Gold hadn't yet taken his cane to it.

Archie lowered the blinds until the room was fairly dim. Walking over to his desk, he pressed play on a little cassette player and the rolling rumble of thunder filled the room. Somehow, Emma didn't think she was going to like this.

"This method is…not the most popular one. I'm just curious about how you might react when exposed to a thunderstorm," he said, casually dropping into his chair opposite her. Emma listened to the rolling thunder and shrugged. Was this supposed to make her freak out?

"Right now, I'm sitting in your office listening to thunder from a tape. Not exactly realistic," she spouted.

This didn't bother her at all. It wasn't the same as a real thunderstorm—it wasn't the sounds that seemed to set her on edge. It was the way the black clouds swirled in the sky, descending over her head. It was the way that dread filled her as she sensed that something bad was coming. Not that she would tell Archie that.

"Try to close your eyes and imagine a thunderstorm approaching. You're not in my office; you're…in the middle of a street and it's rolling over you—" Emma interrupted as she held up her hand. She kept her eyes closed, obediently keeping that painted picture in her mind.

"Uh, why am I in the middle of a street? Aren't you afraid I'll get hit by a car instead? That seems more likely than me getting struck by lightning," she pointed out haughtily. She was still a little ticked off at the Stranger's accident reporting; it made her fume every time she thought of it. Leroy shuffled nervously.

"This way you're facing the storm head-on instead of viewing it from the safety of your home. Now the wind starts to pick up—" There was a click as Archie turned the dial on the fan. Very subtle. And cold.

"The thunder gets louder as it draws closer." Archie's soft footsteps crossed to his desk and the volume increased on the tape. It was everywhere around her, pulsing in her ears. All she could picture now was that white wardrobe in their living room and the comfort it offered. Unknowingly, she had tucked her knees up on the couch as she longed for it.

"And a gentle rain starts to fall on your head…"

Icy water splashed over her head, drenching her whole torso. Her eyes shot open as the suffocating water soaked into her hair, clothes, and skin. Some of it even went in her nose. Shooting to her feet, she whipped her head around for the source of the abrupt waterfall.

Leroy was standing in the same spot as before, except with the now empty bucket in his hands. So _that_ was what the water was for. Archie glanced frantically between Leroy and Emma, whose arms were outstretched at her sides and her mouth open in silent protest.

"Leroy! I said a _gentle _rain! I meant a few drops of water, not a typhoon," he scolded Leroy. Emma could barely move, frozen with water dripping off her body. Her clothes clung to her frame, her blonde hair stringy and matted to her neck. Through it all, Leroy simple stared.

"What…the…_hell?"_ She gasped, hopelessly trying to dry herself off. If there was a mirror, she was sure she'd look like somehow who just paid a visit to a water park. Archie gawked at her before having the brilliant sense to turn off the fan and tape.

"I think that's enough sessions," he murmured in his shame. Emma glared piercingly at him as she gathered her jacket. At least she had the mind to take it off before starting this session—otherwise, that too would be soaked. What would Gold say about this?

"You think so, doc? That must be the first helpful thing you offered," she lashed out, striding for the door. On her grave, that would be the last deal she ever made of her own accord. She didn't bother meeting Leroy's eyes. Maybe she should dump a bucket of ice cold water on him and see how he feels afterward.

Archie watched Emma slam his office door, the knob rattling as it shook from the impact. He should have known that would turn out bad. Hadn't he known that? _You see, everyone? This is what happens when you ignore your conscience. _Leroy didn't seem too shaken up about it, though as he pulled out that crisp twenty dollar bill.

"Do I still get to keep the twenty, sister?"

…..

Gold was lying atop the bed, reading _The Mirror _and getting a good chuckle out of Sidney Glass' horrendous articles. A spelling bee? Ooh, how thrilling! How catastrophic! _That _was the most exciting piece of news in town? Gold's performance didn't even make the headlines—how insulting. Regina was dragging her heels in this whole unhappiness factor.

And this fedora-wearing fool thought he was cut out to be Emma's side-kick detective?

Goldilocks curled up next to his thigh and he blindly reached out to stroke her fur. Suddenly, the golden head poked up, fully alert, one ear cocked. Peering over the top of his newspaper, Gold's eyebrows soared as he took in the sight of Emma in the doorway. Soaking wet, clothes damp, a puddle of water dripping on the carpet.

His eyes flickered to the window—it wasn't even raining out. Did she up and decide to jump in the river beneath the Troll…uh, _Toll _Bridge? Or was she spontaneously offering to wash cars for the citizens of Storybrooke?

"D-don't…ask," she warned him in the midst of a shiver. He could not help but find the amusement in this situation and latch onto it like a leech. It was certainly enough to lighten his mood.

"Were you washing your hair, too? A tip, darling. Most people I know take off their clothes before a shower." Emma scowled at him as she quickly gathered a few dry clothes and headed for the bathroom. "It's also the perfect place to test out your vocals."

Emma paused in the hall and whirled on her heel. Oh, now she was dripping on the floorboards. It'd be his luck if he slid and busted his leg—then she'd have no choice but to tend to him just as she did in the cabin. It'd be payback for that little deal she made.

"So, let me get this straight, Gold. You don't mind if I sing…but you refuse to let me hear you sing?" He flattened the paper on his lap and smiled generously for her.

"Precisely, dear," he answered. He'd meant what he said; of course he always did. Never did he waste a breath even though he had a countless number of them. Words were everything. The karaoke was a once-in-a-lifetime act; only under serious torture would he repeat it. Maybe faster, if Emma was doing the torturing.

As Emma stood appalled by his give-and-take condition, he expected her to stubbornly pounce on him and argue about it. Perhaps she would demand that he sing for her. Instead, she shivered again and smirked.

"At least it was only karaoke and not a strip-show." As if that would ever happen.

…..

_**The songs in this chapter were "Blame It (on the Alcohol)" by Jamie Foxx, "Man! I Feel Like A Woman" by Shania Twain, and "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me" by George Michael and Elton John. **_

_**It's official. I torture my favorite character too much. But it's only because I love him…and Golden Swan. (-; And I just torture David because….it's too much fun. **_

_**I think if it weren't for the Abridged, this chapter would have taken even longer to post. For you fans out there (here comes an advertisement) there is a special Abridged Skin Deep deleted scene waiting for you! If you haven't checked it out yet, I highly recommend it. It certainly boosted my motivation. **_

_**Now for the best part (at least for me in these notes)—my thanks to all those adoring reviewers out there. You guys never fail to make me smile! **_

_**Cheers to DaesGatling, mafer-torres-714 (thanks for the support as a Rumbelle shipper!), BlooperLover, olverabonk, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, megumisakura, thedoctorsgirl42, discotimelord, BuzzCat, Tizmine, Duffer13, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, The-Writer2012, RandomWriter101 (aw, we have a new ship on the horizon: Goldie Pongo. Golden Pong? GoldPong? Hmm….), Twyla Mercedes, Musicalfan2012, Immortalis Charitas, and ParanormalMoonlight. **_

_**So many of you to thank and I am so glad because it means there are plenty out there supporting this story. Thanks, everyone! **_


	33. Chapter 33

_**A/N: Hey, everyone. This will be the first portion of Skin Deep for you. I decided to cut it in two chapters. If anything, I hope I did the Skin Deep episode some justice, since it is my favorite episode. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Three**_

They were both awake. They both knew it, as their breathing was shallow and their eyes stared off in two different directions. While Gold lay on his back, Emma curled up on her side and stared at the ticking hands of the clock. It was midnight.

She hated it when they were uncomfortable around each other. It dug under her skin and made her feel guilty about the whole deal with Archie about guys' night. Things had been going so well between them for so long; she hated seeing it fall apart even by an inch.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, rolling onto her head shifted on the pillow until his attention was focused on her. His face was unreadable, but at least he wasn't gloating. Then she would have probably killed him."I'm sorry for the deal I made with Archie. It didn't exactly work out well for either of us. I'm sorry I made you go through guys' night when we could have just spent the night together and—"

Out of nowhere, Gold rose up on his elbow and his hands grasped her chin. His lips claimed hers, cutting her off. Anything else she was about to say was forgotten. Wrapping her arms around his neck and splaying her palms across his back, she returned the kiss.

At least, until he broke it to gaze down at her longingly.

"I forgive you," he said as he stroked her blonde waves from her face.

Relief passed over her and he felt a twinge of disappointment even as he kissed her lips again. Did she think he would treat her with a grudge the same as every other citizen? She was his _wife_, damn it.

"Don't you understand it yet, Emma? You mean so much more than those..." _Idiots? Fools?_ "...other people. As long as it is in my power, I will protect you. There is nothing I would deny you, save for my singing voice."

Emma gave a half-hearted smile, though her eyes sparkled with stark seriousness. She knew what was coming, what he was driving towards as he lightly weaved through her hair and gazed into those brilliant green depths. It was overdue, according to him. Why resist it?

"I love you." The L word. Clear as crystal.

Stubborn silence. A small measure of regret pinching her lips. His fingers slowed until he was no longer stroking her hair.

Why wasn't she reciprocating? Was he that thorny, that hard to love? It wasn't as if this were easy for him—he'd been planning on telling her at the cabin in the woods this weekend. He'd rehearsed it in front of the mirror! There was also that life-size Emma cut-out in the closet.

But here it was…and all he earned was unsure silence. _Don't shut me out, Emma. It's a mistake, trust me. Don't you dare throw those walls up now that someone has proclaimed love for you. _

"Won't you say it for me, Emma? Once? It's so difficult to know what you're thinking," he whispered, dipping his head down to hers. Their skin was only an inch apart and all he could see were those wide eyes.

"Here I thought you had me all figured out," she replied flatly, avoiding what he truly longed to hear. Just to know it wasn't all in his head, that Belle was not his last chance. Was he wrong? Was it…gods…one-sided?

"I credit myself too much, I fear. There is one part of you that even I cannot hope to reach. That heart of yours is surrounded by a fortress, darling." His knuckle traced her jaw as he listened to her soft breathing.

Never mind the fact that he was difficult to love; it was far worse for Emma. Alone and independent most of her life, it was rare if she gave every piece of her heart and entrusted it in someone else's hands. And hadn't he been the same, even while he had Belle? Thought incapable of the luxuries of love, never knowing what it feels like…

That was it. Emma did not know what love felt like, just as she'd never known happiness. She didn't know. And it scared her.

"If you want me to say it…tonight…I just can't right now," she told him, her forehead marked with lines of frustration and bemusement rather than carelessness. A part of her wanted the words to reach her tongue….but Emma was like him in another way. Emma never admitted to something she wasn't entirely sure of. She liked control.

Sighing, he started to move back to his side of the bed when she caught his arm. He glanced down at her in slight dejection—what else did she want from him? He had just given her everything.

"Gold, it's hard for me to say it in words," she emphasized, eyeing him with expectancy. And then he understood.

Emma was like her mother more than she could grasp. _Words mean nothing to me. You know what does mean something? Taking action. _Emma never opened herself up to anyone in terms of contact—it was why Henry's father had been her first and only time. She thought she had fallen in love, so she gave it her all. And it failed.

Emma never wasted her time with petty words or arguments, either. Not when taking action could prove so much more effective. Taking the chainsaw to Regina's tree, fighting for Henry, saving Gold from the edge of that cliff and then nursing him back to health.

It dawned on him.

This was her way of reciprocating—the way she knew how without troubling words. Had she been telling him before tonight? _I guess that leaves me with well-dressed limping pawnbrokers. Know any good ones? In the cabin…in the shower…_

He hadn't been listening. Oh, but he was listening now.

"Emma," her name drawled from his lips a second before he kissed her slow and meaningfully. Tonight meant so much more than lust and comfort. Maybe it hadn't been that at all. Tonight, he would make love to her in the most tender way he could.

Long afterwards, they lay in each other's arms and he savored the feel of her lips against his skin. Smiling, she curled into his embrace and tilted her head to gaze up into his eyes.

"Can you hear me now?" In answer, he kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips. "Good."

…..

_Either I need to lay off the ice cream or this baby is growing faster than I thought._

Emma revolved in front of a floor-length mirror in one of the guest bedrooms. Her shirt was pulled up, exposing her belly. There was a slight swell that she hadn't paid much attention to before. She was starting to show.

Clad in only her undergarments and shirt—which was actually one of Gold's white shirts with the sleeves rolled to her elbows—she made her way downstairs in search of her husband. She knew he'd be excited by this news.

The rich smell of syrup led her to the kitchen. Her hands lifted the shirt again to reveal the tell-tale bump. One of her hands gently rested on it, as if the baby would already be kicking. That would be a miracle.

"You know, I think I've put on some extra weight. What do you think, darling?"

She stifled a yawn as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, stretching her arms over her head. It was a big one, making her stand on her tip-toes until it finished. Ooh, there was a slight ache in her legs. All thanks to their midnight exercise.

"And did you have to thrust so deep? I'm going to ache all morning."

Why was it so dreadfully quiet? Why was she not getting an answer? A nervous cough made her eyes shoot open. Her body halted and her insides froze over. _Oh, damn. _

Gold was there, standing by the stove and making breakfast just as she knew he would be. That wasn't the startling part. There was another person in the kitchen, someone she did not recognize. Tall, muscular, and had the word bouncer practically written in the air above his head.

And she was standing half-naked in her husband's clothes after having announced their more personal activities.

"I suppose you'd rather I not answer those questions?" Gold was his natural, smug self. Only he could possibly find the humor in this situation.

Emma was stiff and unmoving, her eyes locked on the man sitting at their table. If he knew the kinds of things that took place on that table, he probably wouldn't be eating, would he? The apples of her cheeks grew hot as her words echoed in her ears.

_Lovely first impression, Emma. If Leroy had any decency, he'd run someone down right now and save me from having to deal with this humiliation. Any minute now….any second…Indecent drunk. _

"Who…?" It was the only word her lips could form.

Just realizing how bare she was, she tugged the shirt down as far as it would go. How sad was this? She couldn't even walk half-naked around her own house. That's what she got from marrying a dealmaker. Everyone wants something.

Gold turned off the stove and made a swift gesture to the stranger with a flick of his wrist. At least he was fully-dressed in a suit. Otherwise, they'd really have a problem.

"Emma, meet Mr. Danvers. My bodyguard." Danvers made a small wave and gave a polite smile. His eyes were shielded by black shades.

"Morning, Mrs. Gold," he greeted her with a shockingly squeaky voice. She did not expect that coming from a strongly built man like him. Was he mocking Alvin and the Chipmunks? She figured it was rude to ask.

Uncomfortably, she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and tried to ignore the goose-bumps on her bare legs.

"Gold, mind if we talk privately?" It came out harsher than she meant it. Danvers looked like he was about to stand, but Gold was already declining.

"Anything you need to say can be said in front of Mr. Danvers. He's not the gossip type." Gold folded his hands atop his cane and cocked his head as he waited.

Hell, no. Some things were just too personal. Danvers was already trying to avoid staring at her bump.

"Gold," she warned. The amusement vanished from his face as he dipped his head slightly to Danvers.

"Please give us a moment," he requested briskly.

Danvers was already out of his chair and slipping past Emma. She thought about telling him it was nice to meet him, but that would only make it even more awkward. She held her breath until the front door closed and then spun on Gold.

"You have a bodyguard? Are you expecting Granny to pull a sub-machine gun the next time you collect rent?" Gold limped toward the stove, removing the frying pan of eggs and bacon. The smell made her stomach knot.

"You'd be surprised what some people will do when desperate," he responded, fixing a plate for her. She shook her head, claiming she was not hungry. When she had been pregnant with Henry, she could never stomach foods like eggs and bacon.

"And why does he sound like a rejected chipmunk?" Gold's lips twitched and she suspected he was holding in a laugh.

"Throat complications a few years back," he said, but did not offer to elaborate.

Forgetting the breakfast, he drew close to her until he was gazing straight into her face. His fingers danced along the bare skin of her hip. It sent a shiver through her body—the good kind.

"I suppose I should answer your questions now. Quid pro quo. One—" He held up one of his fingers to tick off the questions. "No matter how much our bundle of joy grows in there, I'll still believe you are the most attractive woman in Storybrooke. Two, I _think_ our baby is growing quite steadily and I have a feeling it will be quite the handful. And three, you should be proud to ache. It proves you had one glorious night in bed, which is more than most of these people could hope for themselves. Any more questions?"

A steady blush had risen to her cheeks halfway through, though it was softer than the one she earned from humiliation. Gold's arms encircled her waist and she lounged in his embrace. Those three magical words from last night seemed to pulse around her and she suddenly remembered it was the day before Valentine's Day.

If she woke up tomorrow, would the house be covered in roses?

"By the way, I usually don't allow others to wear my clothing," he hinted as his fingers pinched the collar of the white shirt. "For you, my dear, I'm willing to make an exception. Just this once." Emma flicked one of the top buttons as he watched her intently. Hungrily.

"That's a relief. Because the only other option was for me to strip it off," she replied as the button slipped through its hole and revealed a glimpse of her flesh. Gold licked his lips as something deep inside him stirred.

"Take that shirt off right now, young lady. What ever were you thinking?"

Emma tried to hide her smile as she playfully squirmed from his grasp. Just as meaningfully, he caught her in his arms and pulled her in, planting a firm kiss on her lips. Softly, he placed another kiss on top of her head as she tilted it on his chest.

If she could stay in this spot for the rest of the day, she would. But the minutes were ticking away and they both had jobs to do.

"I have rent to collect, dearie. You know how much the people protest when I fail to do it. Any day now they'll start a mob," he quipped, as though having read her mind.

It was amazing that he found it hard to tell that she…loved him. Emma smirked to herself as she admitted it inside her head. At least, she was almost sure she did. She'd been riding an all-time high ever since the Christmas party. Drowning in Gold.

Trouble was, she'd never been driven-crazy-head-over-heels in love before. What she had with Henry's father was a show of lust, if anything. But this…this was nice. She hated to see it end.

"So, who's the unlucky victim today?" Gold turned away to reassemble his suit to perfection. Image was one of the most important things to him when it came to the citizens of Storybrooke. No wonder he'd hated guys' night.

"Mr. French, the florist," he answered shortly.

Emma sensed that French was one of those people—like Regina—that was a basic thorn in Gold's side. No love lost. She'd never met French and so had no idea what he might have done to earn such disgust.

Did he ask Gold to karaoke night, too?

"I don't suppose you'll be ordering a suspicious number of flowers while you tear him down publicly?" Gold smiled as he donned a dark pair of shades, immediately shielding his brown eyes. She couldn't be more obvious than if she held up a sign to him saying '_Will Work For Roses.' _

"It'll be hard to deliver them when he no longer has a truck," he replied coolly. Emma's eyebrows rose. Okay, Gold _really _didn't like French. Better not spoil his mood.

"I've never seen you wear sunglasses before," she pointed out, reaching up to try and grab them off his face. His hand caught her wrist and she scowled. How could he be so graceful? Did he used to be a dancer?

"Ah, you like them?" He tilted his head, causing the lens to shine in the sunlit kitchen. "I think they give me an air of…mystery."

Emma wiggled her wrist from his grasp and went to snatch them again. Gold secured her arms and spun her around, trapping her body against his. A low chuckle brushed the lobe of her ear.

"I think they hide your brown eyes too much," she honestly admitted. She always did think that those deep brown eyes were one of Gold's best features. His lips grazed her skin and it tickled her.

"Oh, so there is something about me you enjoy. Here I imagined it was my suave accent. Or perhaps my fashionable taste in suits," he whispered into her ear.

Emma had to admit that his rich Scottish accent sent a warm thrill all the way to her toes, especially when he was whispering her name. And when he was so properly dressed up, she itched to grab him by the tie.

What was it about a man with a smooth accent and impeccable taste in suits?

"Seriously, why the shades? Are you and your bodyguard attending a _Men In Black_ premiere?"

Gold released her and darted around her, the professional pawnbroker off to tend to business matters. He just could not help the grin as he glanced one last time over his shoulder.

"Something tells me that today is the perfect day to…shall we say…flaunt my style."

…..

Gold hadn't giggled like his old self in twenty-eight years.

Well, he wanted to giggle now as Danvers personally handled Moe French's truck, driving it away and leaving the florist to stare after it in dismay. Pity—he would have liked to order a field of roses for Emma, if only French paid on time. He even bought the red suit already.

Oh, who was he kidding? He enjoyed watching that old man squirm! It was due punishment for Belle, at least.

It made him want to giggle until his insides ached and people questioned his sanity. Why, the giggle was bubbling in his throat right now. Dancing on his tongue, parting his lips—

"Mr. Gold. That was quite a show back there." And the giggle was gone. Leave it to ole Regina to spoil his morning.

"Mr. French is just having a bad day. Happens to the best of us." _Except me._

He wanted nothing more than to knock her down with his cane and pass by. That trivial smirk of hers was annoying. Was this how Emma felt when he did it? In that case, he was going to go home and grovel at her feet. Kiss her boot.

"Yes. Speaking of shows, rumor has it you put on a surprising performance at The Enchanted Rose. I didn't know you could sing." Damn. He'd actually succeeded in mostly blocking that memory from his mind.

She was mocking him. Smirk, smirk, smirk.

"And I didn't know you enjoyed kicking off your heels and dancing around your office like Madonna, but you don't see me announcing it. Or was that just your way of scratching an itch?" A few people on the street overheard and glanced at Regina in amazement. Gold grinned. "Whoops."

Regina fumed and crossed her arms angrily. The world was in perfect, working order once more.

There was the urge to use his special word—he was half-inclined to make Regina pay for three dozen roses for Emma and be their personal servant for tomorrow. Wouldn't Emma get a kick out of that? _Yes, Mrs. Gold. Right away, Mrs. Gold. Can I get you something else against my will, Mrs. Gold?_

Stifle another giggle.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something," Regina was saying, trying to change the subject. Well, his mind had already grown tired of Regina. There was only so long he could listen to that cold, nails-on-chalkboard voice before wanting to literally bang his head on a chalkboard.

"If you're asking for my autograph I'm afraid it'll have to wait." Regina opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly overrode her words. "Please."

He knew it was a careless mistake, but he simply did not have the patience to deal with her today. He doubted she had anything important to tell him, just something she wanted. Spoiled child.

He certainly pitied Sidney if he dared to ask Regina to be his valentine today. God knows no one else would.

Smirk, smirk, smirk.

…..

Regina was a genius at ruining a person's morning, simply by showing up. Because of her, his glee over taking French's truck lasted about thirsty seconds. Thirty blissful seconds. And then it all went to hell.

She was putting the pieces together, getting suspicious. She was close to realizing that he remembered his true self. Took her long enough. He practically shoved it in her face that night under her apple tree and still she did not have the mind to connect the dots. He might as well have been wearing a sign around his neck. _Hello, my name is Rumpelstiltskin._

Despite that, he had to play this carefully. Much as it excited him to see Regina squirm under his thumb, he had to stop using his oh-so-special word. That alone could tip the scales, alert her to the truth.

There was something else troubling her, though. He had read it in her eyes before casting her off like an annoying Chihuahua. Something else was on her mind. But what? Was it…? No, there was no possible way Regina knew about that.

All of his worries were put on the backburner, however, as he approached the porch to his house. The front door was ajar.

Had Emma come home for some odd reason and neglected to make sure it was closed? No, she was much too careful for that. A niggle of apprehension warned him otherwise. _If it's that loathsome stranger attempting a panty raid, the only thing he'll find is a dark closet and one of my silk ties stuffed down his throat. _

Leaning his weight on the support of his cane, Gold gently stepped across the old porch to the door and edged it open. It made a small creak, but hopefully it wasn't enough to alert whoever was inside. There was a gun that he kept hidden in a drawer beside the door and he quickly retrieved it.

Taking slow, soundless steps, he peered into the cluttered living room. His brown eyes scanned around for anything that would be missing.

Where were those china dinner plates that normally rested on that vanity table? Gone. And the little box of fantasy action figures that he secretly used for role-playing the Enchanted Forest? The intruder had better left his little figure of Prince Charming intact. It was his favorite.

Oh, yes. Someone was here.

Making his way through the living room, he could just view the kitchen. One chair was drawn out from the table. Was someone testing whether his furniture was too hard, too soft, or just right? Would he find the person sleeping in his bed next?

His stride froze as he noticed one of the cupboards open. No, not just any cupboard. The cupboard where he kept the cups. And the one he treasured most, the chipped cup—

_Creak. _It came from behind him, the groan of a floorboard. Instantly, he spun and trained the gun on the figure, preparing to shoot…Oh.

"Emma," he sighed with relief as he lowered the gun. _Charming. Shooting Emma on the eve of Valentine's Day. Nothing says romantic like a trip to the emergency room. _

If he shot his wife, he figured he'd have to court her for at least two years before she forgave him. If he had been going for anything but a kill-shot, anyway. Emma mirrored his move and lowered her gun.

"That's a good way to get shot, darling," he murmured. She gave him a half-smile as she scanned the room for missing items. He'd already sorted the list in his mind, but the one on the very top was the chipped cup. The white wardrobe had toppled over and lay on its side.

"I'll recommend it to Stubble," she deadpanned. Part of him suspected she wasn't entirely kidding. There was a clicking noise and Gold raised his gun toward the hall. "And…now you want me to arrest the dog?"

What?

Goldilocks trotted into view, her nails clicking on the hardwood floors. The dog yawned and stretched, wagging its tail at Gold even though he still held the gun. He glared at it.

"Some watchdog you are," he grumbled. Goldie rolled on the floor and stared up at Gold, asking for a belly rub. Was this dog serious? A typical comedian. "Forget it. I'll bet my cane you already got one from our robber."

Emma's fingers grazed one of the instruments and it gave a slight hum as the string quivered. Meeting his brown eyes, he knew she was accepting the fact. They'd been robbed.

"Funny how that keeps happening to you," she pointed out. First Ashley, now French. Who was next? Charming?

"Yes, well….I'm a difficult man to love."

"Not that difficult if I fell in love with you," Emma blurted out. Too late, she stiffened as she realized what she just admitted. Her face turned red and her lips parted. "Did I just say that out loud?"

A victorious grin had slid over Gold's lips, giving her the answer she wanted. He'd been trying to trick her into saying it ever since last night. That had been pure happenstance—he'd simply been stating a fact. He _was_ difficult to love, was he not?

"I knew it," he gloated. Emma slapped her hand down on the wardrobe and hung her head. "What was it the Stranger had said at Regina's Christmas party? Ah, yes. _Emma loves Gold, Emma loves Gold—" _

Emma shot her head up, eyes gleaming with renewed amusement. A new wave of horror weighed on his shoulder. No, wait. This was supposed to be his moment to grin and gloat. He hadn't meant to…

"The day I get to hear your singing voice is the day you gloat over my emotions for you." Emma gave a dry laugh and shook her head. "Gold, there's never been a marriage quite like ours."

…

_I wanna know what love is…I know you can show me…_

If ever there was a place Gold hated to be on Valentine's Day, it was Mr. Clark's general store. The man was the poster boy for why sappy love songs ought to be banned in Storybrooke. Each one was worse than the last.

"I love this song," a voice behind him sighed happily. David. Of course. _Please, don't sing. Please, don't sing. _His eyes were actually clenched shut in prayer. A headache was starting right between his eyes.

"I'm sure your significant other would love to hear it," he muttered. _So long as you do it somewhere not near me. _David's face lit up.

"That's perfect! I'll buy some roses, some chocolates, and I'll invite her to the Toll Bridge. And then I'll just…oh, I'll jump out of the water singing! But what if she's late and I drown under the water? Or should it be somewhere else? Like…at her place! I'll float down from the ceiling while singing…Of course, I won't be _floating_—I'll be suspended by some rope—"

_Someone kill me now. Just do it. Someone do me a favor and beat me with my own cane. Drive a truck through the general store, choke me with this rope, do whatever you must do so that I no longer have to listen to this fool's lovesick tendencies. _

"I'm assuming those cards are for her," he interrupted. His teeth were gritted—he was struggling to maintain his calm. David's lovely plans were making his teeth grind harder.

There were two cards in his hands: one for Kathryn and one for Mary Margaret. How sweet.

"Oh, yeah. I…didn't know which one to pick." For once, David had hit the bulls-eye with that one. "They're so us. You see this one? '_I Woof You.'" _Okay, he was ignoring him from this point on. "Get it? It's supposed to be 'I Love You' with the little dog on the front—"

Was this line ever moving? Wait…was he momentarily hallucinating or was Leroy paying in _pennies? _

"One hundred and fourteen, one hundred and fifteen…"

"Do us a favor, Leroy, and finish paying_ before_ we die," Gold berated impatiently, tapping his cane on the ground. Leroy mumbled something incoherent and then glared over his shoulder. Stumbling, eyes weepy and blood-shot…he was drunk. Wasted.

"Oh, man! You made me lose count! Here I go again. One, two, three…" Where was that chalkboard when he really needed it?

"Do you like horror movies?" Was David still buzzing in his ear?

"You'll find I'm more of a…family man," he tossed over his shoulder. He could just see David's blond head bobbing avidly.

"So, what's your favorite Disney movie?" Moron. "Archie and I are having a horror movie marathon. Would you—" Oh. Hell. No. Karaoke would last him a lifetime and then some.

"I've got other plans. I never break my promises, dearie." There was a slight droop to David's lips. Dear God; he wasn't playing the puppy-eyes card, was he? Only David and Archie could possibly be disappointed about not spending time with him.

And, lo and behold, the line was moving! Leroy slurred a 'thank you' and went off with his…mug? Was he bringing his own cup to the bar now?

"Looks like you and Emma have an exciting night planned," David pointed out. Gold froze as he laid his items on the counter, brow furrowing. What in all the realms did he mean by that? Was Emma planning something?

And then his brown eyes returned to the roll of duct tape and rope he'd laid down in front of Mr. Clark. Oh. _That's_ what he meant. David thought the duct tape and rope were meant for…

Ugh. No. The idea was enjoyable, but the source was…Ugh. _There is no place or time where I'd ever have this conversation with you, Charming. We're not going to sit around in a field with little cups of tea, comparing notes on our wives. _

"No, this is not—" He waved his hand over the items, but what was he supposed to say?

_No, Charming. Or David. Or James. Or whichever alias you are. This is not for Emma—that would be ridiculous. No, I'm just going to hunt down a man who stole my beloved chipped cup and I'm going to stuff him in the back of his flower truck and drive off laughing into the night._

"Act now and I'll…_atchoo!_ Throw in a free copy of _P.S. I Love You."_ Mr. Clark began a strange hiccup-giggle. Gold narrowed his eyes and the laughter died off. "Or not."

Mr. Clark finished ringing the items up and handed Gold the bag.

"Enjoy your night with Emma," David called to him as he made an intense bee-line for the door. There was only so fast he could hobble away.

A smirk curled on his lips as he thought of the perfect way to get revenge on those two for guys' night. He'd be hitting two birds with one stone. Or three, really, counting Emma.

"Enjoy your horror movies. I should warn you, though. Archie makes Jamie Lee Curtis look like a mute."

….

Tap, tap, tap. Coffee. Think. Tap, tap, tap.

Emma was hunched over her desk, trying desperately to find French's location before Gold did. Her fingers gripped the edges of the desk until they turned white. A pen trapped between her fingers tapped against the desk.

Where the hell was he? Not at his shop, not at home. Where? Think.

Somehow, she just sensed that Gold was a ticking bomb. If he found French, the bomb would explode and the result would not be pretty. She was determined to find French and soon. _Not if I find him first, _Gold's threat reminded her.

The ringing of the phone startled her and she snapped the pen on the desk. What possible emergency could there be _now? _

"What?" She snapped into the phone, pinching the bridge of her nose. Silence on the other end. Oh, God, was it Henry again? _Damn you, technology! _"Hello?" A little softer this time.

"Those pregnancy hormones must be getting to you, my dear. Either that or someone defiled your coffee." Gold. She nearly dropped the phone as his accent flowed through her ear.

"No one defiled my coffee," she retorted, though she tossed it in the trash, anyway. Her craving for coffee was ruined. It wasn't even that good in the first place. A soft exhale of breath on the other end.

"Ah, so it's the hormones, then." Why was he jerking her around? Did he already find French? Was he just calling to say _I told you so?_

"Where are you? Better yet, where's French?"

"Still breathing, if that's what you're implying, Emma. Funny you should mention Mr. French. I'd say I'm closing in on him, darling. Oh, yes. Only a minute more. I can practically smell the roses," he taunted. "Perhaps I'll bring you one. It _is_ Valentine's Day."

Emma brushed her hair away from her face and paced back and forth as much as the telephone cord would allow her. The room was suddenly too hot, her heart beating too fast. The words made little sense in her mind. _French…minute…roses…_

"Tell me where he is. Please, Gold…don't do this," she pleaded. All she could think about was what Gold could do to French with a gun and a cane. Even worse if he had a car. He'd probably use French for target practice.

"Since you asked politely…Emma, I shall tell you where Mr. French is currently hiding out. _If_ you allow me but a minute's head start." For all she knew, Gold had French dangling out a window.

Emma slapped her palm down on the desk.

"I'm not compromising, Gold. Not now. Tell me where he is!" Her eyes flew to the clock on the wall. It was already past eight and it was dark outside. There were no tell-tale sounds over the other end. Gold could be anywhere. "Gold?"

"Then I suppose you can return to searching for the answer in those ancient files at the station while I take my time with Mr. French. See you at home, dear—"

Oh, hell, he was about to hang up. French would slip through her fingers…and only receive brutal punishment in Gold's. Why did husbands so often tune out their wives?

"Wait! Okay. I'll give you…a minute's head start if you just tell me where the hell he is!"

She couldn't believe she was gambling with French's life. It only took a mere second or two to put a bullet through someone's head. But this was Gold—always in control. How could she have forgotten that detail?

"Language, Emma. And why not make it two minutes? I am a crippled man, after all," he requested, making her grind her teeth in frustration. If she said no, he'd hang up. Or was he bluffing? With Gold, she couldn't take the chance.

"Two minutes," she reluctantly agreed. Who knew if French even had that long?

"You'll find Mr. French in an apartment building on 7 Steveston Avenue. Number 3. It once belonged to his late wife—he hasn't yet released it. Better hurry, Emma. If I find him, I can't promise there will be anything left for you to question."

The phone clicked in her ear. Gold was gone. Screw the deal.

Emma grabbed her gun, threw down the phone, and raced to her car. Time was ticking.

….

The patrol car screeched to a halt in front of 7 Steveston Avenue, a crummy apartment building that was—of course—owned by Gold. There were no other familiar cars in sight. Did Gold walk? Or did he commit grand theft auto as well?

And to think she would have to arrest her own husband. If he made one quip about the bars, she'd dangle _his _ass out the window.

Jumping out, she sprinted up to the front door, making sure her safety was on for now. It was one of those locked doors where someone had to buzz you in if you didn't have a key. Who the hell buzzed Gold in? Someone who owed him rent, no doubt.

Emma chose a button at random and buzzed it twenty times. _Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz—_

"Who keeps buzzing me? Is it you, wretched girl?" An older woman's voice shot through the speaker. Emma leaned close and buzzed three more times just for the hell of it. "What do you want? Rotten children." _Kids are hardly the problem in this town. _

"You need to let me in! Open the door!" The speaker crackled again and Emma fidgeted in place. Was this lady deaf? Time was wasting away. How hard was it to open a door? It wasn't as if she were going to take everyone hostage.

"No, no Lucifer. Not my pearls! Anastasia, take her." There was a muffled meow from a cat and Emma banged her fist on the door. "As for you, I'm calling the Sheriff!"

"I _am _the Sheriff!" No answer.

Well, she'd be getting a complaint call sometime tonight from a cat lady. Staring fixedly at the door, Emma chose another random button. _Come on, come on. Please let it be someone normal. Then again, in this town, that would be ridiculous. _

"Hello? Who's there?" Emma's head swiveled to the old speaker next to the door. It was Archie. "Is that the pizza guy with our M&M pizza?" Who ordered an M&M pizza? Small town? Sure. Normal? Not so much.

"It's Emma. Archie, you live in this apartment building?" She'd only ever visited his office. She wondered if he knew the crazy cat lady.

"Emma? Oh, I'll buzz you in," he said as the door buzzed to signal it being unlocked. Archie probably buzzed Gold in, too. Probably expecting some kind of get-together or sleep-over party. Yeah, right.

She ran up the stairs two at a time, all the way to the third floor where apartment number 3 was located. Through the door, she heard the unmistakable sound of screaming and…was that a saw she heard? How many weapons did Gold have?

_"Lawrence, no! Oh, my God, what are you doing?" _Who the hell was Lawrence? What was Gold _doing_ in there?

"Oh, just cut it off already!" David's voice. Whoa. Was David…oh, God, was David an accomplice to Gold? Dear God, what was happening? Cut off what? She didn't want to know.

Emma clicked the safety off and launched her foot into the door, breaking it open. There was a shrill scream and the sound of bone breaking and splintering. It made her stomach do a fierce dive. Were Gold and David actually torturing French?

"Drop your weapons," Emma shouted as she charged into the apartment and raised her gun at….Archie. Archie, whose mouth was hanging open from screaming and clutching at his chest as if he were having a heart attack. David was there, sitting on Archie's couch.

The sounds were coming from the television. They were watching _Saw. _

No Gold. No French. What the hell?

"I swear, the cat lady complained and I was just about to turn it down. Please don't shoot me!" Emma lowered her gun and grunted in anger. David awkwardly stood and blocked most of the television, just as the guy in the movie finished with his foot.

"Am I going to get shot if I leave to deliver a Valentine's Day card to Mary Margaret?" Emma rolled her eyes, beating herself up over this catastrophe. She needed to take her frustration out on someone.

"Depends. Is it a creepy love letter?" David dug out the card and stared at it in shock. Then his eyes switched to Archie, who was still frozen in place. Did she need to call the hospital for him?

"You see? I told you it'd be creepy if I express my feelings and wrote 'I love you' in big red letters!" Archie looked about ready to pass out. His face was as pale as snow. Emma tilted her head in dismay.

"Archie, you wouldn't happen to have Gold hiding in your closet, would you?"

…..

Emma banged her head on the steering wheel. Where the hell was Gold? He'd obviously sent her on a wild goose chase and she'd fallen for it. She was sure some of it was also due revenge for Archie and David for guys' night out.

Where would Gold be? His shop? No, that would be the first place she'd look. Their house? No, that was the second place. It would be somewhere he was sure no one would stumble upon. Somewhere isolated. Somewhere…._Too bad there aren't any islands off the coast of Storybrooke. _

No, there weren't any islands. Emma lifted her head as it dawned on her. There was only one place Gold would feel ultimately isolated from Storybrooke. A place where they'd spent quite an adventure together once.

The cabin in the woods.

…..

Emma was speeding through the woods well over the speed limit. Twice she'd almost hit a tree. The cabin loomed into view, as well as French's white truck with _Game of Thorns _plastered on the side. Damn. She was out of the car before it even really stopped moving.

Screams of pain were coming from inside as she tripped up the steps. _Come on, Emma. It's simple. One step, two step. _Her knee tingled, but she ignored it as she burst through the door. Well, there was the couch where they'd made love five times, but where was—

Oh.

French was duct-taped and bound in rope, writhing on the floor in agony. Blood seeped into his clothes and skin, his eyes rolling upwards in their sockets. And above him was Gold, mercilessly bringing his cane down again and again over French's body.

"_You were her father! This is your fault! She's gone—she's never coming back! You hurt her! You! You!" _His voice was raw and furious, brown eyes almost perfectly black in the shadowy confines of the cabin.

Emma rushed forward and caught Gold's cane in her hand as he prepared to swing again. Startled, he spun to glare at her and she was almost afraid by what she read in his eyes. Those brown eyes she loved were nothing but dead, save for the burning hatred deep within him.

"Stop," she murmured to him, refusing to loosen on the cane.

French was barely conscious. For a long minute, Gold stared at her as if he did not recognize who she was. Slowly, understanding passed over him and the fury slipped out of him as he released his hold on the cane. His hand was trembling.

"Emma," he whispered uncertainly, tasting the name on his tongue. Then that familiar cunning flashed over his face, snapping back into place like a rubber band. "What's the matter, dearie? You don't like horror movies?"

….

_**I'm so happy to hear that you all did not mind my really, really long chapter last time. Better a long chapter than a short chapter, right? Well, I hope you enjoyed this one just the same. By the way...can any of you guess who the cat lady is?**_

_**A couple of interesting notes. Steveston happens to be the place where the Once cast shoots all the outside scenes in Storybrooke, so I decided to throw it in. (-;**_

_**Also, the idea of the wild goose chase actually comes from Robert Carlyle himself. In the bonus features on the DVD is a Skin Deep commentary with RC and Jane Espenson (the writer of the episode). In it, they mention a cut scenario where Gold sends Emma on a wild goose chase while he holds French hostage in the cabin. It's a pretty interesting commentary—you should check it out. **_

_**On to the shout-outs! **_

_**I would like to thank my reviewers for all their awesome reviews: DaesGatling, olverabonk, mushroomy-kingdom, TrappedBetweenRealityAnFanta sy, brontegirl89, discotimelord, Immortalis Charitas (yeah, I'm just using Stranger because I'm following the plot of the show and it's in 1.13 that Emma learns his name, hehe), Tizmine, thedoctorsgirl42, Twyla Mercedes, Musicalfan2012, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, ParanormalMoonlight, BuzzCat, Duffer13, and The-Writer2012. **_

_**Once again, thank you all for the wonderful support! **_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Phew, this chapter took a lot of time to write. I kept re-editing it and changing things…and I just hope it turned out okay. So, my lovelies, prepare for the second part of Skin Deep. Who knows what will happen? **_

_**Except me, of course. (-; **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Four**_

A pink cupcake.

That was Gold's Valentine's gift from Emma. A frothy pink cupcake covered with Sweethearts that contained sappy messages like _Be Mine _and _Call Me. _Ironically, there was a pink one on top that read _Let's Get Busy. _No _I Love You _written anywhere.

"I thought you might like a snack while moping in there," she said as she took out a pastrami sandwich for herself. The brown bag was crumpled up and thrown in the little basket by the desk. She handed the cupcake to him through the bars, but did not meet his gaze.

No doubt he'd have to win her over. What would she do if he grabbed onto her arm and pulled her against the bars? Struggle? Plead with him? Pull her gun? _Oh, a-courtin' I will go, _he thought wryly.

"Hey, sister! Why don't I get a cupcake?" Leroy grumbled from the next cell.

He'd been taken in last night shortly after Gold. Granny had made a complaint call that Leroy was using a mug to ask for money outside her diner. According to her, he even chased Dr. Whale down the street waving his mug when Whale refused to give him a five dollar bill. Drunk as can be.

"Emma only gives cupcakes to those who have married her," Gold retorted, taking a great bite of the cupcake. Pink frosting painted his upper lip and his tongue brushed it away. Yum.

Meanwhile, Leroy had fallen to the floor of his cell. No, wait. He was…kneeling? He couldn't be tying his shoes—the man was barefoot! So, what was he…?

"Emma, will you marry me?" Gold took one of the Sweethearts and tossed it at Leroy's bald head. It skittered across the floor. Where was the Huntsman when you needed him? "A-ha, you gimp! You missed!"

Gold's eyes switched to Emma, whose eyebrow was raised in question. Perhaps she hadn't been expecting to receive such a proposal the day _after _Valentine's Day.

"Darling, would you be so kind to fetch my cane?" Leroy's eyeballs boggled in his head. Lucky for him, Emma snapped back to attention, face neutral—the professional Sheriff.

"Absolutely not! Not having your cane won't kill you," she shot back. Leroy groaned as he rose from the gray floor and perched on his mattress. His eyes darted between them as if he were watching a good drama show.

"You don't know that for certain. Suppose I get to my feet and lose my balance. I'll end up on the floor. It'll be your fault, dear." Emma decided to ignore that ploy. Gold was one of the most graceful cripples she ever knew. Probably the only graceful cripple. A true contradiction.

"And as for you, Leroy," she pivoted toward his cell. "No, thank you. I doubt my bed, dresser, and toiletries will fit in that cell." Gold grinned as his mouth hovered above the pink frosting.

"Should I also mention Emma prefers men with…large estates?" Emma crossed her arms and counted to ten in her head. Otherwise, she might have retrieved Gold's cane…and clobbered him. He could have a hospital bed right next to French. Compare bruises.

Thankfully, Leroy didn't get the quip. He mumbled under his breath and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the wall. He was going through a killer hangover. Too bad he was about to be released.

Emma unlocked Leroy's cell and called to him. Leroy's eyes fluttered open and he sighed with relief upon seeing the open cell door. As he edged out of the cell, he had the nerve to flash Emma a lopsided grin.

"_Now _will you marry me?" If looks could kill, Gold would be going away for murder.

"_Leroy!" _Emma pointed to the door and he shuffled past.

"Fine. I'll get my own cupcake! I earned ten dollars from David last night. Think he thought I was homeless." Leroy stumbled off and Emma relocked the cell with a metallic clang. Gold was working away on his cupcake. His tongue lapped at the frosting, the Sweethearts being sucked through his teeth.

"Any chance you'll do the same for me?" Without looking her way, he motioned a hand to the door of his cell.

Truthfully, Emma would have loved to open his cell so he could take her into his arms…but then French's bruised, beaten body invaded her mind. And she swallowed her emotions. He would sit in there. _Consider it a time-out, Gold. _

"Nope. It's just you and me, separated by bars." Gold shrugged. He put a finger in his mouth and sucked off the icing. His brown eyes met hers as he did it, his tongue licking his skin as his finger reappeared. He was toying with her on purpose. Tempting her.

"If you think that news bothers me, Emma…you are mistaken. You'd be surprised what one can do between bars." A wave of heat rose to her face—she was blushing.

Emma quickly turned away and took her sandwich to her desk. She was going to sit down and enjoy it. Just as she settled into her chair, a pair of heels clicked sharply on the floor. _Oh, no. _Her gut was right; Regina strode through the door with Henry in tow.

Gold whistled a funeral tune.

Regina's piercing gaze latched onto Gold with ultimate menace.

"Amusing," she sarcastically stated. Emma had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing at Gold's bravado. Only he could manage to dig so deeply under Regina's skin. "Sheriff, I am prepared to give you thirty minutes with my son."

"How generous of you," Gold muttered. Regina pursed her lips but chose to ignore the pawnbroker. It must have taken her loads of practice to accomplish that. Gold was not the type of person you simply ignored.

"Take him for ice cream," she suggested, urging Henry forward by the shoulders. As if he needed any further incentive. The kid was already smiling and inching closer to Emma's side. She glanced over at Gold curiously. Asking for his input.

"Bring me back a cone," he requested and went back to licking his cupcake with way too much concentration. Emma sighed. At the very least, she could let Henry visit Goldie.

"Just this once," she warned an instant before grabbing her coat and ushering Henry out the door. Gold watched them leave and hoped Emma understood that he was dead serious about that ice cream.

…

The pattern of twin footsteps faded in the hallway and suddenly it was just the two of them in the station. Just Regina and Gold. Alone. He wished it was under better circumstances. That ice cream had better be the best one he'd ever tasted for this trouble. What if Emma forgot to put sprinkles on it? Oh, dear.

Look at her, dripping with glee. Smug and victorious. It disgusted him.

"It must be humiliating, slapping the silver bracelets on your own husband," Regina bluntly mocked him. It was a sword meant for both him and Emma. Too bad swords never hurt him much.

"On the contrary. I think she rather enjoyed it. You should have been there for the frisking." He made a soft moan, just for theatrics. To top it off, he generously bit into the pink cupcake and licked the sugary sweet icing off his lips.

Was that a cringe he saw under her eyes? Perfect.

"I'm sure she did. As much as you're enjoying that cupcake, I presume." Gold swallowed the lump of cake in his throat. Regina was jealous, that was it. When was the last time someone gave her a pink cupcake with little Sweethearts on top?

"You really wanted that little chat, didn't you?" Gold finished the last of his cupcake and set the wrapper aside. No sense beating around the bush now. Time was ticking, anyhow. _Twenty-eight minutes, Madame Mayor. _

"Apparently, this is the only way I was going to get it." A reproving purse of the lips and cross of the hands.

The clacking of her heels echoed around the station as she dared to take a step closer. Only a step. _What's the matter, dearie? Is the powerful Mayor afraid of her caged pet? _Regina forced a tight-lipped ruby smile. Pathetic.

"My other option was to sneak up on you, steal your cane, hog-tie you and lock you in my basement. Of course, Henry would spite me by freeing you," she continued. He studied her crucially.

Was she always this senile when he first met her? Or was it just those forsaken twenty-eight years catching up to her?

Gold scoffed and leaned forward on the edge of the flat mattress. It was like sitting on plywood. Hadn't Graham ever heard of Bed, Bath, and Beyond?

"That plan would never have worked for three reasons. One, we all know you never do your own dirty work, Madame Mayor, and that oaf Sidney would most likely jump on David instead. Two, those heels of yours would give you away much too easily. A deaf person could hear your rage-strut from across the Atlantic Ocean."

Regina's face paled, her hands stiff as they curled into fists by her sides. Ooh, yes. Her rage was coming through nice and clear.

"And the third reason?" He shrugged loosely.

"Forgive me. I picked a number out of the air. But if you insist…everyone in Storybrooke knows about your weekly midnight séances with the Ouija board in your basement. No matter how much you believe otherwise, Hitler's spirit will not bestow his wisdom on you."

Regina was quaking in her heels now. He was pretty sure a vein was about to burst. Oh, he really wanted that cone.

"No matter. Because you see, we _are_ going to have that little chat," she insisted.

Gold choked back a snicker. _Not if I ignore you and prefer to sing show-tunes for the next twenty-five minutes. What'll happen if Emma walks in? You'll be the generous mother and send her away with Henry for a whole hour? _

"_Please. _Sit."

He pointed to the couch that stood a few feet from the cell. If he must listen to Regina badgering him, he might as well take the reins. He almost giggled when Regina sidled over to the end of the blue couch and obediently took her seat. _Ah, that's a good girl. Would you like a cookie? Oh, well. _

"When two people have what the other one wants, a deal can always be struck," he mused.

"Was that how you proposed to Emma?" Smirk, smirk, smirk. Oh, how he wished to snap back a reply, make that little smile of hers fall to pieces. Miraculously, he bit his tongue.

"Do you have what I want?" Regina's posture improved with confidence. Her fingers clutched her handbag as if there were gold inside. But it wasn't gold, oh no.

"Yes," she hissed. It hardly came as a surprise. This was her price for brushing her off yesterday. Regina always had to be the center of attention, considering this land was her happy ending. For someone who was supposed to be happy, she sure did PMS a lot.

No, what unsettled him and made his back stiffen was the thought that Regina had somehow allowed French access to his house without forced entry. How had she done that? And how many times? _Is that why I keep finding fruit in the oddest places? An orange in my shower, a banana under my pillow…and here I thought Emma was making a statement. _

"Ah, so you put him up to it, then." Regina's face was passive. Accusations seldom bothered her unless they came from Emma and concerned Henry. He was surprised Regina's hair wasn't sprouting gray yet with all her paranoia of Emma running off with him.

"I merely suggested that strong men take what they need." Her smile faltered for a moment. "Of course, he assumed I meant your bodyguard taking his truck. Eventually, he got the idea."

Gold shook his head pitifully. _Of course, he did._ Regina's charms were insusceptible, except for him. She'd tried dozens of times to seduce him over the years in the realms. It was because of her his water bill was astounding.

"And I'm sure you told him exactly what to take," he muttered. Regina made something like a snort.

"Now, seriously, Gold. What do you use those little figurines for? I believe there was even one that resembled me. Don't tell me. The occasional fantasy?" And now she really threw her head back and laughed heartily.

"Not quite. That little Queen…I use her as a candle." Regina's laughter halted. _Be thankful it's not a voodoo doll. _"Believe it or not, her hair was blonde at one time." Smirk, smirk, smirk. "Now, _seriously, _Regina. What is it _you_ want?"

Always the multi-million dollar question, wasn't it? Everyone wanted something.

"I want you to answer one question—and answer it simply. What's your name?" Stupid witch. She never did quite learn the ins and outs of technicalities.

"It's Mr. Gold," he answered. A twitch started above her eye, furrowing her brow. She was annoyed. Technically, he'd complied, but he knew too well that was not the answer she wanted.

"Your real name," she corrected. _Now, who's trifling with technicalities, Regina? _

"I already answered you, dearie. Now, how about giving back what belongs to me? Please." Her lips curled back from her teeth in a malicious sneer. He could tell she really hated that word.

"Use that word again and I have no qualms about breaking this precious object and handing it to you in pieces," she threatened. His fingers curled over his knee until a jolt of pain shot up his leg. She wouldn't dare…but of course she would. Technicalities. "If you so want me to return what's yours—_tell me your name_."

A long stretch of silence passed between them. The clock ticked away on the wall, the minutes of their solitude leaking through Regina's fingers. Ticking…ticking…and then his lips lifted in a knowing grin. It felt like he'd finally spread a pair of old wings, rusty from disuse. It felt _good. _

Slowly, his lips parted. Judging by Regina's stony expression, that familiar glee had burst through for him.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he pronounced with great care. Ah, it'd been too long since his true name had been whispered. Without warning, he lunged for the bars and Regina toppled over the couch to scramble back. The giggle came so easily now. "Give me what I want."

Regina huffed as she dusted her suit off. Unzipping her bag, she brought out the chipped cup and dangled it in front of him. Every time he reached for it, she tugged it away. _What are we? Children? _

"Oh, just hand it over! I feel like that little cartoon sap trying to kick that bloody football!" Charlie Brown. That was the name he was searching for. How many times would that boy try to kick that football before he realized he'd always land on his ass?

"Such hostility. Over this? Such a…sentimental little keepsake," she murmured as one of his fingers caught the inside of the cup. Regina loosened her grip on it and the cup fell into his palm. Safe and sound.

"Better than that old rusty bolt on your finger," he retorted bitterly. Regina gasped and immediately caressed the "ring" that rested on her right hand. Even Grumpy the dwarf could afford better than that for his clumsy fairy.

"He was a _stable boy! _What did you expect? Midas' touch of gold?" Regina lightly kissed the ring on her finger and he could swear his stomach did somersaults with nausea. "And aren't you one to nitpick? Does your dear little wife know you fancy another woman?"

Gold settled on the edge of the mattress and cradled the chipped cup in his hands. It was much too complicated to explain to Regina—all he'd receive was mockery. His finger traced over the chip, but all he could recall was the L word from just yesterday. He'd never used it around Belle.

"I am not in love with her…anymore," he admitted. In his peripheral vision, he could see dark movement as Regina shook her head scornfully.

"Oh, no—of course not. You just can't _forget_ her." Regina grew quiet for a moment, as if she expected him to protest. He rotated the cup in his hand until it was almost like the spinning ones at Disneyland. It was his secret wish to ride it. "Love is nothing but weakness. Tell me, which one would you choose? Beautiful Belle or your darling Emma? Let's not forget her…_fertile_ predicament."

His brown eyes snapped up. His teeth clenched behind his lips.

"If you dare threaten her or that baby…." His voice was a growl, low and dangerous. The voice of a monster. Regina hardly flinched.

"You'll what, Rumpel?" His hands squeezed around the cup.

"For starters, now that we're being honest, let's remember how things used to be, shall we? Don't let these bars fool you, dear. _I'm _the one with the power around here. I'm going to be out of here in no time and nothing between us will change."

Regina simply flounced up to the bars and peered down at him through the slats.

"We shall see." Spinning on her heel, she strode for the door, oozing confidence. She might as well have been sporting one of those ridiculous foam fingers with _#1 _plastered all over it. "Enjoy your cone."

"Enjoy your egged house," he mumbled. He'd had discussions with Danvers should this type of situation ever occur. Would anyone find a potential bouncer purchasing crude amounts of eggs suspicious?

He hadn't meant for Regina to overhear, but she drew up short. That woman had ears of a hawk. A very unhappy hawk.

"What was that?" Glare.

"Never mind, Your Majesty." Smirk, smirk, smirk. _And just fifteen minutes shy of thirty. _

…

"So, he actually beat up the florist with his cane?" They were sitting in the living room with Goldie nestled between them. Henry's eyes were wide as saucers as he licked a runaway drop of his vanilla ice cream. Goldie licked the rest.

Emma was starting to wish she hadn't told Henry about Gold's latest adventure. He seemed a little too enthralled with the good vs. bad aspect of it. No doubt a theory was circling his mind about the Limping Imp.

"Yeah, kid. French is in the hospital with broken ribs, a broken nose, two black eyes, a missing tooth, and he complained of slivers," she replied matter-of-factly. It was a wonder he didn't have severe brain injury from the way Gold beat him.

Henry worked fixedly at his ice cream, but the disappointment was etched on his face. He'd obviously been hoping that Gold was on the "good side." Good people didn't whack others with canes.

"And the Queen wanted to talk to him alone. I'll bet he's working with her," he mumbled as he shifted the ice cream into his other hand to avoid Goldie hogging it. Her own ice cream was practically liquid, but all she had a mind for was Gold.

"Henry, Gold doesn't even like Regina. Trust me; he'd rather kick her off a bridge. A very, very high bridge with a tank of sharks waiting below. And rabid dogs on either side in case she misses the tank."

Henry cracked a smile. She really needed to start filtering the stuff that popped out of her mouth—it was amazing that Henry hadn't yet thought of pushing Regina down a flight of stairs. Wasn't she just a good example of a savior?

"People with a common enemy don't need to like each other. They just need to hate the enemy more," Henry reasoned. Okay, maybe he was spending a little too much time with Gold. Next the kid would insist on wearing nothing but suits.

Emma curled her feet underneath her on the couch. Why was it so hard to enjoy an ice cream cone without there being a tie to a magical, enchanted forest?

"And you think Gold—uh, the Limping Imp—has a vendetta against Snow White?" Henry scrunched his nose.

"What does…vendetta…mean?" Emma rolled her eyes. Sometimes, with Henry's constant presence and insight, she forgot he was only ten years old.

"Agenda. Means for revenge," she translated. He made a little 'O' with his mouth as it clicked with him.

Emma found it odd. Gold had always been respectful of Mary Margaret, maybe even bordering fondness. Since when did offering a greeting on the street mean intent to kill?

"Rumpelstiltskin seems like the sneaky type. Mr. Gold's the same way. He doesn't make deals unless they benefit him," Henry surmised. Why was he staring at her like that? Oh, God. Did he honestly think…?

"Henry, please don't tell me you're referring to my marriage." There was that flicker of uncertainty on his little face. She handed Goldie the rest of her ice cream, if only to avoid being caught up by such a penetrating, concerned gaze.

"What if it's another one of his schemes? What if he's using you? He's not good." The kid was actually pleading with her. Emma's hand fell to her abdomen and she thought about the unborn child cradled inside.

"The other night…he told me he loved me," she admitted. Moments of their intimacy passed through her mind. How could any of that be bad when it had felt so…good?

She expected Henry to be surprised or curious about the L word. To him, it should have been a big deal, the meaning of true love even. But as she peeked at him, he hardly looked flustered.

"Love is messy in this world. That's how the Queen wants it. Just look at Snow White—her Prince Charming is married to someone else."

Emma's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She wanted to argue with him, to mention the fact that it was because of Mary Margaret that David was out of his coma. Her heart ached. Love was messy in this world—she knew that already. Hell, she was the president of that fan club. But was it so hopeless?

"Henry—"

"I don't want you to get hurt," he cried out. It sent a sliver of dismay through her body.

Now Goldie was finishing off his ice cream, too, and he didn't care. His face was turned down, but the worry emanated off him. Awkwardly, she placed a hand on his back. Was she supposed to rub it? Or…ruffle his hair? No, Henry hated that. _Come on, Emma. Think motherly thoughts. Channel Mary Margaret. _

"Henry, I'm not going anywhere. As long as you need me, I'll be here for you. Besides, if Gold ever tried anything funny, I think he'd have two bad legs by now," she tried to joke, but Henry's amusement was nonexistent. Tough crowd. "Look, the reason he did those things to French is because there was another girl he was in love with long ago. I don't think he's ever gotten over her."

It was a serious thorn in her side to admit that. Despite what Gold thought, she'd noticed the missing chipped cup. That was the missing item that French had, the beloved possession that set Gold on his rage assault.

Henry's head perked up as he absorbed this information. Operation: Cobra must be back in business. He never mentioned a theory for the florist before.

"Maybe she was his true love," the kid guessed. It only made her shoulders heavier with grief. The argument of true love never sat well with her. If there was only one true love out there for everyone, what did you do when you lost them? Never love again?

"Maybe," she responded flatly. Their thirty minutes were up. Back to work.

"Would a joke cheer you up?" At least the gloomy behavior had faded for Henry. Her brain still felt like mashed potatoes. She blew a wisp of blonde hair from her face and shrugged.

"What's to lose?" Henry pulled himself up on the couch into a cross-legged position and grinned.

"Snow White, Cinderella, and Red Riding Hood walk into a bar—"

"_Henry!"_

…...

Gold only had to wait until the end of the day to be released from his prison. Rolling in wealth as he was, he'd handled his own bail. Good. Emma sure wasn't paying it. The sight of that chipped cup made her stomach churn as he clasped his hands around it with care. To him, it might as well have been the Holy Grail.

"Thank you…Emma," he sighed as he limped to the now open door of his cell. His gaze was distant, the only object to capture it being the chipped cup. Her fingers held onto the bars of the door, mostly for support.

"Rumor has it Regina's house was egged tonight," she stated. Her instinct told her it was because of him—maybe it was that chipmunk-toned bodyguard.

Gold stalled just inside the doorway and never made eye contact with her. The air between them was too thick and heavy. It would be so easy to slam the cell door, to go home with him and lay there in bed underneath silk sheets and pretend everything was okay.

But they needed to talk about it—now.

"Was she your first wife? The mother of your child?" A lump formed in the middle of her throat, a rock that refused to break apart. Gold's finger caressed the jagged chip in the cup. A half-smile touched his lips, but it was nowhere near happy.

"No. She was a girl who took care after my estate. And I mean that in the literal sense. Where you are domestically impaired, she domestically excelled. It had been quite some time since my ca—my house—had seen so much sunlight."

The chipped cup trembled in his palm and Emma imagined that slice of imperfection creasing the entire cup until it broke into pieces. What would Gold do then? Call the emergency room? _911; what's your emergency? I broke my cup! Bring a stretcher, quick!_

"As in the story, she died," Gold finished. Lines of dismay marked his forehead and the life seemed to disintegrate inside him. Emma was only vaguely aware of how tight she was gripping the bars. Her knuckles ached, but she didn't mind.

"Do you think about her…when you're with me? When I'm sitting across the dinner table? Or making love—" Abruptly, Gold's head snapped up and distress awoke in the depths of his brown eyes. One of his hands reached up to graze her lips and the tingle shot down her spine.

"_No,"_ he insisted firmly. "I never imagined replacing you, Emma. Or vice versa. Belle..." He sighed her name and she could instantly see how much pain it caused him. Belle—a pretty name. Gold shook his head. "She is a part of my past—that's all she'll ever be now."

Emma bit down on her lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. It was getting stuffy in here.

"And what about me?" Gold's attention swayed to her, glazed as his eyes may be by whatever memory was playing in his head.

"You…Let's just say, I'm invested in your future."

For a second, she thought his gaze was dropping back to that delicate cup in his palm. Instead, he stopped halfway and she realized he was admiring that slight bump she was now showing off to the world. Her hand fluttered to her abdomen, whether it was to protect her unborn child from his line of focus, she didn't know.

"Well, if this girl's only part of your past, you need to let her go. You're placing her memory on a pedestal, one I'm not sure I can reach. Hell, you beat a man half to death over a chipped cup!" Gold drew the cup closer to his chest, as if she were swinging a hammer.

"It's all I have to remember her by. As everyone often claims…sue me," he grew increasingly defensive. Couldn't he see how unhealthy this was for him? For their marriage? Gold was chasing after ghosts here.

"So remember her," Emma argued, releasing the cell door in the midst of her frustration. It banged against the bars and sent a daunting clang through the station. Neither of them noticed. "This girl is chaining you down to the past. You're capable of a lot of things, Gold, but not even you can change the past. If you really want to be happy, you have to move on. Accept what happened. _Let her go." _

Emma extended her hand, palm up. It was a request for the chipped cup, if he dared to heed her advice.

For a long time, Gold remained in the doorway, staring down at her outstretched hand, his finger mindlessly running over that wretched chip. The sharp edge pricked his skin and a drop of scarlet painted the rim.

Emma's green eyes watched him, waiting. Waiting to see if he'd be strong enough to listen.

A torrent of emotions washed over his face: sadness, despair, agony. Handing over that cup would mean accepting Belle's fate and finally agreeing to let her memory rest, just as it should have years ago. It would also mean ultimately giving Emma everything he had, every shred of his heart printed with her name. But could he do it?

"Don't be afraid," Emma whispered.

Suddenly, it felt as if his soul had been bared. He felt like those centuries of power had been stripped clean from his bones and he had somehow transformed back into that shriveling coward from long ago. The one whose only choice involved which corner to hide in.

His brown eyes latched onto her green ones and it sent an unforgiving chill creeping along his veins to read the concern and insistence pooled there. Digging a little deeper and he believed he visualized love in the making.

_You know what does mean something? Taking action. But can I? Should I?_

Belle was his past, Emma his future. Yes. His hands stopped trembling and became steady. The thorns piercing his lungs were removed, allowing him to breathe. All he could see was a brilliant shade of gold—his recently favorite color.

The chipped cup was passed over into the center of Emma's hand. Her other one joined it and created a bowl around the cup.

She smiled reassuringly as he carefully drew his hand back. The town itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the outcome. Time stood still, unchanged, the black hands of the town clock quiet and barely ready to strike another minute against them.

And then, remarkably, Emma's hands split apart. The teacup was suspended in midair as though she were performing a magic act. Gravity overruled it, making it tumble through thin air. Falling…

…falling…

…until it finally hit the solid ashen floor of the station and exploded into millions of tiny porcelain shards.

…

_**Dun, dun, dun! Just so you know, I have good stuff planned for the next chapter! And that little joke of Henry's was also inspired by the Skin Deep commentary. I just had to add it in somewhere. **_

_**At this time, I would also like to announce that this story has reached 600 reviews! God, you guys are amazing! Cheers! **_

_**And for all those of you who guessed that the cat lady from the last chapter was Lady Tremaine (otherwise known as Cinderella's wicked stepmother) you are correct! I always wondered whatever happened to that part of Cinderella's fairytale in this show. **_

_**For the record, guess whose birthday is this week? (-; Would anyone care to make me a virtual pink cupcake with Sweethearts on top? **_

_**Now to thank all my wonderful reviewers—you guys deserve a party in your own right. **_

_**Pink cupcakes (or whichever color you prefer) go to DaesGatling, DragonRose4, RandomWriter101, The-Writer2012, thedoctorsgirl42, Immortalis Charitas, OfTheDark, olverabonk, brontegirl89, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, sundancemc, billandsookie, ParanormalMoonlight, Musicalfan2012, Duffer13, discotimelord, mafer-torres-714, and mushroomy-kingdom. **_

….


	35. Chapter 35

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! I know it's been a couple of weeks since my last update. My apologies! These past two weeks have been rather rough. But with the upcoming season premiere this weekend, I have decided to update. **_

_**Even better—it's another long one. Enjoy, everyone! **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Five**_

The chipped cup lay shattered at their feet. The shards rocked and glinted with the pale light of the station. One by one, they grew still until they were simply jagged white islands among the ocean of gray that served as the station's unforgiving floor.

It might have been minutes; it might have been an hour. It was impossible to tell as the two of them stared down at the shards. Emma barely breathed as her green eyes lifted to Gold's bemused face.

"You broke my cup," he murmured in absolute wonder.

Emma decided it'd be better not to move in case she stepped on one of the shards. They were practically Gold's little children, the way he was admiring them. Now she sort of regretted breaking the cup—she was going to have to be the one to clean it up.

Did Storybrooke have a maid service?

"Don't tell me you're going to whip out a hot-glue gun and try to put it back together again. Even Humpty Dumpty has a better chance than that," she taunted him. He didn't respond. His brown eyes were dazed and his hand clenched the bars of the cell for support.

Great. Gold was in shock. How was she supposed to fix that?

"You. Broke. My. Cup," he repeated ever so slowly. Emma swallowed her protest. _What did you think I was going to do? Balance it on my head? _

Obviously it wasn't processing very well in his mind. Some part of him must have understood what she intended to do when he sacrificed the cup to her….it was just a grueling task to witness. Even more painful to swallow.

"Yeah, I broke your cup," she huffed. Was she going to have to call a tow truck to drag him out of that cell? "What are you going to do about it?" It was not a literal question, but she did start to wonder what Gold's next move would be.

For a long moment that stretched on for years, Gold did not breathe. She could swear his lips were turning blue. Those dark eyes were hopelessly locked on the broken cup. Emma's muscles were growing stiff from standing there watching, waiting.

And then a long-awaited cloak of realization descended over Gold. The anxious lines smoothed out along his skin, replaced with sheer awe. His fingers released the bars, though they were red from squeezing so tightly.

In the depths of his irises, she could read it: he was free. Free of the chains that Belle's memory and the chipped cup had secured around his mind. Free of the ache that had throbbed so deeply in the chambers of his heart. Freedom, caused by the simple breaking of one chipped cup.

Free at last.

Gradually, his eyes tore away from the cup to meet Emma's green gaze. Her throat burned with the need to draw in a breath, but she didn't dare lest she shatter whatever had transfixed Gold so greatly. It was like he was truly seeing her for the first time, with raw fascination and longing.

"Gold," she whispered and winced, anticipating the breaking of the spell. Instead, he continued to stare at her as if she were the only object of importance for miles. A black shade of want darkened his eyes.

Oh, so swiftly, he stepped over the shards of glass and caught her face in his hands. Before she could utter a word, his lips crushed against hers in a searing kiss.

For a second, she was stunned as his mouth moved over hers. This was not what she had expected at all. She had expected rage, annoyance, the cold shoulder; but this….

"We don't have to—" she murmured against his lips. If he was doing this in a desperate attempt to replace the remaining bits of Belle, she didn't want any part of it. But his arm circled her waist and held her close until her palms could only rest against his chest.

"No," he agreed. His voice was rough with the heaviness of their kiss. "But I want to." And he kissed her again, pulling her ever tighter against his body. Any other protests clammed up and she kissed him back.

The remaining ties to Belle were severed—all that was left were the two of them.

The passion between them ignited like wildfire until Emma's skin felt scorching in the humidity of the station. It was a fierce whirlwind brewing, one whose full potential had not been released before now.

Oh, why did she never think to open a window in here?

His hand cupped the back of her neck to urge her into him. Handfuls of his suit were scrunched in the balls of her fists as she clung to him. The kiss deepened as their tongues battled for domination, each one trying to satisfy the other.

Together, they performed a little intuitive dance and distanced from the cell. Emma's hip bumped into one of the desks blocking their path. She tilted her head back as Gold's lips trailed across the white plain of her neck. And all the while, she fought to keep from falling across the desk. Not here.

"My desk," she whispered in the shell of his ear. In response, Gold leaned against her, pinning her to the edge. His fingers were threading through her blonde hair, caressing.

"Shh," he murmured back. Emma's eyes flew open and trailed to the open doorway of the station. Wouldn't it be just their luck if Regina in her smart, sharp heels came strutting through that door right now?

"What if someone comes? They'll see us," she pointed out. He'd know she meant Regina. Who else would bother them at the station when there was barely a robbery in this town? Gold's hands traced their way down her back, playfully tugging the hem of her shirt.

"Are you expecting anyone?" At the moment? Oh, God, what if Henry decided to check on her again or wanted to spend time with her behind Regina's back? The kid would be scarred for life.

Emma wrapped her arm around his neck to bring his ear down to her level.

"Please," she breathed. He loved that word. A word that placed instant control in the palm of his hands. The word that signaled it was his turn to move a piece on his chessboard.

His grip loosened on her shirt. All at once, he bent and lifted her body into the cradle of his arms. The effort for that alone was making him breath heavier and wince in discomfort. "Your leg—"

"My leg will suffice," he intercepted as he carried her around the desk toward her more private office in the back of the station. She held onto his neck and thought he was actually doing a pretty good job of balancing her, what with a lame leg. But as he reached the threshold of her office, he stumbled into the wall. Luckily, he didn't drop her.

"Gold—" Regaining his composure, he bent his head and kissed her before she could continue that thought. Awkwardly, he managed to move inside the office while still handling her in his arms. He was going to be aching tomorrow.

"What kind of husband would I be if I can't even carry my wife over the threshold?" Emma smiled.

"A crippled one."

"Hush," he retorted, laying her body down on the desk.

He groaned with relief as her weight left his arms and he had to take a moment to catch his breath. Romantic. It didn't take him long to get back into the swing of things as he positioned himself over her and kissed her along her neck.

"Where were we?" And he kissed her again.

….

_Home sweet home, _Emma thought with relief as she unlocked the front door. Ever since their house had been robbed, Gold had the locks changed immediately and insisted on keeping it double-locked at all times. She was almost disappointed he didn't dig a moat and keep a fire-breathing dragon in the backyard.

The minute she stepped in the house, she thought for sure they were getting robbed again. How else could she explain the mad barking that was coming from the kitchen? That dog seldom barked, even for a treat. _Not a brilliant idea, coming through the window, though. One morning I'll wake up and there'll be bars on those windows. _

Out of habit, Emma pulled her gun and stormed into the kitchen.

"I see you've had a change of heart," Gold mocked. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyeing her gun with more than a little amusement. "First you kiss me, then you kill me? It must be my money, after all."

Typical. Only she could come inches to killing her husband once a week. Literally.

Emma rolled her eyes and returned her gun to its holster. She noticed the object in his hand and then glanced down at the raving Goldilocks.

"Why are you holding up a picture of Regina's face?" Gold smirked. Probably glad she asked. _Don't tell me he's launching into one of his insane plans. And it only took him a couple hours of being released from jail. _

"Oh, I'm just taking precautions, dear. I'm training little Goldie to attack Regina should she ever consider stealing from us again." He lowered the photo over the dog's head and the barking increased. He revealed a small bone-shaped treat and tossed it to the dog.

Emma sunk her head into her hand. Just as she feared. _Houston, we have a problem. _

"You do realize that Goldilocks might see Regina while you're taking her for a walk and she'll probably chase her down the street?" Gold's face was oddly passive.

"Your point is? It'll be hitting two birds with one stone. This way, Regina will refrain from entering our house _and_ she will learn not to cross paths with me before I've taken my anti-Regina prescription pills."

Emma shook her head in awe. How did this madman logic ever make sense in his mind? Did he just lie awake every night planning the most insane stunts that, by some odd miracle, actually work?

"I suppose you have anti-Regina spray as well," she skeptically stated.

"Why do you think she complains about my cologne so much?" He made a show of dragging in a deep breath. Truth be told, she liked the scent of his cologne very much. It was probably another reason Regina hated it. _You'd think because I like Henry, she'd loosen her grip on him. Maybe I should spray him, too. _

"Trust me, Emma. It's a win-win situation. Except for Regina, who will no doubt need a Band-Aid." Goldilocks barked again and Gold tossed her another treat. At least the dog was happy with this. Suddenly, Gold straightened and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh! Now that I've got you here, darling…Would you mind holding this in front of your face?"

He extended the photo of Regina to her. She took it and examined it. It was a picture of Regina at some kind of town meeting. Her mouth was hanging wide open and it made her look like she swallowed a fly.

"Why are there tiny holes in her face? Or did she just have really bad acne that day?" Gold sighed.

"Why must you feel the need to ask so many questions? Strut, woman!" Emma narrowed her eyes at him in warning. "If you must know, I previously used that photo as a dartboard. I even challenged Graham to a game once. Hit her right in the eye."

A fond smile crossed his face. In her mind, she recalled the way Graham once told her he never missed his target. So, _that_ was why Graham kept buying her sunglasses. It made perfect sense now. Or maybe Regina's smoldering glare was too much.

"That must have been an awkward night between them. Not every day you shoot your lover's eye out," she replied, discarding the holey photo on the table. Gold's gaze followed it. It was too bad he didn't have heat vision.

"Indeed."

Goldilocks turned around and trotted off for the living room, belly bloated with treats. _Guess that's the end of the training exercise. _Emma went to the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of water.

"Why don't you get Stubble to help you with your training? He's about as favorable as Regina," she lightly suggested. Wouldn't that be a sight? Inviting him over only to run him out of the house with Goldie snapping at his heels?

It was too quiet. When she turned away from the fridge, Gold was picking up the telephone.

"What are you doing?" Gold's slender fingers flew over the numbers, punching a few rhythmically. "Wait. You're not actually calling him, are you? I was joking. Not serious."

The phone buzzed in answer. Emma released a tense breath and slumped against the fridge. _Oh, _now_ he chooses to listen to me. These are the moments when it is acceptable for a husband to ignore his wife's hormonal rantings. _

"Stubble," Gold stubbornly greeted. _Right, because mocking names really convince someone to help you. _And now Gold's brow was furrowing unpleasantly. "No, I have not hit a mid-life crisis! My cane just happened to…slip once or twice over his temporarily subdued body. The thing practically has a mind of its own."

Emma snorted at that one, earning an annoyed look from Gold. _Once or twice? More like thirty. And you call that slipping? It's the most graceful slipping I've ever seen. _

"As a matter of fact, I happen to have a job I think you'll—" Emma darted across the room and grabbed the phone from his hand, slamming it down on its cradle. "—enjoy," he finished flatly.

Emma really did not want to be reminded of the disaster of Moe French, but her mind drew up old images anyway. Of all the times it had to betray her.

There was French bound on the cabin floor, moaning in pain; the brutal sound the cane made every time it connected with French's flesh and bones; Gold in his red Valentine's Day suit and modeling for her—

Oh, wait. That was today. Never mind.

"I take it you'd rather not spend a weekend at the cabin?" Gold was staring at her intently. Always intuitive. She wasn't even aware that she was strangling her bottle until it was crushed in her hand, the cap about to explode.

"Yeah, sounds really fun. We'll go to the cabin, spend a weekend making love, and then one of us will have to remember to scrub French's blood out of the floor. A Valentine's Day to remember," she sarcastically spouted. Gold waved it off.

"Nonsense, Emma. We'll hire a maid to scrub the floor for us while we take a stroll through the woods," he teased. She didn't crack a smile. She uncapped her water bottle and nearly downed the entire thing in one gulp.

God, she was thirsty. And now she was hungry and craving…What was she craving? Pretzels. No! Pretzels dipped in chocolate. Pity they didn't have any in the cupboards.

She never knew Gold had moved until his hands were sliding along her arms.

"How about something other than the cabin, then? Say…a movie?" That caught her attention. She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"This town has a movie theater?" Wow. How big was this town that she failed to notice these details? And here she was supposed to be the Sheriff.

"Technically, no," Gold admitted, much as it disdained him. "It's a drive-in." Okay, now she was really in shock. Not only was this town big, it hadn't yet discovered the attractions of 2012. She was amazed these people even knew how to use cellphones.

Well, sort of. At first, Ruby had to explain to Gold what 'LOL' meant. He thought Archie was wishing him 'lots of love.'

"This town has a _drive-in?" _Gold released her arms and looked quite appalled. Was he hoping she would turn down the idea? Did this place have a bowling alley, too?

"Emma, do you honestly believe the residents of this town simply sit around with cups of coffee and gossiping hopelessly about the same routine subjects every day?" She put a finger to her chin.

"Pretty much." Gold's fingers grazed a strand of her blonde hair and he tugged it lightly. She wondered if he'd been one of those boys that pulled a girl's pigtails when he secretly liked her. It would explain a lot.

"Us Storybrookers must do something for entertainment, dear," he said. Emma eased her hair out of his grasp. She flung the bottle at the trash bin and missed. "Miss." She glared his way, only to be even more perturbed by the innocent expression on his face.

"Glad to know I am not that entertaining to you," she protested. She started to turn away toward the living room, but Gold's hand caught her wrist and drew her back to him. It was a mix between playful and rough as she squirmed in his grip.

"You, my dear, are the most entertaining subject in this town. But it is truly impossible to play a favorite sport all the time," he advised. His grip grew gentler around her. "So, how about that movie?" Her lips lifted at the corners.

"Depends. Can we get chocolate-covered pretzels?" Gold's eyes widened in curiosity.

"As you wish. Next I suppose you'll want M&Ms that happen to have pretzels stuffed inside the shell?"

…

There were only a couple of other cars in the drive-in, but they belonged to no one Emma cared to socialize with. Being the all-powerful pawnbroker who detested Storybrooke's citizens, Gold decidedly parked her Bug a good distance away.

"You know, I'm pretty sure these people won't bite you if you happen to park next to their cars in a drive-in," she pointed out, stepping out of the Bug to stretch her legs. Gold narrowed his eyes at the other cars and she couldn't help noticing his cane tightly clenched in his hand.

"On the contrary, Emma. They're afraid _I'll_ bite _them."_ Pocketing the keys, Gold ventured off for some food. Good. Her stomach was growling. Instinctively, she patted her growing bump.

"I hope you have a sweet tooth in there," she muttered. What was on the agenda tonight? Her eyes scoured the white billboard, its crooked black letters listing the intended movies. _Dirty Dancing _and _The Howling. _What a pair.

"Well, hello Sheriff," a voice floated to her from a few feet away. Her stomach felt like it had absorbed a stone, her appetite miraculously gone. It was Stranger, perched on his black motorcycle next to her Bug. "Fancy meeting you here."

Fancy that. A damn fine coincidence.

"Stubble," she coolly greeted. Disappointment flashed through his aquamarine eyes. Maybe he didn't expect her to become so much like her husband. _That's what happens when you marry someone like Gold. _

"I have a name, you know," he hinted as he took off his helmet and ran a hand through his cropped brown hair. Who did he think he was? John Travolta?

"Oh, I can think of plenty names for you," she retorted.

Her eyes scanned the grounds in search for Gold. How long did it take to get some popcorn and soda? Or was he scrounging up rent from the cashier? Not to mention his leg slowing him down…

"It's August," he said out of the blue. Emma was torn from her thoughts and could only offer a confused look. What was he blabbing about now?

"Uh…hate to burst your macho bubble, Stubble, but it's February," she corrected. He rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his bike. She suspected most of it was for show.

"No, I mean that's my name. August. August W. Booth, to be exact." She stared down at him in skepticism. Was he serious or did he pick a name out of the yellow pages? August? W? Booth?

"Really? With the middle initial?" He shrugged and she oddly noticed he was wearing a leather jacket. So, he had a strange name _and_ he was copying her style? Better that than suits, she guessed. No one dared steal Gold's style.

"It stands for Wayne. As in Bruce Wayne." _Yeah, except he had a Lamborghini, a mansion, and much more appeal, _she thought cynically. "And before you ask, no, I am not related to the guy who shot Lincoln." Emma wondered how many people actually asked him that. She wished he would take that motorcycle and drive off into the sunset—without her.

"Well, I would say it's nice to meet you, but I'd be lying at this point," she snapped. August put a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. _Oh, please. _

"Ouch. And here I thought the two of us were getting closer," he said. Suddenly, he quit straddling his bike and approached her, sliding over the hood of her car next to her. The way he was leaning over her, she could smell the rough leather of his jacket and the hint of cologne underneath. "I think this is better. What do you think?"

"I think you need to step away from my wife," Gold appeared next to Emma, holding a cardboard tray of food with his free hand. He did not look pleased. At least there were chocolate-covered pretzels. And August was smirking.

"Your wife isn't saying that," he snapped back. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. Did this man have a death wish? Pretty soon, these two were going to end up having a testosterone-fueled bloodbath over her.

"Get off my car," she demanded, elbowing August in the ribs. He stumbled back, hands up in surrender. His eyes lit up as he spied the tray of food. Darting forward, he snatched up a cup of soda and sipped it before Gold could stop him. "Hey! Get your own drink!"

Emma tried to grab it away, but August dodged her. He made a weird face and stared down at the drink in his hand.

"Really? You enjoy Pepsi? It's a sugary cavity waiting to happen. I would have gone Sprite." August handed the cup back to her and grinned what he probably called his dazzling smile. Oh, how Emma wanted to dump this soda all over his head.

At least August was returning to his bike. And he had the nerve to grin like an idiot, too.

Vehemently, Emma grabbed the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and ripped it open while juggling the August-infected soda. Something made a _plop_ and she gazed down at the cardboard tray, discarded on the ground.

"That's called littering, you know," she told Gold as his shoe nudged it.

"Are you going to arrest me?" There he went again, assuming he was immune to the law because of the fact that she was his wife. She popped one of the pretzels in her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. Ooh, that tasted wonderful.

"No. But I might consider signing you up for community service. Archie does it every weekend." Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he quit digging his cane into the cardboard tray.

"You wouldn't dare." She tossed him a stony look that read _try me. _And just for that tray, she wasn't offering him any of her pretzels. How about that?

"I leave for a grand total of two minutes. I even buy you chocolate-covered pretzels. And you replace me with _him,_" Gold grumbled, glaring at the Stranger over her shoulder. If Stubble—er, August—noticed, he gave no indication.

"I would have run over his bike, but someone took my keys. Again." Dipping his hand into his suit, he fished out the keys and slipped them into her palm. They were going in her pocket and that was that. "Thank you."

"Must we wait until he's _off_ the bike to run it over?" That trivial, devious smirk danced on his lips. Emma wasn't even going to dignify that quip with a response. Assuming it really was a quip.

"The only reason you want to flatten me under your tires," August spoke up. Ah, so he was listening. Quite conveniently while Gold was plotting his demise. _Insert evil laugh here. _"—is because you know you have no chance of keeping up with me otherwise."

Ka-boom. A testosterone explosion. Emma's eyes widened as August stared directly past her to the real target. Beside her, Gold bristled.

"Who invited you, anyhow? Your date is miraculously invisible," Gold shot back. Emma had a feeling she was going to be forced to pull her gun sooner or later.

Before August could even respond, there was a screech of tires, a garbage can flying through the air. A flash of red jumped in front of August's bike.

"What do you know? It seems everyone had the same idea tonight," a sweetly caramel voice resounded around them. Ruby. And Leroy, apparently—he was scooping up the trash can he just mauled with his bumper.

The two of them blocked August's bike. August looked like he'd witnessed a ghost instead of Ruby's full-watt smile. Any minute, Emma expected her to bat her eyelashes. "Hey, Stranger. Didn't expect to see you here."

"For the record, I'm only here because she dragged me from the diner," Leroy chimed in. "This sister's a lot stronger than she looks." Ruby was too absorbed in August to notice Leroy poking the muscles of her forearm.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Gold muttered, and then he chuckled. It was soft and thin, but Emma heard it. She wondered what he meant—her instincts were telling her there was a double meaning. Or Gold was trying to speak fortune-cookie again.

August was oddly stiff on his bike. He could have been one of those test-crash dummies, ready to hit the target on the wall. His hands gripped the handles so hard, Emma thought they might break.

And all because Ruby was giving him her bedroom eyes. Most guys would pay an extra tip for that.

"You know, I just had a brilliant stroke of inspiration. I'd hate to forget it, so…I'm going to have to head home and write it down," he exclaimed, starting up his bike. Emma rolled her eyes. _How does it feel to gain unwanted attention, August? _

"Oh, here! I have an extra notepad from the diner," Ruby offered, pulling a worn notebook and a feathery pink pen out of her bag. Emma crossed her arms and waited to see what excuse he'd make now. Did he only use 'special' pens?

"Uh…I'm allergic to feathers," he mumbled, pulling on his helmet. "Hives. All over." Ruby frowned with sheer disappointment.

"But—"

"Enjoy the movie…kiddies," August said. His bike roared to life and Ruby jumped back as he sped off, out of the drive-in. She stared after him until his taillights faded. Heartbroken was a word hanging over her head in a bubble right now.

Looking at the crumbling waitress, Emma sort of felt sorry for her. Ruby was really trying to get August's attention, had been for weeks. It just wasn't working. And Leroy was on the fringe of bursting into giggles.

"Hey, Leroy," Emma called to him. He stared at her distrustfully. Maybe he thought she'd ticket him for the trash can. No doubt it smelled better than his breath right now. Because Leroy so often smelled like a field of daisies. "Want a soda? Gold ordered me Pepsi instead of Sprite."

She shook the cup of soda, the ice rattling inside. She extended it to him. It wasn't alcohol, but he shrugged and took it, anyway.

Gold made a low _humph _and dug the bottom of his cane into the ground. It was because of her comment, she knew. She'd make up for it later.

"I don't understand. He just…drove off…" It was clearly Armageddon in Ruby's world. Her shoulders sagged and she barely had the energy to tuck the pad and pen back in her bag. And all the while, Leroy was happily sipping his Pepsi.

"Aw, cheer up, sister. Look at the bright side. I got a free soda and we're watching…" Leroy glanced up at the billboard. "_Dirty Dancing?_ That's been playing for the last week! Who picks the movies?"

Ruby's smile faintly returned. The tension had passed. That was fast.

"Oh, I love that movie! _Nobody puts Baby in the corner! _Ooh, and…_I carried a watermelon!_ How about you, Leroy?" He rolled his eyes.

"Why would I want to carry a watermelon?" Leroy downed the soda and crushed the cup in his hands. Some show-off. He aimed it for the trash can, but it missed by a mile.

"That's called littering, you know," Gold mocked, earning an annoyed look from Leroy. Emma shook her head in exasperation.

"Speaking of watermelons, how's the mini-Gold growin'?" Leroy grinned full-force at Emma while Ruby launched into a slew of suggestions for baby names. According to her, Emma was having future triplets.

Gold lightly nudged her arm with his elbow.

"This night cannot possibly become anymore nerve-wracking," he muttered so only she could hear. Something caught her attention and she sighed.

"Then I suggest you don't look left." He looked left. And he released a groan of pure annoyance. Archie's car was parked beside her Bug, sputtering like an elderly person with a microphone. And Archie, Mary Margaret, David, and Kathryn were emerging from it.

Off the top of her head, Emma could detect several nuances in that one group, including the inevitable love triangle. She wondered if Gold ever got sick of playing counselor to people's desperate problems.

"Wow, I don't believe I've ever seen so many people attend a drive-in movie," Archie said as they approached the quickly swelling group. They might as well send a text to Regina and invite her, too. Just for the hell of it.

"Emma, you never told me you like romantic movies! We could have had a girls' night together," Mary Margaret said as she hugged her. Emma tentatively hugged her back. And to think that this was supposedly her mother. The idea of them both fawning over Patrick Swayze was sort of…odd.

"Actually, I'm here for the horror movie," she said. Ruby perked her head up among the group and gave her a thumbs-up.

"_The Howling _is one of my favorites," the waitress shouted over. Okay, so she was potentially going to have a movie night with _two_ people. Maybe Archie could join, too.

Suddenly, the very topic of her thoughts froze in his tracks and grew flustered. His face turned beet red and he couldn't stop staring at Gold.

"Uh, hello…Mr. Gold," he choked out. Archie was probably grateful Gold wasn't the type to consider anger management. Everyone else's eyes followed to Gold, as if they just realized the Storybrooke Caner was among them.

"It's okay, Archie. Gold's not in a clobbering mood tonight," she quickly assured him. He was still looking at Gold, awaiting confirmation. So much for defusing the situation. Emma dug her elbow into Gold's ribs.

"Decidedly not," he grudgingly admitted.

Archie visibly relaxed, though he ventured off toward Ruby. Mary Margaret was oddly quiet beside her; every ounce of focus trained on David and Kathryn. _Come on, _Emma internally grumbled. _How can Kathryn not notice the way David's staring at Mary Margaret? _

"David, I'm going to get us a large popcorn. So we can share," Kathryn said. She smiled warmly—lovingly—and then wandered away, head down as she dug money out of her purse.

"Would it be immoral to hope that she gets lost on the way back?" Mary Margaret whispered to her.

"Depends on who you ask," Emma whispered back.

Instinctively, she met Gold's gaze and she could read the knowing smile on his lips. Then again, Mary Margaret and David's attraction was as subtle as that towering billboard. And yet Kathryn never noticed. Maybe she needed glasses.

David was making his way to Mary Margaret. He was actually making the first move while his wife was fetching popcorn. And Mary Margaret was blushing and speechless in love.

"Mary Margaret," he breathed. Was that the chorus of angels Emma heard in the background? David stuffed his hands in his pockets as he struggled for the right words. He could have recited his grocery list and Mary Margaret would be overjoyed. "You look…really nice tonight. I like your…skirt."

Emma voluntarily winced for Mary Margaret's sake. _I like your skirt? What, does he want to borrow it? Anything would have sounded better than that. _Gold's smugness radiated in volumes. _Don't say a word, Gold. _

"Thank…you," Mary Margaret awkwardly replied. She was much too nice for her own good. A layer of tension descended over the group. All except for Ruby and Archie, who were debating over the most romantic movie.

To make matters worse, Kathryn was back.

"Here we are. A large popcorn with no butter," she announced as she rejoined David's side once more. She linked her arm through his and Emma was sure she heard the sound of Mary Margaret's nails scratching the hood of her car.

"You don't like butter?" Leroy was appalled. "Who doesn't like butter?" Kathryn placed her hand on David's shoulder as he munched on some popcorn.

"We no longer put butter on our popcorn. We've decided to go on a diet," she said. Emma felt her lips pull into a pout. _Yeah, we meaning you, right? You actually keep David on a diet? No wonder the hospital's vending machines are getting raided. _"So, what did I miss?"

Crickets, crickets.

Everyone was staring at the ground or off in another direction, unable to answer Kathryn. _Well, for starters, Kathryn…your husband appreciates Mary Margaret's skirt. _

At least Leroy was good for more than a friendly face in the station.

"Oh, my God. I just realized something. Ruby doesn't wear pants!" If he was trying to divert the attention from the love trio, it worked. A dozen pairs of eyes swiveled to Ruby's bare legs. Her face turned as red as her streaks.

"No, I'm wearing a skort!" Leroy scrunched his nose in distaste.

"What the hell is a skort?" The tension that previously enclosed them broke wide open as some people giggled at Leroy's obliviousness. "I'm serious! Do I look like I speak _Vogue?"_ Most men didn't even know what _Vogue _was. Ruby sighed.

"A skort is a combination of a skirt and shorts," she explained hotly. And then she pulled up her skirt. "See?" Gold's eyes boggled. Kathryn had to whack David on the arm because of his "Bambi-watching-his-mom-get-shot" expression. _Oh, so you notice that, _Emma thought cynically.

Ruby had the decency to lower her skirt again. It was a good thing, too. Or Archie might have passed out.

"Why don't you just pick one? You either wear a skirt or you wear shorts," Leroy argued. Emma was fairly certain she didn't have a skirt in her closet. Or shorts. "I got an even better idea. Why not try wearin' pants?"

Ruby huffed and planted her hands squarely on her hips. Her red-streaked hair was practically sizzling with irritation.

"Since when did Granny die and make you my guardian?" Everyone was watching the two like a tennis match. Most days Ruby and Leroy quarreled like an old married couple. They were even worse than her and Gold.

"Wait a minute," David said slowly. It seemed he finally put his finger on something that was bothering him. Everyone turned to stare curiously at him, but David never noticed. He was staring at Gold. "You're Scottish, right? Isn't that…what some people wear? A skort?"

Emma didn't need to glance at Gold to know his knuckles were turning eerily bone-white from gripping the head of his cane. Perhaps if she listened close enough, she'd hear it splintering.

"David, you're thinking of a kilt," Archie corrected quietly. He was trying so hard not to look at Gold. And failing.

"Moron," Gold muttered under his breath. David's head perked up.

"Huh?"

"I said…Morraine. A possible name for our baby," he said. Emma's eyebrow rose in speculation, but Gold refused to acknowledge its meaning. He was good at playing clueless when it best suited him.

"That's a lovely name," Mary Margaret offered politely. It might have been a trick of the shadows, but she could have sworn Gold had started to smile. For some reason, he seemed fond of Mary Margaret. Maybe she could be their babysitter.

On the expansive screen above their heads, the movie finally started and everyone gratefully quieted to a dull murmur. Ruby and Leroy gradually ceased bickering; Archie smiled warmly as the dancers twirled across the screen; David helped himself to Kathryn's popcorn and snuck glances at Mary Margaret.

Emma ignored the movie's opening credits and leaned toward Gold's ear.

"Morraine? Where did you get that name?" She kept her voice to a whisper so no one would overhear. Gold's arm wrapped around her back and urged her closer to him. If anyone noticed this tender side of him, they didn't mention it.

"It was the name of a child I once knew," he whispered back. His breath warmed her earlobe and it tickled. "She was my first fan." Emma jerked back and threw him a skeptical look.

"Your…first…fan? I wasn't aware you had a fan club." Gold's brown eyes gleamed with utmost excitement.

"You'd be surprised, dear." Emma imagined a crowd of overzealous fan-girls swarming their house and wearing shirts plastered with Gold's face or tackling him in an attempt to obtain some article of his clothing. It was rather creepy.

"Morraine," she tasted it on her tongue. "I kind of like it. If our baby turns out to be a girl, that is." Gold's grip tightened around her, securing her to him. She could just sense the smirk on his face.

"Oh, I have no doubt she will be. Our little girl."

Emma couldn't help but smile as the endearing title reached her ears. Their little girl. In all honesty, she'd always wanted a girl. Of course she appreciated Henry, but it would be nice to have a girl in the house. The fact that she might be having one was…exciting. Fulfilling.

"Gold?" Slowly, he shifted his head to drink her in. Her green eyes shined in the reflection of the movie screen. Almost hypnotically, his hand rose to brush away a blond strand. "Is it too late to change my mind about the cabin in the woods?"

The corners of his lips curled and his hand resorted to resting against her skin.

"I figured you'd say that," he murmured and patted her cheek once. She let him guide her to the driver's side of her Bug, all the while rubbing her tapped cheek.

"Mind if I drive?" Not that she really cared whether he argued. She was already digging for her keys. Why was he snickering? And climbing in the driver's side?

"Only if you can find the keys." Her Bug roared to life under his control. One of these days, Emma would have to tie him down and make him show her how he did that.

…..

Regina enjoyed staying late at her office. The town naturally fell quiet around six o'clock—no one bothered her until the morning. She was free to lounge behind her desk, kick off her heels, and enjoy a warm drink. Come eight o'clock, she'd journey home to get Henry to sleep.

For now…this was bliss.

A timid knock broke the silence; someone was at her door. And there went her good mood. Unintentionally, she slammed the cup on her desk and liquid splattered over her desk. All over her papers.

What kind of fool dared interrupt her happy hour? Someone had better be dying. Severely.

"Well, come in," she snapped. The door edged open and Sidney appeared. Was that fedora glued to his head? He smiled tentatively against her red-lipped pout and approached her desk as if expecting the great Wizard of Oz to strike him with lightning. "Did the Sheriff mow down another sign?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "They're currently at the drive-in. Did you know they're playing _Dirty Dancing _tonight? The last scene always gives me chills—" Sidney was gushing again. Last time it was because the diner started selling strawberry Pop-Tarts.

"I despise that movie," she intercepted coldly. Sidney cleared his throat.

"Yes. So do I. Terrible movie." She always found it odd that most people were unaware he was in love with her. He could jump off a building and that would be less obvious. "What were they thinking, putting her in a pink dress? It should have been _blue." _

"Sidney, what is this about? Unless you intend to ask me to a movie." As if he could ever buck up the courage to do that. She brought the cup to her lips. In a matter of minutes, she'd already gotten a headache.

"No, of course not. Would you say yes?" Idiot. Lovesick idiot. Those were the worst kind.

"Would you care to consult a Magic 8 ball?" Sidney seemed to shrivel under her imposing glare. The world was in working order once more. Slipping a hand into his trench coat, he removed a file and plopped it on her desk.

"I thought you might be interested in this," he said vaguely as she flipped open the file to reveal…a photo. Of Ruby. Regina lifted her gaze from the picture to check if he was serious. He interrupted her happy hour and referenced a romantic movie all for the purpose of a photo of Ruby?

"Are you telling me you've found a new love to replace me?" Sidney blanched. Oh, she absolutely relished the sight of him squirming under her thumb.

"Of course not, Madame Mayor. You are so much more delectable and pleasurable than Ruby." She supposed he was good for something. What kinds of things would he say on the days she wanted to poison the Sheriff? "No, I was going through some old files, like I usually do every few months. This was taken the night of Graham's death."

Sidney sounded much too ecstatic by that notion. She always suspected he was jealous of her intimate relationship with Graham, but he was too spineless to drive the dagger himself.

"And? Your point?" Sidney grinned. It made him look like a hyena. And he wondered why she refused to consider him as a bed-warming candidate.

"That was also the night that Emma decided to get hitched."

Regina slapped the photo down on the desk. This guessing game was grating her nerves. Grinding them down to Swiss cheese. Sidney must have sensed her simmering temper for he lumbered forward and pointed at something in the corner of the photo.

"Take a closer look."

Regina glared at him for giving her an order, but heeded him as she bent her dark head to peer at the spot under his finger. It took her a minute of scrutiny to recognize what he wanted her to see. And then her eyes widened tenfold.

Was that…? No, it had to be a trick of the light.

Pulling open one of the top drawers of her desk, she found her magnifying glass and held it above the corner of the photo. A red smile grew on her lips, along with a mind-numbing surge of excitement.

Oh, this was good.

This was perfect. It was exactly what she needed to put a wedge between those two sweethearts. In her head, she was already doing her 'I win' strut.

"Sidney, you've done well. Perhaps I should reward you for this." It was too difficult to keep the honeyed pleasure from her voice. The amusement built up until she had no choice but to rise to her feet to keep it at bay.

"Really? A reward?" Sidney might as well have thrust his fist in the air for all the victory he was treating himself with. Regina rolled her eyes.

"I hate to shatter your hopes, but my reward is simple. You may take me to that horrible movie tonight after I assure that Henry is asleep. If we're lucky, we'll hit two birds with one stone."

She smirked brilliantly and tucked the photo in her suit as she led Sidney from her office. _I win, I win, I win…_

…..

_**Wow, I must thank you all for the awesome reviews! There were so many for the last chapter! Oh, you guys are great. **_

_**Cheers to DaesGatling, dmwg26, Kendra Luehr (welcome back), MonkeesDoctorWho1987, DustMoonstone270, 10-11**__**th**__**DoctorLove, megumisakura, olverabonk, ImmortalisCharitas, BuzzCat, Twyla Mercedes, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, ParanormalMoonlight, BookBrink, brontegirl89, RandomWriter101, discotimelord, BlooperLover, Tizmine, The-Writer2012, Musicalfan2012, Duffer13, thedoctorsgirl42, and mafer-torres-714. **_

_**Thank you everyone for reading! I hope you guys enjoy the season premiere! **_


	36. Chapter 36

_**A/N: First off, I do apologize that it took me a little bit to dish this chapter out. I just wanted to be sure that everything came out exactly right. Otherwise, it might not have been that good. I hope everyone enjoys it, anyway. **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Six**_

Emma shuddered as the gel coated her swelling abdomen. She forgot how cold that stuff was.

As much as she anticipated the ultrasound, she still felt uncomfortable being in a hospital. For some reason, she just didn't like them. The antiseptic stench was bad enough, clogging her nostrils, but the aura of illness and helpless injured people staring at her with wide, doe eyes made it even worse. She would have felt better if Gold was here, but he was noticeably MIA.

What was he doing in his shop? Re-decorating? Hosting an early baby shower?

"Try to relax, Mrs. Gold," the obstetrician advised in an emotionless, clinical manner. She must have sensed how frazzled and irritable Emma's nerves had become. The nurses weren't very fond of her husband, either. She was surprised there wasn't some secret society against him, for all the dislike he'd garnered.

Emma laid her head back and stared up at the white tiled ceiling, the fluorescent lights turned down low. Only the _whur-whur-whur _of the machine filled the silence. It reminded her of when she'd carried Henry. She'd handled those ultrasounds alone, too.

"Do you have any?" The nurse paused in scrutinizing the screen behind wiry-framed glasses. Her lips were pinched in a frown as she glanced at Emma with sheer alarm.

"Excuse me?" Emma rolled her eyes impatiently. What did this woman think she was talking about?

"Kids. Do you have any?" The nurse's face softened just a bit. She shook her head.

"No, I don't. I'm sure it must be…quite a joy for a…happy couple like yourselves," she mumbled, turning back to the machine. No doubt that nurse would be sticking a finger down her throat the minute Emma left. That chair beside her suddenly seemed emptier than before.

The clock ticked by. No Gold. If he came strolling in here with an ice cream cone, she'd steal his cone and then give him the rudest lecture of his life. He'd be sitting in the corner in a time-out.

"If Regina and Gold got into a bar fight, who do you think would win?"

It was the first question that jumped into her head—maybe it would break the ice a little. Plus, she would really enjoy seeing Gold and Regina in a bar fight, if Gold ever drank. Probably wasn't on the list of frequently asked questions, though. From here, she could see the nurse's muscles tighten and her skin paling.

"Mrs. Gold, I'm not exactly allowed to place bets with patients," she replied. And then she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Mr. Gold would knock Regina out with that cane of his in a matter of seconds. Guaranteed." Emma rather liked this nurse. Maybe she'd send her a Christmas card next year.

Just then, the hospital room door burst open and Gold strode in. Finally.

"Where were you?" Emma watched as he closed the door and helped himself to the seat beside her. The nurse never glanced up twice, though her muscles were rigid while the wand moved over Emma's belly. Anti-Gold secret society. It was bound to happen.

"Business, as usual. Nothing you need to worry about," he cast it off in his cryptic style. Emma stared hard at his face and noticed the slight grim expression engraved there. There was something he wasn't telling her. The nurse turned her head and fixed the monitor so that it would be easier for her to see.

"Mrs. Gold—"

"If it's nothing I need to worry about, then what is it? Rent? Did Goldie chase Regina down the street?" Gold exhaled deeply and reached a hand out to take hers. Emma let him do it and he squeezed it reassuringly.

"Do you trust me?" The entire room seemed to slip away as their eyes met. Emma gazed long at him, those brown eyes burning into hers. His thumb rubbed over the skin of her palm, tracing it soothingly.

"Yes," she answered confidently. His eyes brightened. It was almost as if he didn't expect her to say so. "I trust you." And she squeezed his hand back.

There was nothing to worry about—it was just rent. Or at least that's what she kept telling herself. Maybe it was something Gold didn't want to discuss, like Ruby's suggestion that Archie and Gold should enter that bowling contest tonight.

The nurse cleared her throat, a scratchy _hem-hem_, directing their attention back to professional matters. Simultaneously, their gazes switched to the monitor, where a fuzzy image was displayed on the screen. It was difficult to make out at first, but it brought back memories of the first time she'd seen Henry as he was growing inside her. Emma could hardly tear her eyes from the screen as the small being squirmed and shifted. Her baby was _moving. _

"There it is," the nurse pointed out, a latex-gloved hand brushing across the screen. Gold's grip tightened on her hand and she just knew that he was mesmerized as she was by the sight of their baby. "At this stage in your pregnancy, you can get a good glimpse of the head." The wand slid along Emma's belly and suddenly they were looking at the form of the fetus' head, nestled deep inside her. Emma had the urge to reach out and touch the screen, to make some connection with the little one cradled so gently.

"Morraine," Gold whispered into the shell of her ear in awe and she smiled. It was still too early to tell whether the little one inside her was a boy or a girl, but something—some warm maternal instinct—told her it would be a girl. This was their little girl, their Morraine.

The nurse went on about the other developments the baby was experiencing, but Emma heard next to nothing about it. All her focus was trained on the screen until the ultrasound ended. And even though that baby was being carried by her, there was a longing to stay there and watch that fuzzy form on that screen. Gold would have had to drag her out. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

"I'll let you two have a moment alone," the nurse said as she gathered her files and proceeded to the hallway. Emma didn't miss the faint smile on her too-red lips.

"Awfully cheery, isn't she?" Gold murmured lowly. His eyes still had a ghost of amazement embedded in the irises, as if the image of the ultrasound was imprinted into his mind.

Releasing her hand, his fingers chose to stroke her belly tenderly. Emma knew it wasn't just an intimate act meant for her; this was his way of connecting to their baby. She figured Gold would be that type of expecting father that read and talked to their unborn baby, comforted by the knowledge that it could hear their voices.

"She's probably waiting for you to pay the hospital bill," Emma said. Gold grumbled something about the despicable rates of hospital bills, even though she knew he had no qualms about shoving the stature of his wealth and power in the faces of Storybrooke's citizens. "By the way…you wouldn't happen to have one hundred dollars on you, would you?"

Gold's brow furrowed with curiosity. She suspected he did in fact have as much to his name at the moment, but Gold was never the type to lend out money without a proper explanation, even to his wife. He was certainly a control freak about such things.

"Why?" Those slender fingers paused in stroking her belly. Emma made a point of avoiding his gaze.

"Henry beat me at checkers."

…..

Emma was in a particularly good mood as she walked into the pawnshop. The news of her unborn daughter—as she was already convinced, anyway—and Henry's offer to help decorate the nursery room had her floating on Cloud Nine. The kid had already drawn up plans for it, albeit in red crayon. Plus, she suspected Mary Margaret's cheeriness was rubbing off on her.

With a smile on her lips and a spring in her step, she could have been ready to swing on a streetlamp and belt out a song or two. Okay, maybe her mood wasn't that great…but it was close enough.

Without hesitance, she slipped through the curtain and found Gold at his desk. He didn't need to glance up for the corners of his lips to lift ever so slightly. His mood apparently wasn't so light—there was a thick cloak of darkness over his anxious face as he meticulously scanned a piece of paper in is hands. Or…was it a photo? Was it an embarrassing one from the Christmas party?

The minute he acknowledged her presence, his brown eyes darting upwards, he stuffed it inside a manila envelope and placed it in a drawer of his desk. It was so swift that Emma hadn't had time to see what was depicted in the photo. As if Gold didn't want her to see it clearly. Odd.

"Ah, _Em-ma_," he drawled her name leisurely. She always had the feeling he simply liked the way it rolled off his tongue. "Here I thought you'd be stuck at the station," he commented, rising from his seat to meet her halfway. She studied him for a long, considerable moment. Stuck at the station? Since when was she ever stuck at the station?

There was that strange sensation again—the sparking and prickling of her nerves, screaming a blood-curdling claim that there was something he wasn't telling her. Maybe he _was _hosting an early baby shower. She hated surprises.

"I thought I'd bring you this. To start paying back the money I lost to Henry," she said as she handed over the ice cream cone in her hand. An elated smile stretched across his face as he began licking it. She rolled her eyes as he closed his blissfully and let the ice cream melt on his tongue. He could be such a child sometimes, the way he treasured ice cream with immense pleasure.

She wondered what Gold would ever do if she brought him to a carnival and he developed a taste for cotton candy.

"So, you'll be buying me cones until you pay your debt? Darling, you shouldn't have," he said while his tongue generously roved over the creamy treat. At this rate, she'd be paying him back for the rest of her pregnancy. Would Gold agree to ice cream for dinner? As she watched him devour his treat, he licked his lips and grinned impishly. "Next time, I'll have a banana split. If you don't mind."

Great. Now she was his personal ice cream waitress.

"What was that?" Emma jerked her head in the direction of his desk. Gold leaned his hip against it, perching on the corner, his face placid. Completely innocent. The man could probably fool a lie detector if he desperately wanted to. Her internal one was currently on the fritz.

"What was what?" Oh, so he was going to play the ignorant card, was he? It made her want to go over there and wrench the drawer open herself to find out what was inside that envelope. Obviously Gold was content with pretending the last two minutes hadn't even happened.

Was it an embarrassing yearbook photo from his high school years? A creepy stalker love letter? A photo of Regina's glare, blown up to insane proportions?

"The envelope. What was inside it?" Lick, lick, lick. Emma regretted buying him that cone now. It gave him a reason not to humor her little interrogation. Lick, lick, lick. Would she have to torture him to get the answer? Tie him to a bed and tickle his feet with feathers until he cried for mercy?

"Fan mail," he replied casually. Emma narrowed her eyes and they became locked in a staring contest. Emma lost, but only because there was something in her eye. Definitely an eyelash.

"You expect me to believe that you received fan mail after beating a man to a pulp? News flash: women don't exactly find that attractive," she pointed out. Gold shrugged and chased a drop of ice cream with the tip of his tongue.

The way Gold ate ice cream was…wondrous. He made it seem more like a sport than simple eating. Not even Michelangelo concentrated that hard.

"What can I say, Emma? This world is not what it seems. I suppose you'll have to torture me to get my answers." She hated it when he read her mind. A low chuckle rose from his throat just as a stream of heat flushed her face. With the countless entertaining fantasies no doubt circling his mind, he seemed much too satisfied for his own good.

"Maybe I don't need answers. Maybe I just need to punch you in the face," she threatened roughly out of irritation. She really didn't mean it. Or maybe whatever was in that envelope would ultimately justify it.

Either way, Gold never flinched at the threat. Instead, he paused in working diligently on his cone to genuinely laugh with supreme amusement. _I swear, _Emma thought in wonder. _Does nothing get to him? These days, I can't even threaten him properly without him laughing about it. _

"Really, dearie? Those pregnancy hormones certainly are taking their toll on your personality." Emma shot him a dark look. She was ready to protest, but the shop's bell rang out, one sharp silvery note. Must have been someone paying their rent. Or was Henry already intending to spend that money on the Mickey phone?

Gold exhaled in sheer annoyance. He was such an enthusiastic shop owner. Regina should offer him a blue ribbon for it at the next town meeting.

"Do me a favor and hold my cone," he requested as he ambled toward the curtain. On his way, he passed the cone into her hand and dabbed at his lips with a black cloth from inside his suit. What else did he keep in there?

"Depends. Is that my favor?"

Gold scrunched the fabric of the curtain in his hand, but he did not pull it back just yet. Glancing over his shoulder, she noticed a streak of cunning flash through his dark eyes. It reminded her of the gleeful look of someone who was holding aces in their hand, despite how hard they tried to shield it.

"Trust me, Emma. The day I call in your favor, you'll know." She stared down at the cone dejectedly.

"So, basically I'm supposed to lounge in the back of your shop and babysit your precious ice cream? And I get nothing out of it in return?" This time, Gold whirled around to face her completely and she could not mistake the ghost of a smirk hanging on his lips. Ever so calmly, he folded his hands atop the head of his cane.

"Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you as my wife?" Before she could answer that, he slipped through the curtain to tend to business matters. Assuming the role of the professional dealmaker, a sheet of fabric separating them. Beyond it, Ruby's chipper voice floated through. Business matters, indeed.

As she tried to ignore Gold's cone—unless she eat it herself—she glanced around the back of the shop. Without so many items cramming it, it would have been a good-sized room. Didn't Gold ever try to organize this stuff? Or was he happy with packing it onto the shelves wherever items would fit?

There had to be something to distract her from…_it._ The envelope. Sitting in Gold's desk. Without Gold around. Right…_there._

No, she would not stoop to rifling through Gold's drawers. Hadn't she just told him this afternoon that she trusted him? Of course she did. Right? Invading his private things was immoral and wrong. In Henry's words, only bad people snooped through other people's stuff.

But then again, Henry was always talking about the Evil Queen. God forbid if Regina threatened to go into his room with a vacuum.

Straining her ears, she could still hear Ruby talking with Gold. Pleading, actually. It sounded like she was trying to barter with him to extend the date for rent. Emma could already tell her it wasn't going to work. Gold was not lenient on many things, rent being the biggest one of all.

Maybe just a peek inside the envelope. Just one look. Only to ease her mind. And then she would shove it back in the drawer and they could go home peacefully and enjoy a nice night together. Everyone would be happy. They could even go bowling.

But first she would need time in order to get this done. At the moment, time was not on her side what with Gold's non-negotiable policies, but maybe she could change that.

Whipping out her phone, she scrolled through the contacts and found Ruby's number. Maybe she could swallow one girls' night out with Ruby, if the waitress agreed to what she was about to ask her to do. In a text, she entered three words: _Keep him busy. _

Emma sucked in a breath as she heard the trill of a phone through the curtain. She could faintly hear Gold asking Ruby about it, and Ruby launched into a ridiculous rant about texting. It was working—Ruby was listening to her. Either that or Ruby just really wanted someone to talk to.

She almost felt bad for putting Gold through the Ruby blender. Almost.

Neglecting the fact that the ice cream was dripping like Niagara Falls, Emma made her way behind Gold's desk. With her free hand, she grabbed the handle and tugged. Locked. And it refused to budge. _Oh, sure. Just my luck. Gold won't invest in a proper security system, but he values having drawers that lock like a bullet-proof case. But then again he still thinks those creepy puppets serve as good security. _

Emma searched around for something to use to wedge it open. A pen? No, it'd surely break and then he'd probably force her to get down on her hands and knees and scrub the ink from his floor. While he supervised. Scissors? Maybe, if she could somehow get one of the blades through.

And then her eyes fell on the three swords plastered on the wall. That could work.

Striding over to it, Emma pulled one of the swords out from behind the elegant shield that held them in place. And then the entire shield crashed to the floor, the swords scattering in different directions. She might as well start banging a drum, for all the ruckus she'd just caused.

For a long moment, she held her breath, waiting to see if Gold would come marching in, but Ruby babbled on. Something about nail polish. Oh, the man was going to need intense therapy after this.

Releasing her breath, Emma deposited the ice cream cone on a blank piece of paper to keep both her hands free. If it melted, it wasn't her problem. Not really, anyway. Time to get down to business.

….

"Please?" Ruby hated being reduced to begging, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Any moment, she would start adding _pretty_s to those pleases. Mr. Gold was bound to break sometime soon. If sometime soon occurred in the next ten minutes, anyway. Granny wasn't giving out extra minutes for her break.

"Afraid not, dearie," Mr. Gold replied with curt finality. He'd been coming up with clever ways of telling her _no _for the past five minutes. He might as well say it in Spanish: no. Ruby simply refused to walk out of here and back to her Granny's without a fight.

Plus, she was fairly certain Gold's motivation for saying no was the amusement of watching her sulk in misery. If Regina was a soul-sucking vampire, he was a money-riddling leech. No wonder the two always tore each other's throats out. They were practically star-crossed.

Honestly, what did Emma ever see in him? Besides the fashionable suits and the pleasurable aspects they must hide underneath. Not that Ruby ever thought about that.

"Really?" His facial expression remained unchanged. He was probably waiting for her to take the hint and stalk out of his shop. Emma was probably in the back room, waiting.

Had she interrupted something special? No wonder Mr. Gold was so anxious to swat her away like a bothersome fly. Inevitably, Ruby's eyes traveled down…_there_ and a stroke of heat warmed her cheeks. Whoops.

"Giving us an extra week won't kill you. It certainly wouldn't kill us," she continued on, trying to shove that horrible blush from her face.

"Neither would paying your rent on time," he returned coldly. Ouch. The ridicule in his otherwise smooth voice made her wince. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. Time to play the pity card.

"Business at the diner has been really slow this past week, except the morning crowd. Everybody's too busy getting ready for the Miner's Day festival to stop in after that. And nobody ever stays at our inn—there's only August," she sighed. Ruby managed to catch herself before swooning over his name in front of Mr. Gold.

It had taken her quite a while to learn August's name. After an exhausting game of _Shadow_—mimicking his suave attitude was so much fun—and asking him ten times a day, he'd finally given it to her. August Booth. It sounded like a sexy soap opera name. Convenient. _August W. Booth, the mysterious handsome stranger, engaging in a secret affair with the lovely young waitress, Ruby…._

Ruby snapped out of her daydream. Was it just her imagination or was there a fiendish, impish interest in Mr. Gold's brown eyes? It was as if he had caught her flipping through a dirty magazine and planned to snitch to her Granny about it.

"Anyway, it's hard for us to work up the extra money this week," Ruby got back on track with her woes and pleas. Why couldn't he just be agreeable for once and cut them a break? It wasn't as if they ever caused that much trouble for him. It was only an extra week.

Ruby decidedly batted her thick, long eyelashes for added measure. Not that she really expected it to work—it was a last resort. Before he married Emma, she'd never even seen him mentally undressing a woman, let alone daring to get involved with one. And who would he ever get involved with in Storybrooke, anyway? Regina? Mary Margaret?

"Sorry to hear it," he muttered with a ghost of a smirk. Ruby clicked her nails on the display case and he tried to hide the irritation that came as a result of the shrill tapping. It obviously annoyed him…so she carried on with it. Ruby was stubborn like that.

"So, you'll give us an extra week?" Mr. Gold rested his elbows on the display case and leaned toward her. It reminded her of a vicious snake looming over her head, preparing to sink its fangs in her soft skin. And perhaps it was her imagination, but the overhead lights shined in his brown eyes and made them gleam an odd golden for a moment.

"You misunderstood me, dearie. I told you I was sorry to hear it. I never said I changed my mind. My deadline remains the same," he stated, crushing her hopes in one fell swoop.

In one lightning-fast motion, his hand clamped down over hers, halting the insistent clicking of her nails. A shock skittered up her arm while Gold's gaze never faltered from her face. He seemed to anticipate her reaction, feeding on it to grant him satisfaction. Gasping, Ruby jerked her arm away and rubbed the place where he'd touched it. Creep.

"I suggest you find a way to raise the eligible amount of money, Ruby. Otherwise, you leave me no choice."

Eviction. The word whispered across her mind, spreading like putrid venom. It was the threat Mr. Gold always made in the event that someone failed to pay their rent. He'd find another way to make them pay, the worst being eviction.

The diner would crumble under his thumb, the inn—which doubled as their home—would be ripped from under their feet. Granny would most likely have another heart attack if that ever happened. Everything they had rested in the palm of his hand. And he knew it.

If it weren't for the ringing of her cellphone, Ruby would have used this dramatic moment to her advantage, cursed him with every name in the book, and stormed out of the shop in a crimson whirlwind. It would have felt good, even if she got verbally humiliated by Granny for being so rude to the richest, most powerful man in Storybrooke.

Sometimes she had the suspicion that if Emma hadn't agreed to marry Mr. Gold, Granny would have volunteered her as his arranged bride. According to her, _it'd be nice to have money around here_ and it'd be better than_ sleeping her way down the eastern seaboard. Grumble, nag, crossbow, nag. _

What normal grandmother kept a crossbow under her pillow?

Ruby pouted her red lips and checked her phone. It was a message from Emma: _keep him busy. _Short and sweet. Ruby crinkled her nose in confusion. Keep him busy? Did she mean…_busy?_ Oh, she probably meant _stalling him. _Maybe Emma was in the back room after all. Setting up something special for Gold, was she? Ooh, this would be delicious for gossip!

"You don't seem entirely pleased by that message," Mr. Gold remarked, observing her activity from the corner of his eye as he handled an antique object. His unspoken message was for her to buzz off, but she didn't quite receive that memo.

Emma owed her for this. In a quick text, she wrote back: _GNO. _Girls' night out.

"Oh, it was just Granny. She's been learning how to text recently. Last week, she asked me what _WTF _meant in front of the whole diner. Obviously I couldn't say it, so I told her it meant _wow, that's fantastic. _Except now she's saying that to everyone in town. Archie agreed to be her text buddy, but I always thought he was _your_ text buddy." Ruby made a loud, forced gasp. "Is your text buddy cyber-cheating on you?"

Oh, this was fun. Ruby liked this game.

Gold stared blankly at her, the kind of look that suggested she might be off her rocker. He then glanced over his shoulder at the curtain, as if he wanted to make a run for it. But if he did that, Ruby would just have to jump over the counter and tackle him.

Just as Gold opened his mouth to answer her unexpected, appalling rant, a crash came from the back. It was metallic and heavy—Ruby couldn't quite place it. Gold's head whipped toward the curtain, his expression darkening by the second. The way his fingers gripped his cane, she could tell he was ready to rush back there.

Hastily, Ruby nearly leaped over the counter and caught his arm to keep him in place. Oh, what was she going to say to him now? She hadn't thought that far ahead. His body stiffened at her invasive touch and now he was glaring down at her hand on the crook of his elbow, probably wanting to peel her nails away—

Her nails. Ooh.

"Does this color look good on my nails?" Ruby flashed her red nails in his face. "I was thinking of painting them a nice shade of gold, but then they wouldn't match my hair. Or should I dye my hair gold? Oh, but red has always been my favorite color. By the way, what's your favorite color?" Gold wrenched his arm back from her grip. His eyes narrowed and she knew the only thing he wanted to say to her was to leave his shop. "No, don't tell me! Your favorite color is…let's see…it's on the tip of my tongue…fuchsia!"

Fuchsia? She didn't even know where that came from.

Maybe it was because the dress shirt he wore the other day was slightly pink-purple. Magenta, her Granny called it. Plus, his house had been pink before he'd had it repainted to a darker shade of red, so that was even more proof.

He probably assumed she would say _gold _instead.

"If I didn't know any better, Ruby…I'd say you were stalling me," he accused her, his low tone dangerous and daring her to object.

Ruby tried not to bite down on her lip as she felt the color drain from her face. She wished Emma would finish whatever it was she was doing. This wasn't worth it anymore. Under Gold's scrutiny, she could hardly breathe, let alone leave the shop on her own two feet.

"Stalling? Why would you think that?" Even to her ears, her voice broke like a delicate mirror, revealing the tremor underneath.

Gold swept closer to the display case, latching onto her discomfort just like the leech she had imagined he was. Any sign of amusement had slipped from his face—all that was left were the impatient lines creasing around his eyes, the gritting of his teeth as he became ultimately, deadly serious.

"Do you honestly believe you can play games with me, dearie? During rent week? My, my…aren't you the brave one. Brave….or very foolish," he hissed at her. His expression became marred as his anger consumed him, but Ruby found she could not tear her attention away. Her body—her mind—was frozen beyond belief, trapped under a basilisk's gaze.

And what if he did increase their rent now? All because she'd decided to play games with him, thinking he'd be none the wiser? Oh, what would she tell her Granny?

"Most people in my company do not stay more than five minutes," Gold pointed out. His brown eyes roamed to a small clock that was set on a pile of books. One of his fingers motioned in its direction. It ticked by ever so slowly. Was it even moving at all? "You've been here for fifteen. You want to know what truly gave you away?"

Ruby didn't answer him—she sensed it was rhetorical. Menacingly, he leaned so close that she could almost smell his breath under the spray of his cologne. It tickled her skin, but she didn't have the strength to brush a hand against her twitching nose. In a slow crawl, his lips stretched into a smile that could have seared her skin clean off.

"Most people in my company don't chat with me about the luxuries of hair and nails," he openly mocked her, studying his own well-groomed nails. "Next I suppose you'll invite me for a manicure?"

Ruby had to fight to hide the humorous smile creeping up to her lips. Mr. Gold and a manicure. It was something she'd normally suggest to Leroy or Archie while they were lounging at the diner. At this moment, she was too distressed to consider mentioning it to either one of them. Dropping her gaze, Ruby rubbed her sweaty palms on her crimson skirt.

"My break…has ended," she mumbled under her breath. Much to her relief, Mr. Gold settled back in his original spot, away from her. Having him so close made her want to take twenty showers. And then jump in a pool. And then take twenty more showers while scrubbing with a cactus.

"Give Granny my regards," he muttered to her hastily retreating back. Practically running to the door, Ruby was out of that shop before she even sucked in a fresh gale of air. Forget the girls' night out—she was never, ever playing that game again.

….

_Come on. Almost there…Work, damn you! _

Emma willed the desk drawer to open as she vehemently wedged the blade of the sword into the thin, crooked slit in the upper corner of the drawer. It was barely the size of a tack, but she refused to admit defeat to a desk. She pushed her weight on the handle of the sword, trying to force it open. _What, is this sword made of plastic? _

Placing one foot on top of his desk, Emma sucked in a breath and pushed as hard as she possibly could. With a sharp crack, almost like gunfire, the drawer rocketed open and Emma went sprawling backward on her butt. Better that than her belly, she supposed, even if she'd have a bruise there tomorrow.

The drawer was open at last. The envelope was waiting inside, holding a secret that Gold obviously didn't want her to know about. _I'll bet it's the yearbook photo. I wonder if Gold won any superlatives. _

In the back of her mind, she figured she really should not be doing this. Oh, but the drawer was open now, after all the trouble she went to in order to accomplish that feat. It'd be counter-productive, giving up after brandishing her sword in such a manner, right? _Too late to turn back now. I might as well take a look. _

The envelope was sitting right there in the middle of the drawer, surrounded by contracts, ink pens, and…a list of pranks to play on Regina during April Fools' Day. _A bucket of pig's blood over her office door, thumbtacks in her bathroom, a raccoon inside her car…Something tells me I'm going to have to put Gold under surveillance on April Fools' Day. Or else find some other way to keep him busy. _

Emma folded the list up and tucked it inside her leather jacket. She would show it to Henry…but then he'd probably follow in Gold's footsteps and play a few pranks of his own. Eagerly, she forgot about the list and lifted the envelope out of the drawer. Flipping the top open, she slid out a photo. Her eyes widened.

It was a photo of Ruby, appearing quite flustered. Why was Gold keeping a picture of Ruby in his desk? Was he…_attracted _to her?

Never mind Granny; Emma would steal her shotgun and shoot him herself. A nice game of Dodge the Bullet. Or was this his way of keeping tabs on the waitress? Did Gold have a hidden dark room where he kept pictures of everyone in Storybrooke?

_Definitely not what I was expecting, _Emma thought bitterly and sighed. She was about to slide the photo back into the envelope when something in the corner of it caught her attention. It was in the background behind Ruby, and Emma could only make it out to a certain point. _What… the hell? Either that's a trick of the light or…_

Gold kept a magnifying glass in his desk. It was one of those old black-handled ones, cracked and dusty with age. She didn't even know why he insisted on keeping it, unless he was secretly running around town with Sidney and playing detective.

Grabbing it up, she slapped the photo on the desk and bent over it, holding the magnifying glass directly above the corner. Instantly, the background over Ruby's shoulder became sharper and more refined. The magnifying glass quivered in Emma's steel grip, her eyelids narrowed to slits as she studied the image. The ice cream cone was almost completely melted.

Emma felt the waves of disappointment and anger clouding her mind, building like a volcano about to erupt. She had the urge to swipe up the photo, charge through the curtain and berate Gold. _Darling! You have some 'splainin' to do! _

Underneath her unmoving gaze, she understood that this photo had been taken on the night she married Gold. Over Ruby's shoulder was the back of her wavy blonde head, her leather-clad body slumped on a stool at the bar. At the moment the camera snapped the picture, her head was turned in the opposite direction of the person sitting beside her.

A faint memory swam to the surface, reminding her that her weary attention had temporarily strayed to a booth across the diner, where David and Kathryn were sharing dinner together and holding hands like the married couple they were. One of the only married couples in Storybrooke, actually. Staring down at the photo, Emma recalled thinking she may never know what that felt like.

Yeah, right. If she had only known what lay in store for her after that night.

Perched on the stool beside her was Gold, of course. The man she'd apparently had one too many drinks with and ended up promising her vows to in the same night. But as she absorbed his graceful form, Emma suddenly remembered that she'd only downed two and a half drinks that night. She could never hold three, but anything below that kept her somewhat sober.

_That bastard, _Emma internally spat as she slammed the magnifying glass down on the desk, cracking the handle even more. _How could he do this to me? He told me nothing happened…He lied. _

Warm water blurred her vision, shielding the photo, but the image was already seared into her brain. The image of Gold sitting casually beside her while she glanced away from him for the briefest of moments—something she never should have done. The image of Gold slipping a vial of some foreign substance into her drink.

….

Gold impatiently swept aside the curtain and entered the back room to find Emma bent over his desk. If he decided to check her phone, he was confident he would discover that she sent a message to Ruby, asking her to stall him. Did she not think he was capable of putting two and two together?

The accusation simmered away from his tongue as he noticed the object that had transfixed her in such an awkward position. Golden strands flowing like a waterfall, her head tilted forward as she examined a photo. No, wait. His insides curled in cruel, black vines upon taking a closer look.

It wasn't just _a _photo, it was _the _photo.

The photo Regina had used as blackmail in order to enlist his help with her meticulous plan involving one pawn on the chessboard entitled Kathryn Nolan. Damn.

He knew he should have taken the electrician up on his offer of installing the latest alarm systems to his shop. According to the description, it even warned trespassers that the police were on their way. The fact that Emma was the police was irrelevant.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he muttered under his breath. Striding forward, he swiped the photo off the desk and ripped it into jagged scraps and pieces. He should have burned it the minute Regina passed it over. The only reason he failed to do so earlier was because of the scheduled ultrasound.

Oh, and Emma had let his ice cream melt. Didn't she know he had a mini fridge…somewhere…under this clutter?

"What the hell is that about?" Emma's cheeks were flushed and her voice was raw with anger. A violent storm was brewing under the waters. This would not end well by any means. Judging by the magnifying glass, she'd already seen what he had most wanted to hide from her. It just wasn't in his nature to admit his faults.

"Oh, that? It _was _my Customer of the Month photo. Although, after that little spiel about hair and nails, I'm considering using David Nolan's photo instead…as a coatrack," he quipped. Not even a smile. There wasn't even a _ghost _of a smile. Tough crowd tonight.

Perhaps she wouldn't notice that vase so close to her on that shelf…

"I meant about you drugging me," she snapped. "Or are you going to tell me you were being kind in putting a pink umbrella in my glass?" Acid dripped from her words, branding his skin worse than any curse. Those green eyes rose to meet his and glittered with hurt. Emma felt betrayed, did she?

"You've been rifling through my desk, darling. And here I was under the impression you trusted me."

It was a decidedly low card, turning the situation on its head and twisting her words to make it seem that she was at fault. And wasn't she, really? _She_ was the one snooping, unable to place a little faith in him. But so few people did. _She _had a choice in opening the envelope and this was the consequence.

Straightening to full height, Emma's distraught radiated off her in thick, oppressing waves. That guarded gleam in her eye; that was just inches above the one she wore before she'd fallen for him. Back when he was still a puzzle to her, meant to be handled with extreme caution. She was reverting. Someone might as well put signs on his suit: _Do not cross; Enter At Your Own Risk. _

"I thought I could trust you. Guess I was wrong," she retorted. It echoed through his ears—a sound worse than Regina clawing her dagger-sharp nails across a chalkboard. He fought to keep the crumbling emotions behind a placid mask, but it slipped between his fingers.

This couldn't be happening. Not like this. Not now. He was losing Emma.

"You don't understand—"

"Then _make _me understand," Emma roared back, slapping her palms down on the desk. It ricocheted off the walls, and he instinctively rubbed his jaw as if that had been the spot her palm had slapped instead. The desk wobbled under her force—weak in one leg due to certain…activities…and the ice cream toppled over, splattering the floor. Neither of them tore their gazes away from each other.

How could he ever begin to explain it to her? The reason he'd drugged her, put the idea of marriage into her head for what once was his own personal gain; it was not a good reason by her standards, he knew. Words evaded his tongue, so he chose stubborn silence.

"Unbelievable," Emma scoffed, a horrible mocking sound of malice.

Shoving past the desk, she swept toward the curtain without offering him a second glance. As she passed him by, he reached out to grab her by the arm. His fingers grazed her leather jacket, but she wrenched away from his grasp. He had to dig his cane into the floorboards to keep from stumbling backwards.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, backing away from him. It wasn't in fear—it was in disgust. It pained him to realize that she was glaring at him ferociously. Put a sword in her hand and she might have been facing a fire-breathing monster. An unforgiving chill seeped into his lungs. _Oh, Emma…no. _"You told me you never took advantage of me that night."

He shook his head miserably. This was not supposed to be happening to them. Regina was not meant to win twice-fold. It made him want to smash the display cases with his cane.

"Every word I told you was the truth," he assured her, but he could tell she didn't fully believe him. It didn't help that she'd woken in his bed with minimal clothing and lost time in between. Oh, but if only she could remember.

He should have told her the story, he knew now. Why did it seem so hard to tell her the truth? It might have spared him the sight of her furious gaze, scrutinizing him so distrustfully. It made his heart shrivel in blackness akin to what it was as the Dark One. All that remained was a deep ache to take her into his arms. But she would not allow it.

"You expect me to believe you had the nerve to drug me and didn't have the incentive to take advantage of me? Lucky I married a saint," she sarcastically spouted. And then she placed a protective hand over her belly. Oh, their dear little one. Their little Morraine.

"I needed you—wanted you—on my side," he rushed forward, banging the end of his cane down harder than he meant to. Emma never faltered. His brave swan.

Her soft lips deepened into a grimace. She was slightly pivoting away, so that her belly was not in his reach. _No, I can't lose another one. Not after losing Bae. _

"And what was this? Insurance that I would never leave you?" No, this was turning out all wrong. Couldn't she see how much this meant to him? It'd been so achingly long since he'd held a child of his own, listening to their precious heartbeat, knowing it was not a product to be given to some other hopeless couple.

No, no, no. This was not what he wanted.

He'd forgotten how cold Emma could be behind the safety of her walls. It seemed ages since they'd come crumbling down at his feet. The daughter of Snow White, a natural ice princess. As his heart sank deeper into the hollow of his chest, he dared to take a step forward to caress her cheek.

"Emma, sweetheart—"

Swift as a viper, she swatted his hand away. All he could do was curl his fingers and let his hand drop back to his side.

"Don't '_sweetheart' _me. Don't expect me to stay up for you tonight, either."

She raked the curtain back, the rings screeching metallically along the metal pole. To his surprise, she paused before absconding out of his shop, as if there was something she just remembered. Did she miraculously change her mind?

"As a matter of fact, I might not even be there at all." And just like that, she was gone, the silver note of the bell the only indication of her departure.

Numbly, Gold stared at the threshold, as if time would rewind and she'd be there once more, offering him a second chance. He'd messed up, he was well aware…but did his heart have to resort to palpitations? Gods, was he having a heart attack? No wonder Snow drank his potion; heartache was only slightly less torturous than having millions of paper-cuts at once.

Somehow, his feet had shuffled to the front of the shop. It was horribly, unnervingly silent. The air was thick to the point that it began to choke him. He would be able to win her back, of course he would. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be.

For a long, thoughtless moment, he glanced around the confines of his shop, at all the useless junk that cluttered the walls and cases. Such useless junk that held no meaning. Everything shined, glinted, the lights reflecting his image in the glass endlessly.

And then it became too much. Raising his cane into the air, he brought the end of it down against the nearest display case, an explosion of glass sprinkling around his feet. Objects flew in countless directions while others splayed apart hopelessly. Emma, gone. His child, gone. For now.

Again and again the cane flew until every glass structure, every hint of his contorted reflection, had been shattered into pieces.

….

It was close to nine when Gold trudged up the walk to his house, the shadows of the street clinging to his back like a pair of dark wings. For over an hour, he'd grumbled and glared at the mess in his shop, debating whether to clean it up. In the end, he decided to leave it for the morning. It would allow him the entire night to come up with an explanation as to why his display cases were askew.

Those puppets certainly looked suspicious enough, didn't they? Or maybe that odd little Mickey doll stuffed in one of those broken display cases. Yeah, he could try to sell that story to Regina. Blame her rage.

Goldie greeted him at the door, barking her head off. Maybe teaching the thing to bark so enthusiastically was a bad idea. He couldn't even sit down to watch his soaps—uh, shows—without the fur-ball running up to the screen and pouncing at every moving animal. Opinionated as she apparently was, Goldie despised horses.

He couldn't wait to see what would happen during tomorrow's walk when he "accidentally" strolled by Regina's house.

Shushing the dog with an impatient wave of his hand, he wearily climbed the stairs to the bedroom, loosening his tie as he went. Surprisingly, the room wasn't empty. Emma stood at the foot of the bed, hands planted on her lovely hips as she stared down at a half-filled suitcase.

If he possessed any shred of luck, she'd just won a trip to Disneyland for two.

"You're still here," he said and then winced once he realized how ungrateful and not-so-relieved that sounded. Not a good start. Why did these things never come out the way he wanted them to? "Changed your mind?"

Emma tore away from her packing to face him eye-to-eye. She didn't look as upset as before, in his shop. That seemed like a fairly good sign. Maybe she took a long walk. That always managed to help Belle, anyway. She took a walk, he earned a kiss.

"You asked me to try, remember? You asked me to try to make this marriage work. How am I supposed to do that if this marriage was built on a lie in the first place?" He lowered his head in grief, his brown hair cascading like a curtain around his jaw. He wished he had taken Archie's invitation to that bowling competition tonight. Instead, he'd collected rent in a harsher manner than usual.

"Ah, so this is the grand finale, then. This is your last word. Emma—" Instantly, she held up a hand to stop him from progressing. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—it was the hand that bore Emma's wedding ring, sparkling mockingly in the light of the bedroom lamps.

"No. I'm talking now. And you will listen," she demanded, her cheeks flushing.

He grimaced and gripped his cane, but managed to hold his tongue inside his mouth. If Emma truly wanted to be heard, nothing he could say would stop her. When she saw that he did not plan to argue, humoring her request, she continued.

"I have tried to make this work, Gold. At first I was stubborn and I admit I didn't want this. Actually, it was the last thing I wanted. Probably a step above driving off a cliff. Or listening to Archie coo over his crickets. Regina could have offered to throw me a birthday party and assault me with rocks and that would have been better—"

"Shall I beg for mercy? Nothing pleases me more than to hear just how much you did _not_ want to marry me," he sarcastically tossed at her. Emma raked a steady hand through her blonde tresses, obviously beating herself up for getting off track. It'd satisfy him more to know she was beating herself up for daring to say those wretched things to him.

"And then there was the honeymoon. I thought something changed. I thought that I…was falling in love with you. And I did," she admitted breathlessly. Something drew her to him and she couldn't resist extending a hand to lightly trace the contour of his jaw. If not for the fact it was removed in a second, he might have held it there.

"Emma—"

Charging past him into the bathroom, she gathered up her toiletries in her arms. Rushing past him again, she dumped them in the suitcase. At least she traveled light.

"I need some time to think. A week, actually," she informed him, zipping up the suitcase.

A week? Was there a reason she couldn't think right here? It wasn't like he was stopping her from using her mind. And why did a woman need a whole week to think and not a couple of hours? Most of his spells never took that much time.

He tentatively licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as cotton in the summer. He leaned heavier on his cane for support.

"You're leaving me." It came out flat and skillfully emotionless. For all the energy he put into it, he could have told her the sky was blue. It was not a question or in any way clouded with doubt—it was a fact.

He'd been through this before and survived; he just never recalled that sore spot in his chest, a void akin to a gruesome wound dealt by a sword piercing him through clean. Just because he couldn't die didn't mean Charming's sword didn't hurt. What did he ever do to the false prince to deserve it?

"I'm not divorcing you, Gold. I just need time," she frantically insisted, lifting the suitcase from the bed. "I'll be at Mary Margaret's. And before you ask, that's not an invitation to come sneaking through my window." His lips pulled into a stubborn pout. _I hope she realizes she'll still be my ice cream waitress. Someone has to fetch me ice cream. _

"That's not what I would have asked, dear. Do you know me at all? I would have asked if that was an invitation to send Mary Margaret a false letter from David Nolan, lure her out of her apartment, take the key from her fake plant which, need I point out, isn't fooling anybody, and invite myself in for a late-night cuddle. With a cup of cocoa and extra cinnamon. Flawless.'

Emma scowled and attempted to squeeze past hm. Maybe if he stood here blocking the doorway, she would eventually give up the fight. Finally, after useless attempts to squirm against his unmoving body, she dropped the suitcase and crossed her arms vehemently, her foot tapping irritatingly on the floorboards.

"Do you mind?" Gold casually exhaled a deep breath, his body firmly in place. It was quite comfortable in this spot. Plus, he always did love the pure, raw frustration on Emma's face when she was mad. So much emotion, so much passion. Beautiful.

"Oh, am I in your way?" Emma spread her hands wide in an obvious gesture.

"Yeah, a little bit," she growled. Oh, she was flustered now. Muscles bunched, nerves frying with fiery impatience, soft lips pursed so delicately and tempting him with the chance to steal a kiss. It was a good thing he'd loosened his tie, due to the thick lump now forming in his throat.

"My apologies." A careless shrug. One second ticked by. Two seconds.

It took her exactly three seconds to understand he had no intention of moving anytime soon. At least not until she surrendered. The chances of Emma doing that were slim to none, but he could stand here all night, still as a wax doll.

A wax doll. Hmm…maybe he could acquire a wax doll of himself and place it in Regina's office on April Fools' Day. The amusement swirled inside him, creating an unimaginable, gleeful thirst as he pictured the mayor being startled by his unsettling presence, belittling and glaring at him without ever truly crossing paths with him. It was brilliant.

A low moan snapped him back to the present. A tired, strained look overshadowed Emma's hard-edged features, her brow knitted together with disdain. Her shoulders seemed to sag with great fatigue, as if she'd been waging a one hundred year long war.

"Please move," she gruffly requested. She was getting good at figuring out which buttons of his to press. Sometimes negotiation proved more effective than violence. Regina never learned that lesson during her trials of magic.

Gold's brown eyes burned deep into hers until he could practically taste her soul. He studied her intently, breathing softly, making her wait. And then he reluctantly stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Judging by her slightly widened eyes, she hadn't expected his cooperation.

And not even a thank-you, either.

"Coward," he muttered over his shoulder.

The patter of Emma's footsteps halted in the hall behind him. There was a thud as the suitcase hit the floor. He couldn't help the smirk threatening to give way as he imagined the offended expression on Emma's face. Surely Emma had been called many things in her twenty-eight years, but he'd bet _coward_ hadn't been one of those.

"Excuse me?" Brittle, yet dangerous.

Revolving around to her, he noticed he was right. But of course he usually was. Having lived four hundred years had made him extremely skilled at reading other people—he'd seen it all before. Spite glimmered in those emerald eyes and he could tell by the sour twist of her mouth that the dreadful word latched onto her precious tongue.

It was his turn to speak now. And she would listen.

"You heard me. You are a coward," he hissed brutally. He ignored the way her jaw dropped in shock, the way her skin paled a shade or two. "You're not angry solely because I drugged you and put the thought of marriage in your little head. No, you're angry because you actually care enough to be insecure. You offered your heart to me, darling. Presented it right in the palm of my hand to do with it what I will and that frightens you. To love something so dearly that you cannot stand to have it slip through your fingers."

Emma's head reeled back sharply, as if he'd physically slapped her across the face. Such actions were beneath him, at least as far as his wife was concerned—he wasn't that much of a monster, even if he did have a nasty temper.

Quick as a rubber band, Emma's strength returned and she was suddenly inches from his face.

"I'm a coward? Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Gold. You're the one who's afraid of losing me. You made me promise to stay because you were afraid I'd leave you. It's the reason you never try to reach out to anyone in Storybrooke. Not because you think you're better than them or because you have more power. You're afraid that they'll still turn away. You're afraid that if you dare to bare your soul, no one will understand."

Gold never flinched, but every word she said seared into his brain. It was Belle all over again. He'd be damned if he made the same mistake twice. Wasn't that why history repeated itself? Second chances and all that jazz?

"We can continue this conversation in the morning, when you're not suffering from raging pregnancy hormones and a broken heart," he suggested, rushing over to bend toward her suitcase. She beat him to the punch and tore it away from his grasp.

"I meant what I said. I need a week to think." So they were back to that plan. His eyes narrowed in response.

"Who do you expect will be there to tell me if my tie matches my suit?" He was reduced to lunging for straws to reason with her. Emma pitifully shook her head. He didn't need her pity. Just…her.

"Invite Archie for a sleepover. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help pick it out," she returned, starting down the stairs. Invite Archie…for a sleepover? Was Emma under the twisted delusion that he was attempting to convert Archie as his best friend? A sleepover was worse than karaoke—the cricket would bother him all night.

"Who do you expect me to snuggle with?" He yelled down the stairs, but the door had already opened and slammed closed. Sitting at the base of the stairs was Goldie, wagging her tail and barking happily up at him. He scoffed. "Forget it. There's no way a man like me is spooning with a dog."

….

_**Good news: I'm thinking of handing you guys a full flashback chapter next time. Should be quite interesting—and I have already started on it. I think someone actually suggested it in a review, too. **_

_**Ah, the second episode was very good, in my opinion. It had plenty of good moments. Like Charming actually admitting that David was weak. Best line: So easy that even David Nolan could do it. I love Gold/Rumpel. He makes the Once Upon a Time world go round. **_

_**Alas, I must thank every one of my lovely reviewers—the number keeps growing, but I appreciate each and every one of you and your support! **_

_**Thanks go out to DaesGatling, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, DamnationOfTheDead, ParanormalMoonlight, brontegirl89, Legolas's Mione0233, TXJ, Immortalis Charitas, littlered620, BlooperLover, mushroomy-kingdom, Tizmine, Fairy Demon26, discotimelord, thedoctorsgirl42, sundancemc, Duffer13, megumisakura, The-Writer2012, KendraLuehr, DragonRose4, dmwg26, MonkeesDoctorWho1987, and russianeyes718ouat7ncis. **_

_**Thank you so much everyone and I hope you enjoy the next episode of Once on Sunday! **_


	37. Chapter 37

_**A/N: Hello, everybody! I present to you that flashback chapter I promised last time. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

_**Three Months Ago…**_

_It never ceased to amaze him how so many pieces of their past world had crossed into Storybrooke. Half of the treasures in the pawnshop still held a trace of the scent of the Enchanted Forest, if one were to examine them closely enough. Thankfully, he didn't experience too many people wandering in to sniff his things. _

_Snow White's glass mobile sparkled as it hovered over a display case, the glass unicorns swaying in a gentle rhythm. Mary Margaret's ring—a token of her _twoo wuv_—rested on her finger each morn, even if she did not recall its significance. The puppets that were once Gepetto's parents were stored away, Charming's sword was locked in a case for future use, Granny's crossbow was hidden under a floorboard of the inn should she ever need a replacement weapon for her shotgun. Even that wretched dagger, the source of his power, had made it here though it was buried deep in the woods. _

_It seemed the only thing missing was his leather pants. _

_The suits were always nice, but he missed the feel of dragon-hide against his skin and the way ladies in a tavern often watched him walk off from behind. Of course, Regina would never have allowed it—she'd be far too jealous. Probably tackle him in the middle of the ice cream parlor and take them for her own. _

_In the dimness of his shop, he hoisted a thin, dust-ridden box from one of the higher shelves and set it on the counter. He winced as a tendril of pain shot up his leg. The lame thing was getting worse every day. Perhaps he should hire a personal masseuse. _

_Fingering the lid delicately, he flipped it open and peered inside at the small vial nestled in the center. His lips curled as he lifted it from its velvet chamber. It was the last decent dose of magic he had in this world. Instinct had told him to save it for a rainy day. _

_A lust potion, capable not of casting love but spurring an intimate, insatiable desire for another. The first person you set eyes on, quite conveniently. He didn't even know if it would have any effect in this world, but what was there to lose by trying? _

_It wasn't working with Emma. _

_It wasn't enough that she owed him a favor for allowing that pathetic wench Cinderella to keep her baby. He needed her on his side and he preferred to accomplish that as soon as possible. If all went well, this lust potion should do the trick—just a few drops in a drink. _

_Cradling it in his palm, his thumb traced the topper that kept the liquid safely sloshing inside. He wasn't going to fool himself by expecting it to be love; only Belle had succeeded in getting close to him. Even Milah—stupid, worthless Milah—had disappointed him. _

_Besides, he knew fairly well that Emma's walls were much too thick to allow love to pass through. No, he would keep his distance, only interact with their dear savior and convince her to be bound by his side long enough to assure her loyalty and trust. It would be a business deal of sorts, an alliance. _

_If the stuff even worked. That would be a miracle, but…desperate times called for desperate measures. _

_Pocketing the vial, all that remained was to wait for an opportune moment to make his move in Emma's direction. Considering Graham's downward spiral and Regina's insistence of keeping her little puppy chained in her backyard, he could tell that moment would not be too far away. _

_It was a good thing the ice cream parlor was in walking distance to his shop; he had a mighty craving to treat himself to a chocolate cone while he waited. _

…_._

Archie had never been late to work. He'd always gotten up early, always set the alarm so that he would have a generous amount of time to dress and walk Pongo. Maybe he shouldn't have had that video game competition with David—he sort of forgot to set the alarm.

He slept in and he was late.

Inside his office, he rushed around in a wild frenzy. Fixing his tie, feeding his crickets, brushing his teeth. The toothbrush was still speeding around in his mouth when a knock resounded at the door. That was odd—Henry wasn't supposed to be here for another hour.

Forgetting the current task at hand, he immediately swung open the door.

"Emma," he gargled behind the mouthful of toothpaste. Toothpaste. Oh, God, he must look ridiculous. Before she could utter a syllable, he slammed the door in her face. He ran over to the wastebasket, spit, and rinsed with water from the cooler next to his desk.

When he opened the door, Emma had her hands planted on her hips. She did not look very pleased.

"Piece of advice, Hopper. If this isn't a good time, you could…I don't know…_say so." _Archie's face reddened with shame. He hadn't meant to be rude. Why was she staring at him so intently? It made him self-conscious. Did he leave toothpaste around his mouth?

"Are you here to talk about something?" Emma rolled her eyes. He supposed it was a stupid question. What else would the Sheriff be here for? An invitation for the baby shower? To arrest him?

Oh, no.

Did she have a camera watching the intersection where Gold convinced him to speed through the red light on the way to their guys' night out? He knew he shouldn't have done it, but there were no other cars and Gold told him to do it…Gold made him do it…

He started hyperventilating. He couldn't handle jail. Only bad people went to jail. Bad things happened to people in jail. Even in the station…Leroy's karaoke could either heal you of a hangover or give you a concussion. And what if you had to go to the bathroom? It was frightening.

"Depends," Emma replied skeptically. "Are you going to slam the door in my face again?"

So…she was here to talk. He wasn't going to jail.

Archie sighed with tremendous relief and edged the door wide open for her. She passed him and he caught the scent of cinnamon that radiated around her. Maybe she was here to get more help with her fear—uh, hatred—of thunderstorms.

Without his consent, Emma took a seat on the black couch. She swiped one of the peppermint candies that he kept in a crystal bowl and popped one in her mouth, crinkling the wrapper in her palm. Henry liked those, too. Like mother, like…son.

After calming his nerves—and checking the mirror for toothpaste—he settled into his favorite chair.

"Right, so…what would you like to talk about?"

Emma held the peppermint on her tongue and the couch moaned as she leaned forward. From here, she looked anxious and bothered. Did she get into another fistfight with Regina? He always advised that the fighting would only hurt Henry…but he was placing all bets on Emma.

"How's the baby?" Emma instinctively placed a protective hand over her swelled abdomen.

"The baby's fine. I need help." Straight to the point, then. Usually it took a few sessions to get through to a patient. He was still trying—and failing—with Henry.

"That's more or less why people see a psychiatrist," he joked. It fell flat; Emma gave no sign of a smile, let alone humor. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to be serious. "Mary Margaret already convinced me to sign up for the Friendly Neighborhood Babysitting Committee. If you're interested."

Emma shook her head negatively and he couldn't help noticing how the strands of morning sunlight accentuated her golden hair. It reminded him of that of a princess.

"This isn't about babysitting, although Mary Margaret's practically going door-to-door twisting everyone's arm about it. I need your help to regain some memories."

Archie was sure he'd heard her wrong. _Mary Margaret _was going _door to door_ twisting people's arms about _babysitting? _She was going to be a remarkable godmother. Oh, and there was the part about hypnosis. What memories could Emma be desperate to retrieve?

"Why?" It was the only word he was capable of choking out. In a split second, Emma's face became grave, her hands bone-white as she clasped them between her knees. She spat out the mint into the wrapper and lobbed it at the wastebasket. Score.

"I want to remember the night I married Gold. I need to remember if he took advantage of me…after he drugged me." Something told him he was going to have to cancel Henry's session.

…

It was half past eight at night. The diner was abnormally quiet, vacant except for the occasional booth of people keen on eating a late dinner. The blinds were closed to the outside world, only thin slats of milky streetlights illuminating the tabletops.

Emma Swan slumped on her bar stool, miserably nursing her first alcoholic drink of the night. And, oh, how badly she needed its numbing effects on the mind. Green eyes swollen with fatigue, the whites of turning a puffy red. Her hands were frozen, cold as ice as they curled around her glass. The bump on her forehead still ached from Regina's unexpected punch.

Every nerve in her body seemed dull, unable to transmit even a spark of emotion. All she could think about was Graham dying in her arms and the clinical expression on Dr. Whale's face as he informed her there was nothing they could do to revive him.

Graham was gone. To think he would never throw another dart at her head ever again. Somehow, that just made her sadder.

Emma tipped her glass back and emptied the rest of the alcohol into her system. That was all she needed. Just one.

Sinking her blonde head into her hands, she closed her sore eyes and wished this was a horrible nightmare. Regina was the Queen of Hearts and she was Alice in Wonderland and she'd fallen down a rabbit hole and soon she would wake up…

"Someone seems to be stuck in the doldrums tonight," a rich voice caught her attention. Not bothering to hide her distaste, she groaned. Gold.

Was the universe working against her tonight? Her patience with the pawnbroker was normally thin to begin with—right now, it was practically nonexistent. _Okay, count slowly to ten, Emma,_ she mentally reasoned. _Remember those breathing exercises Archie taught you. And then, if he's still there, then you can take this glass and—_

"What the hell do you want?" She was aware that she sounded as enthusiastic as a chicken that just got run over from trying to cross the road. If Gold were as smart as she believed him to be—not that she was complimenting him—he'd leave her alone.

Apparently, he wasn't so smart. Instead of turning around and limping out of here, he made a mocking tsk-tsk sound with his tongue and claimed the seat beside her.

"Manners, Emma," he chastised in a light, sing-song fashion. Was he ridiculing her? "Something bothering you, dear?"

Emma's hair hung like a curtain around her face, blocking him from view. Where was Ruby when you needed her? Wasn't she supposed to get rid of unwanted customers? Maybe Granny should hire a bouncer.

To her displeasure, Gold stripped off the black gloves he was wearing and, reaching out, he brushed her hair back from her jaw and tucked the strands behind her ear. His fingers caressed her skin and it sent a shiver down her spine. It also earned him her undivided attention and a slap to the hand.

"That seat's taken," Emma huffed, meeting his gaze for the first time. There was always something about the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes that threatened to draw her in, like a formidable whirlpool sucking the floor from beneath her feet. She wasn't aware that she was leaning forward until she could feel his warm breath on her skin.

The spell broke as Gold made a sarcastic 'O' with his mouth.

"Is that so? It troubles me to inform you…there's a good chance you've been stood up." Gold rested his arms on the bar and leaned toward her, his elegant cologne wafting around her body. Slowly, his lips curled into an impish grin. "Technically, this seat belongs to me. I own this town. I own this diner. I own this seat. I have half a mind to charge you for that stool which your attractive little behind is currently occupying."

Did she hear him wrong? Or did he just point out that she had a cute ass?

She didn't know what bothered her more—the fact that Gold had obviously done some checking out in her presence or the fact that Ruby was red-faced and crying…no, _laughing _into a dishtowel. Great; with her luck the Daily Mirror would be advertising her assets on the front page. _I can see it now,_ she thought bitterly. _Feeling lonely? Call the Deputy._

"If you're here to call in that favor, just do it and get it over with so I can go back to sulking," she moaned. Gold's grin intensified and a thick knot formed in her belly. Oh, no…what if his favor was something downright repulsive? Or even illegal? She'd never considered what he might have in store for her.

"So eager, aren't we?"

Emma felt all the color drain from her cheeks. No way would Gold do something raunchy with his favor in public, would he? No way he'd risk ruining his reputation. A bead of sweat dripped from the base of her hair, granting a low chuckle from Gold. He clasped her elbow and his touch seared her to the bone.

"Relax, dear. The time for my favor has not yet presented itself. Is it so strange for a man like me to wander down to his local diner to nurse a drink before turning into bed?" Emma touched a finger to her lips, feigning thought.

"Yes, it is. You're never the type to do something without a reason, Gold. Everything comes with a price with you," she retorted, scooting away. Maybe if she changed spots, he would get the hint and wouldn't follow her. It was wishful thinking, spurred on by the alcohol.

Why did she always have to attract the creepy ones? Was it so much to ask that she reel in a considerate, normal human being like…like…Graham?

"You know me so well, Emma," Gold appraised her with a whisper, defiantly keeping her on the stool with his grip still weighing on the crook of her elbow. The old man was stronger than he looked. It was almost like fighting through steel. "I suggest you settle down. Just because I have a lame leg doesn't mean I'm not capable of playing musical chairs."

Emma grumbled, but resigned to sinking back onto the stool. Gritting her teeth, she peeled off Gold's fingers from her arm. She wouldn't be surprised if there were bruises there tomorrow. In a flash of blinding red, Ruby strode over to take Gold's order. Emma could swear her lips were still trembling with hidden laughter.

"I'll have what she's having," Gold pointed to Emma, who was content with burying her head in her hands.

There was a clink of glass and Ruby's heels clicked across the floor as she strutted off, purposefully leaving the two of them alone. Emma glanced up to see that Ruby had served her another drink. As if she needed one. Oh, well. Emma was capable of holding three, after all.

"Lovely couple, aren't they?"

Emma followed the direction of Gold's gaze to a booth in the corner. Seated there were David and Kathryn Nolan, enjoying a dinner together. Their hands were awkwardly clasped, as if the two of them knew how strenuous their relationship had become after David woke from his coma, but were still trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. If she could read minds, she was pretty sure David's thoughts were screaming Mary Margaret Blanchard.

And yet…Emma felt a pang of longing in her chest. Never had she been even remotely close to someone before, not even when it came to Henry's father. It was the one thing she wanted, and the one thing she wasn't sure she'd ever trust herself to have.

"Yeah, real romantic," she spouted, turning back to her drink. Why was Gold watching her so intently? It was creeping her out more than usual. The sharp click of Ruby's heels returned as the waitress set Gold's drink in front of him with an unfriendly frown. Just because they were paying rent to the man didn't mean they had to praise him with sunshine.

"Thank you, dear," Gold nodded to her, but Ruby was already spinning on her heel. Emma didn't miss the look of warning in the waitress' sultry eyes. She cast it off; she was a big girl. She could handle herself fairly well when it came to shady men like Gold. Gold, who was now smirking at her and raising his glass. "A toast to the late Sheriff Graham."

Emma started to lift her glass, only to balk at the pawnbroker.

"How is it that you know everything?" She studied his face, but could not detect a shred of a clue beyond the cunning and turning of the wheels that reflected in his deep eyes. If Sidney ever put Gold in charge of Storybrooke's gossip column, the residents of this town would be screwed.

"I have my ways, Emma," he drawled. "A great magician never reveals his secrets." Right. So Gold was a magician now. Maybe he was the one fueling Henry's theories along recently.

Gold brought his glass closer to her, gesturing for that toast. Sighing, Emma didn't see much harm in paying respects to Graham. Despite his tie to Regina, she sensed Storybrooke just lost a good man.

Their glasses clinked, sending a sharp trill through the diner. She could feel the weight of Gold's stare as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a long swallow, the alcohol burning its way down her throat. She didn't know if Gold ever took a sip of his drink, and she didn't care. She'd be better off not carting him into the station tonight.

"Seriously, why are you here?" Emma inclined her head, which felt a tad bit woozy. It was the sensation that often came during a cold; full sinuses, a cloudy head that made walking feel like trudging through water. Was she coming down with something?

As she forced herself to focus on Gold, everything in the diner seemed to melt into the background. The soft chatter faded to nothing, Ruby's heels ceased clicking until it was barely a whisper on the wind. She began to notice small details that originally escaped her; the way Gold's eyes surveyed her and roved over her skin pleasurably, the fact that his white dress shirt was not buttoned all the way, exposing some of his smooth skin underneath, the presence of his hand resting so closely on the bar though it did not brush over hers.

Even more crazy was the notion that she wanted it to. Longed for it, like a thirst that refused to be quelled. She recalled the way his fingers had caressed her hair back from her face and lingered a second longer than they should have.

God, she must be drunk. Did drunk people know they were drunk? If you were thinking you were drunk, did it mean you were still somewhat sober?

And now his lips were parting to answer her question, which she'd all but forgotten. Briefly, she wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone like Gold, even as his tongue darted out across the top of his lip. She shook her head vehemently; what was wrong with her tonight? Graham must have messed her up worse than she thought.

"How would you feel about an alliance…with me? Let's say a sort of union between us." Emma took another generous sip of her drink. Maybe if she drank enough, there wouldn't be any room for any thought whatsoever.

"You mean like marriage?"

Marriage. That sounded like a good word to use. Alliance and marriage could go hand in hand in Gold's world, couldn't they? Her eyes strayed back to David and Kathryn, who were paying their bill and gathering their belongings. David and Kathryn were married and they seemed to be working things out. Marriage. Hmm.

Gold cleared his throat and she suddenly strained her ears to catch every syllable of his silky Scottish accent. She liked men with accents. Graham had an accent, except Graham wasn't here anymore. Gold was.

"Well, my insinuation was not so blunt. And I doubt marriage would be in your best interest," he responded all too calmly. Emma's attention snapped back to him. Was he implying that she would be a bad wife? Or that she couldn't handle marriage? Sitting back on her stool, she glared at him.

"Are you saying you wouldn't marry me?" He waved his hand impatiently, casting the idea off as silly. Ridiculous. Unimaginable.

"Marriage is tricky, Emma. I'm not sure you can handle it." There it was. Straight from the horse's mouth.

Anger flushed her cheeks—or maybe that was a result of her noticing how perfect and in place Gold's hair always seemed to be. From here, it looked so soft and inviting…she curled her fingers into her palms as she imagined running her fingers through the strands. A warm blush rose to her cheeks.

"Oh, really? You know, I am twenty-eight years old, I've had a kid, but I've never once been married. In this town, I probably never will be." Emma gazed around the diner and emotionlessly surveyed the handful of patrons. A decent chance of love in this town—especially after what just happened to Graham—was slim to none.

"Oh, Emma. If you want something badly enough, all you have to do is take it," Gold advised as he lifted his glass to his lips. He removed a fine black handkerchief and dabbed the extra moisture from his mouth. "Why wait another day of age?"

The thoughts in her head were jumbled, spinning endlessly. Spinning like a never-ending wheel. Why wait? Marriage….would it be so bad? Gold claimed she couldn't handle it, but that was a lie. This would be her chance to prove him wrong about something, to see that devilish smirk fall from his face.

"Okay," she ultimately decided. "I will."

Gold nearly choked on his drink. Did he really not believe she would take him up for the challenge? Did he believe she would not be interested? As far as she was concerned, he was the most interesting person in this diner at the moment. How had she never noticed his charisma? Or maybe that was the drink talking; it was hard to tell, anymore.

"Will what?" Emma rolled her eyes. As if he didn't know. Gold knew everything, right?

"Well, who else do you expect me to marry? Leroy?"

Now, that was a funny idea. Just imagine her announcing to Mary Margaret that she was planning on marrying Leroy, the town drunk. They could spend their lunchtime together, eating sandwiches and sharing a bottle of wine. Granted, Leroy would be separated from her by bars…Yeah, she could hear the divorce papers being signed now.

"Let me get this straight, dear," Gold said as he pointed a steady finger at her. Emma longed to reach out and make contact with his hand, but instead fought the urge by folding her arms on the bar. If he noticed her struggle, he never mentioned it. "You are in agreement with the notion of marriage…to me?"

The smile curved across the corners of her lips before Gold was even finished posing the question. Leaning forward, she watched as his eyes gleamed in the yellow light of the diner, watching her every move like a hungry vulture.

"I'll put it in words you can understand, Gold. Deal." And she took another sip of her drink.

…

With one arm around her waist, Gold led his new bride up the walkway toward the oddly pink house that they would now be sharing. Emma's eyes were still unfocused, glazed by the alcohol and the special ingredient he'd added to the mixture. He liked the way her head had settled on his shoulder. It had been a long time since he'd been a married man.

What kind of hell would he be in tomorrow when she awoke in a bed not her own? Thrown vases and swinging knives, no doubt. Perhaps he should hide the knives, just in case.

Emma moaned into his ear as he unlocked the door and he squeezed her tighter against him.

"It's good to be home," she whispered, her words a tad bit slurred. Right. Home. Such an optimistic outlook. He smirked as he flung open the door and guided her across the threshold. Most men would have carried her, but then again most men weren't sporting a cane.

"I would offer you a grand tour, dear, but something tells me you won't remember it tomorrow morning." He'd be lucky if she didn't remember what he'd just done, either. It'd certainly save him from paying those expensive hospital bills.

Setting his cane by the door, he noticed that Emma was wide-eyed, observing the house with immense wonder. His gaze traveled to the clutter in the living room. Maybe he should have cleaned up a bit.

"Your estate is enormous. Regina must be jealous." A low snicker rose from his throat; Emma was oblivious to it. Yes, Regina was quite jealous of his rather large estate. Except for the fact that she nearly died of laughter over his pink house every time she passed it. Which was more than he thought possible.

Why did everyone call it pink? Any sane, reasonable person could tell it was salmon.

"I think we ought to get you to bed," he suggested, ambling over to wrap his arm around Emma once more. Those stairs would be like climbing Mount Olympus. Forget a proper security system for his shop; he needed an elevator.

Instead of following his lead, Emma shifted in his embrace until her body was firmly pressed against his, her arms entwined around his neck. This was the closest she had ever been to him before. It stirred something deep inside him, something he'd been certain had died with Belle. A wicked smile painted her lips, the scent of cinnamon left on her breath.

"That sounds like a good idea. It is our wedding night, right?" Wait. She thought he meant…? Oh, that lust concoction must have been a larger dose than he intended. It certainly put a nice pink blush in Emma's cheeks, even as her fingers traced the length of his tie.

It should have worn off by now, though. Did he perhaps put a little too much? It was hard to miss the way she had been mentally undressing him in the diner. And now Emma was urging his head down to meet hers, begging him for a kiss. The way the heat was scorching his body, he wasn't overly confident that he was inclined to neglect her request.

"Emma," he gasped, placing his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to drive her backward. Stubbornly, she held on, her arms locked in a death grip around his neck. She was like a child, demanding to be satisfied. Sighing, he let her hold onto him, her fingers snaking across his shoulder blades. "You're not in your right mind."

"Are you saying you don't want me? Then why did you marry me?" Her lips were inches away, tempting him. As though with a life of its own, his hand slid along the small of her back, holding her against him. She couldn't escape if she wanted to.

The moment her lips brushed the curve of his own, he lost it. Any rational control he had was tossed to the winds as he crushed her against him and kissed her full-force on the lips. Hard. His hands roamed to her hips, up to the hem of her shirt.

Oh, he wanted her so much; it was like a thick, unbearable black fire licking at his bones—

No.

Something inside him pulled back, splashing logic as frigid as ice-water over his brain. There were many vile, monstrous things he'd done in the past centuries, but taking immoral advantage of a young woman was never one of them.

If he was going to take her for his own, stake his claim, he wanted her to be completely willing. Lust concoctions, no matter the favorable loophole, didn't count.

Reluctantly, he stopped kissing her and started retreating. This night was not the proper night to drown in Emma. With lips still swollen from the strength of their kiss, Emma stared at him in bewilderment.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me that was your first kiss?"

Oh, wasn't she simply amusing in this state of mind? Worth a laugh, wasn't she? Besides, his first kiss was nowhere near that intimate or exciting. He'd been accidentally locked in a barn with a village girl for seven whole minutes, enough time for her to decide to tackle him into the hay and kiss him. In this world, that kind of thing was done at parties for fun.

"You'll regret it in the morning," he insisted tiredly. And he'd be rudely awakened with a suspicious cane-shaped object to the head. No need to be sporting another head wound from an overly emotional woman. "I'm only considering your best interests."

Emma's confusion melted into enticement. Why was she smiling so seductively? Was she trying to work her charms on him? She must have earned that from her mother. Charming was absolutely charmless.

Maybe it wasn't exactly encouraging to be thinking of his potential in-laws while Emma looked ready to pounce on him.

"I can decide my own best interests," she retorted defiantly. As he watched, halted in shock, she lifted her shirt up and off, flinging it somewhere on the floor. Underneath was a lacy red bra and he tried not to admire her exposed flesh that was now prickling with goose-bumps. Trying…and failing. "Like what you see?"

Oh, gods, the heat was intensifying between his legs. His stomach coiled with want. Ferociously, he bit down on his tongue until he could taste the coppery-metallic residue of blood.

"I've seen better," he mumbled. It sounded unconvincing even to his ears. The way Emma's eyebrows rose suggested she knew it, too. The corners of her lips tightened as she revealed that she was wearing panties that matched that lacy bra.

Kicking the discarded jeans to the side, she sauntered to him, once more wrapping her arms around his neck. Staring up into the depths of his brown eyes as if he were her personal Prince Charming. Not even his first wife looked at him that way.

"Do you still not want me?" It was a thin whisper, grazing his jaw, delicate as butterfly's wings. All the while, his mind was paralyzed with the situation at hand.

Emma was half-naked. Half-naked and lounging in his arms. His for the taking, practically begging for it. It was their wedding night, after all. Maybe Emma wouldn't remember…

Oh, he was going to regret this.

Swiftly, he bent and scooped her up into his arms. She gave a little gasp and he smirked. The injury of his leg was an illusion to most; he was stronger than he looked. Didn't mean it wouldn't be sore in the morning, but at the moment he didn't really care. Perhaps Regina would hear of their jovial union and interpret his limp differently.

One by one, he climbed the steps to the second floor, Emma's lips brushing the skin of his neck. Tiny little kisses, warmed by her breath. By now, it was almost painful to walk and not because he was carrying such a generous load. Oh, no—far from it.

He brought her to his bedroom, pausing at the edge of the black silk-sheeted master bed. The place where all the magic happened.

And then he dumped her flat on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Immediately, she sat upright in the middle of the bed when she realized he wouldn't be joining her between the sheets. Instead, he focused on gathering his pillow and an extra blanket from the closet.

"As I told you, darling. You should get some sleep." He limped toward the hall, fighting not to glance over at her and be caught under that inevitable spell. His walls could only block out so much, just as her lovely voice made him stop on the threshold.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was fading, becoming more slurred than before. He guessed it wouldn't be long before she collapsed into a deep sleep, her memories of tonight blackened and allowing her to revert to her usual self. Too bad. This could have been a fun wedding night.

"To sleep on the couch." With any luck, the intense throbbing would reside within the hour. He doubted it. "Sweet dreams, Emma." He gazed back once to meet her green eyes in the darkness, but she was already buried in the bed, asleep.

…..

For the first time in a long time, Gold was able to complete his suit with a genuine smile that morning. Ruby certainly seemed surprised to hear him thank her extra enthusiastically for the coffee, even if she might have spiked or otherwise defiled it. Maybe now she'd feel guilty.

Everything was great between him and Emma—honestly, he woke up feeling like the happiest man in Storybrooke and expressed it as much every time he kissed Emma's vastly growing belly. There were hardly any problems in Storybrooke at the moment besides Regina's daily scheduled rage-fest, otherwise known as town meetings.

Even better: they had an ultrasound planned for today. It sent a thrill through his bones as he finished taking early inventory in his shop for the day—pretty soon, he'd be watching his little one squirming around on a screen, nestled comfortably in Emma's belly. Their little one. He already sensed that it would be a girl; Morraine, as they agreed.

Instinctively, and for the umpteenth time, he checked the time. Cursing under his breath, he stowed the dusty rag under the register and gathered up his cane. If he didn't get going, he would be late to the appointment. Emma would never let him live it down. No doubt he'd be massaging her swollen feet for a week without just rewards in his favor.

And that was precisely when the bell over the shop's entrance jingled.

Fingers curling over the silver head of his cane, he gritted his teeth in utmost annoyance. Why was it that these fools decided to come to him only when it was most inconvenient? Did they have radar for the best times to bother him?

"Disregard the fact that your presence is causing me to be late for an appointment. What ever can I help you with?" Slowly, he turned around, expecting to see one of the hazy-brained citizens of Storybrooke shaking in their boots under his ferocious displeasure.

Oh, how wrong he was. Where was this so-called end of the world when he needed it?

It was Regina, his absolute least favorite customer. He'd rather listen to David Nolan chirp about his plans with Mary Margaret, including but not limited to the secret picnic that he was planning to spring on her, wine and all. Too bad Gold "accidentally" slipped it to Ruby.

"Sorry to make you late for that appointment," the mayor remarked with the most sinister of smirks. Yeah, right, she was sorry. As sorry as someone who purposefully sped up as the chicken crossed the road. "I hope it wasn't important."

Forcing a grin, he resolved to resting his hands flat on the counter in an attempt to restrain himself from strangling her throat or chucking her straight out of his shop. At this rate, he might as well burn that Closed sign, for all the good it did him.

"Of course not. It just happened to be an ultrasound for my unborn child," he spat at her, his voice dripping with acid. Regina grinned coldly as she drifted to one of the display cases. Oh, she was getting her grubby fingerprints all over the glass.

"Congratulations," she hissed. Coming from anyone else, it would be a token of warmth and sincerity. Coming from the Queen, it sounded more like an unwanted curse to have a mini-Gold running around her town. He might as well have just told her he was dying of cancer, except she would be doing the opposite with that news; she'd be jumping for joy. Hell, she'd start a parade in the middle of the street.

"Why are you here? Come to complain that you've not received an invitation to the baby shower?" Regina's lip curled in a vicious sneer as she spun on her heel. Gods, he immensely enjoyed getting her all riled up. It was so much fun to see her squirm.

"Actually, I'm here to tell you that I've found something quite interesting about you. Or, rather, Sidney has," she taunted. Dangling a piece of meat on a silver hook. Well, he wasn't biting just yet. Given her smugness, he figured he didn't have to. Her impulsiveness and eagerness to win one over on him made her quite predictable.

"Alright, I confess. There is an Emma shrine in my basement. I've even begun crafting an ice sculpture of her." Regina's eyes boggled and she lurched forward in surprise. There was an audible snap as her heel broke. He was forced to clear his throat to keep from bursting out in cruel laughter. Oh, and that was her favorite pair, too. Whoops.

"Seriously?" He rolled his eyes.

"No."

Regina stared hard at him, as if trying to figure out whether he was lying. Judging by the crinkling of her nose, she was beginning to fume in anger. That was always the cherry on top, wasn't it? Fumbling around in her little black suit, Regina pulled out a thin manila envelope. He gazed down at it in her hands as if he could somehow catch a glimpse of the contents.

"Ah, you've received my fan mail by accident again?" Regina's smile faltered for a brief second. It returned as quickly as lightning while she slipped a fingernail under the fold of the envelope and drew it open. He hoped she got a paper-cut. Dark gaze never falling from his face, she dramatically waved her fingers before reaching inside. "Shall I start the drumroll?"

Regina ignored his quips, lifting a piece of paper from the envelope. Perhaps it was a bit of fan-mail after all, except for the fact that it was miserably blank. Peering closer, he noticed the shop's lighting shining off the paper, glossy and smooth. It was a photo.

"This is a very revealing shot of you, Gold," she mocked. Though he tried to disguise his oncoming anxiety, a cold bead of sweat trickled over his eyebrow. Was it from that pathetic guys' night out? Or a false memory of his college days? From what he could falsely remember, he was quite wild.

Ever so swiftly, Regina flicked the photo around for him to see. It was…oh, gods, it was…

It was Ruby.

He stood stunned for what felt like a year as he scrutinized the young waitress in the photo. Oh, yes, she was absolutely right. This was a very revealing photo of him indeed. He almost giggled at the sheer ridiculousness and relief that swept through his chest.

"Ah, yes. Who knew I wore red shorts so provocatively?" That was the purpose of her visit? To shove a picture of Ruby in his face and claim it had something to do with him? No one would buy that. The smile was creasing along his lips, too forceful to resist. "Or is this perhaps your new bestie?"

Regina flashed him an impatient glare, which only made him want to giggle even harder. Ruby and Regina as friends, now that was worth a laugh. He supposed they'd be painting each other's toenails and curling their hair and gossiping about which guys in Storybrooke had the most attractive build. Perhaps they'd even go on a double date—if anyone ever agreed to be Regina's little pet.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing. I suggest you take a closer look." Before he could stop her, Regina's hand whipped out to grab the magnifying glass that rested on the display case. She held it up to a corner of the photo, instantly making one small section clearer. The glee died from his face, the knuckles of his hand turning white as it gripped his cane.

Oh, this was so much worse than college days.

"Not so enthusiastic now, are we?" Regina sent the magnifying glass clattering to the counter, but the image was already burned into his mind. The image of him pouring that lust ingredient into Emma's drink on the night of Graham's death. The night they were wed. Damn.

Regina's icy laughter rose from her throat and she swung the photo back and forth, his brown eyes following it like a treat to be won. Was she going to make him beg for it?

"What would your dear, precious swan think if she laid eyes on this photo?" What would Emma think? Well, he was sure she'd be the type to throw a hairdryer at his head. Oh, how he wanted to wipe that victorious smirk off the Queen's face. He didn't know why she was so confident—she hadn't truly won yet.

"Give me that photo…please," he requested, extending his hand for it.

This was it; he'd won over her yet again. Regina should have been outright cursing as she complied to his command. She had no choice, after all. Which was why it confused him that she was still standing in the same spot, ignoring it. She never made a move to obey.

"I don't think I will," she retorted, sliding her lacquered fingernails along the edge of the photo. He tilted his head in warning to her, his eyes narrowing. When had she ever bucked up the courage to say no to him about their little deals? His eyes strayed to the ugly, gruesome puppets resting on the display case behind her. Perhaps when he obtained magic again, he'd transform her into Malibu Barbie.

"Excuse me?"

Regina strode up to the display case, leaning harshly over it until their faces were inches apart. He tried to reach out and rip the photo from her grip, but she switched it to her other hand. Now they were playing a game? Cat and mouse?

"You're always one for technicalities, aren't you? There's always a loophole."

Muscles growing rigid, he was unable to break her gaze. No way. There was absolutely no possibility that she'd found a loophole in one of his contracts. Who the hell did she think she was—the miller's daughter? Regina grinned, her red lips curling over her pearly-white teeth.

"Let's see…what was it you said when we made that deal? Oh, right. Should I come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request."

He was so glad she could demonstrate that she had a good memory. Except now his words were mocking him, his mind picking out the very loophole she'd discovered. Should I come to you for any reason….but this time it was not he who went to Regina. She had come crawling to him and that changed things. His please was null and void.

Oh, she was definitely becoming Malibu Barbie…without the Mercedes and indoor swimming pool.

"What do you want?" The words were choked out through his clenched teeth. He hated it when the tables turned so unexpectedly. Still clutching that awful photo, Regina tried pacing in front of the display case. Well, she managed to limp with her broken heel; up, down, up, down, up, down.

"All I ask is that you help me with my Snow White and Charming problem. The two of them keep kissing in the middle of the street and blocking traffic," she declared. There was more than what she was currently saying. He waited for it, counting down with his fingers behind his back. Three, two, one…"I want to get rid of Kathryn Nolan. I want Mary Margaret to take the blame and I want her to suffer as she rightly deserves."

Ah, so there it was. Revenge for a twelve year old's betrayal. In his mind, he mulled over her pathetic scrap of a plan. Regina was blissfully unaware of it, but she'd just handed him the opportunity to take revenge on her for this little act of control she was pulling over him. Handed it to him on a silver platter with a glorious, sparkling bow.

"It's about time you came up with a plan of your own, flawed as it may be. Still, if something tragic were to happen to Kathryn Nolan, you could pin it on Mary Margaret quite efficiently. Set her up," he explained as he circled the counter to stand before the Mayor. Look at that—they were about the same height now.

Gods, she was a foolish woman, smiling like the village idiot.

"Exactly. So, it's a deal." He held up a hand to stop her abruptly.

"Not just yet. First, I want my charges dropped from that…sticky situation with Moe French," he said. Regina's lips twisted in an unhappy pout.

"This is not up for debate. I'm the one setting the terms of this deal, not you." Yes, that's what she liked to believe. Always the headstrong mayor. What was the old saying? You could lead a cow to water? Carelessly, he shrugged.

"Then I suppose it's your loss, Madame Mayor. It'll be a tad bit difficult to frame Mary Margaret and stick her in a jail cell while I myself am otherwise imprisoned. I don't think the judge will approve of her lawyer sharing the cell opposite hers."

The thought seemed to occur to her even as he pointed it out. What did she expect him to do? Argue Mary Margaret's case behind bars? Obtain a key and sneak out at midnight to put everything in order, then sneak back in before Emma noticed he was gone?

"Fine. Do we have a deal?" Regina extended her hand, but he sneered at it. She really was horrible with blackmail.

"Sorry, dearie. I'm a bit of a germaphobe today," he said. Just for show, he broke out the little vial of hand sanitizer he kept in one of the pockets of his suit and rubbed some on his palms. "Mm…vanilla. Care to smell?" He thrust his hand toward her, just to convince her to leave his shop all the more quickly.

Scrunching her nose, Regina slapped his hand away and took an uneven step backwards. There'd be no strutting in those heels.

"Ugh! Who knows where your slimy hands have been!" He folded his vanilla-scented hands atop his cane and smirked.

"Emma does." That made Regina balk even more. If he was lucky, she'd have a most unwanted mental image stuck in her head for the rest of the day. Throwing her hands in the air in frustration, she tossed the manila envelope and photo on the display case and stormed out. He hoped she enjoyed limping back to her office.

Stepping forward, he swiped the photo off the display case and tucked it back into its envelope. Sweeping through the back room, he hobbled over to his desk and placed it in the first drawer. He'd deal with it later.

Perhaps he'd send it to August and make him paranoid that Ruby was tantalizing him all the more. He'd kick back with some of Granny's iced tea and watch Stubble jump into a dumpster each time Ruby crossed paths with him. It would certainly solve that disgusting cologne problem of his. Who did he think he was impressing?

Glancing back up at the clock, his stomach plummeted like a roller coaster. He was late for a very important date.

…_._

_So what will Gold do to try and win Emma over? You'll have to wait and find out! As always, I am completely amazed and grateful for all the reviews that this story has received! By the way, how did you all enjoy the latest episode of Once (those of you who were able to watch)? _

_Also, I'd like to make a little announcement. Think of it more as an advertisement. For those of you who enjoy reading the Abridged series, word is that it shall return a week from today (unless otherwise changed by the author DaesGatling). There are also sneak peeks and trailers for the previous Season 2 episodes that I highly recommend. End of advertisement. _

_I have so many reviewers to thank this time. Cheers to DeasGatling, olverabonk, Twyla Mercedes, russianeyes715ouat7ncis, ekletik, dirty-icing, madmonkeyqueen, KendraLuehr, Outlaw Jessie James, SweetAngelz18, Tizmine, Fairy Demon26, discotimelord, brontegirl89, thedoctorsgirl42, Guest, The-Writer2012, megumisakura, BlooperLover, DragonRose4, ImmortalisCharitas, and Duffer13. _

_Until next week, guys!_


	38. Chapter 38

_**A/N: Ha! I have managed to update this chapter before this Sunday's episode! I feel quite pleased with that, especially since this chapter took a lot of editing and changing. But I hope everyone likes it, anyway. Once again, I know (and truly hope) you lovely readers do not really mind the long chapters, either. **_

_**This chapter was pretty fun to write, though. You'll see why. **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Eight**_

_Forget what the drunks tell you. Hypnosis is ten times worse than any hangover. _

Emma trudged into Mary Margaret's apartment with the odd sensation that her brain had just been scrambled with tongs like a tossed salad. A headache pounded inside her head and all she wanted to do was do a face-plant into bed.

Except for the fact that it was impossible to reach the bedroom.

Baby stuff crowded the main room—baby clothes, a pink bassinet, even a crib in the corner. It was missing a baby mobile, but everything else was in check. Emma glanced back at the door. She had been distracted on the walk home, but she had been pretty sure this was Mary Margaret's apartment.

"Oh, hi, Emma," Mary Margaret cheerfully greeted as she emerged from her room with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. Emma gaped at the pile and then gestured to the Babies R' Us that used to be Mary Margaret's apartment.

"Mary, since when is your apartment designed like a nursery?"

Mary Margaret blushed furiously as she deposited the baby clothing on the table. Emma closed the apartment door only to find a dollhouse behind it. It even had a little baby and a dog. _Hm. I never had a dollhouse when I was jumping between foster homes. _

"You told me you thought your baby might be a girl. I was so happy for you. And then I went into town and…I guess I just got a little carried away," she said. Emma tossed her a skeptical look that read _no, really? _"Well, there were so many adorable clothes! Like this little bib that has _My Mom is the World's Best Sheriff _stitched on it. That was custom-made. Oh, and I got one for Gold. Look, see? It says _I'm So Cute, I Must Be Scottish! _"

Emma wrestled through the swarm of baby toys, trying relentlessly to reach the bedroom. She wondered how much caffeine Mary Margaret had that morning. She sounded a tad bit….enthusiastic.

"And then, I needed a new pair of flats. I just happened to wander into the baby aisle and have you seen how tiny those shoes are?" Mary Margaret held up a pair of sneakers that were the size of her palm.

Emma gave up and collapsed into a chair. Sometimes, talking to Mary Margaret was downright exhausting. How could someone be that happy? Was she like that with Gold? No wonder Mary Margaret stopped coming by the station for lunch.

"Do you have any money left over for…I don't know…rent?" The tiny shoes were dropped onto the table. Mary Margaret's face crumbled. _I'll take that as a no. I wonder if Gold would really evict his apparent mother-in-law. _

"Do you think he would be forgiving if I offer him this baby stuff as an early baby shower gift?" Emma gave her a dubious look. _Doubtful. He'll probably threaten to evict and take the stuff anyway. _Her grimness only increased the worry on her roommate's face. "Well…I'll just bring it all back. But I'm still giving you the bibs."

"While you were going on a shopping spree, I was in therapy," Emma announced miserably. Mary Margaret glanced up from stuffing a birthday bag full of baby clothes, her brow furrowing.

"Are you still seeing Archie for your hatred of thunderstorms? I thought you said you quit when Leroy dumped water all over you." Emma sighed and rose to her feet. What she needed was a hot shower to work out the kinks in her muscles. God, her feet were swollen and there was no one to rub them for her.

"I did. This time he put me under hypnosis and I learned that my dear devoted husband did not take advantage of me on our wedding night." The crinkling of the bag stopped as Mary Margaret paused in what she was doing. She was staring at Emma as if she'd just revealed she was an alien from Mars.

"That's…good, isn't it? It proves he respects you. That must have been quite a memorable wedding night," she said humbly. "What did you two do? Pull an all-nighter and play intoxicated Scrabble?"

Emma tried playing Scrabble with Gold once. Every time she claimed he made up a word, he made her look it up in the dictionary. Know-it-all.

"Yeah, memorable. After he drugged me, apparently I came on to him and then fell asleep in his bed," she replied, leaning against the wall for support. Mary Margaret gawked at her, her green eyes nearly bouncing out of her head. "We argued, I left. The end."

"He drugged you?" She was apparently still hung up on that part. Not that Emma could really blame her. She shrugged loosely.

"It was to put the idea of marriage into my head. I told him I needed a week to think. Sorry I didn't come straight here—I wasn't ready to explain it yet. I tried sleeping in a room at Granny's, but August kept knocking on the walls, trying to get my attention. I think the threat of me ordering room service from Ruby scared him off, though. He got real quiet."

Mary Margaret nodded as she allowed everything to sink in. She tilted her head, the direction of her eyes traveling to the not-so-sturdy looking crib in the corner. Emma wondered if Mary Margaret actually got on her hands and knees and fixed it together herself or if she had help.

"Someone will have to dismantle that crib," she pointed out. She might as well have dug her elbow into Emma's side and winked. _Hint, hint, Emma. That means you. Well, too bad. Pregnant women don't do so well with stuff they can break. _

"It's your crib," Emma retorted. "And I mean that in both meanings of the term." Leaving Mary Margaret to frown and ponder over the dilemma of the crib, Emma wandered off to take that shower. She got side-tracked halfway there and landed on her bed instead.

…

_Ugh….I don't want to get up yet…Does it have to be seven o'clock already? _

Emma reluctantly urged her body awake. Legs tangled in the sheets, she wiggled across the bed as she usually did to escape Gold's cuddling, except he wasn't cuddling this morning. That was odd. He was the Storybrooke Snuggler, after all.

Spreading her arm out, she groped around for him, but her hand fell flat on the mattress. She opened her eyes wearily, not to the smooth high ceiling of their bedroom, but the cracked spider-web ridden one of Mary Margaret's apartment. Oh, yeah. For a blissful ten seconds, she had forgotten.

Groaning, she gradually left the delicious warmth of her bed, trading it for the cold chill of Maine weather. It settled over her skin, giving her goose-bumps up and down her arms. Stretching on her tip-toes, she stumbled across the slick hardwood floor, blindly seeking a soothing cup of coffee.

_Hopefully everyone in Storybrooke refrains from committing crimes today. I don't feel like running around town with the chance of bumping into…him, _she inwardly moaned. She stepped out of her room…and stubbed her toe on something hard, nearly toppling over and falling on her face. _Ow! That was a rude wake-up call. I thought Mary Margaret returned all the baby stuff. What the hell? _

Emma's eyes shot open through the pain burning her big toe. And her jaw dropped open in sheer disbelief. Her mind went on the fritz as she tried to process what she was seeing with her own two sore, exhausted eyes. Never mind the baby stuff. _What…the…hell? _

"Uh…um…Mary? Mary!" Emma called out through the apartment, her bare feet rooted in place on the threshold of her bedroom. Somehow, the wheels in her mind slowly began to grind once more and she tentatively inched into the main room of their apartment. Or, at least, what was left of it. "Mary Margaret!"

"Mm…what?" Mary Margaret, black hair sticking up at odd angles, trudged into the room still half-asleep. She had yet to really open her eyes and check out the makeover of her kitchen. And Emma thought the crib was bad. "Emma? What's going on? Did someone break in…? Whoa," she gasped, green eyes shooting wide as she took her first good look around.

Mary Margaret's face paled. She pressed a hand to her heart in shock. Emma wondered if Mary Margaret was at risk for a heart attack at this stage of her life.

"Depends on what you mean by break-in," she muttered from the middle of the room, tripping over at every turn. "I for one have never heard of a robber who chose to leave something instead of stealing it."

The entire apartment—every square inch it seemed—was filled with flowers. Roses, to be exact. A red field of roses, dozens upon dozens and bunched together in glass vases. Their kitchen was a greenhouse. There were flowers covering every surface—flowers on the table, flowers on the floor, flowers crowding the hall. The petals tickled Emma's bare feet and ankles.

"Where did they all come from?" Mary Margaret breathed in wonder, the initial shock of the roses slowly wearing off. Emma was still gaping around, the heady fragrance clogging her nostrils. _It smells like a funeral parlor in here. Not exactly what a Sheriff wants to wake up to. _

"Better question: who are they for?" There wasn't a card in sight. No letter, no banner, no supposed robber waiting to pop up and yell 'Surprise!' They exchanged wary looks. Between the two of them, Mary Margaret was more likely to receive flowers. Emma guessed there were nearly one hundred here. "David sure is a charmer."

Mary Margaret bent to ruffle through the petals in search of a note of any kind. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Rubbing her swelling belly, Emma merely yawned and watched her go at it like a child scrambling for candy after the piñata's been smashed. She hopped over the vases and headed for the bathroom.

A second later, she reappeared, rubbing a hand over her face in exasperation.

"Mary? There are flowers in the shower." Mary Margaret showed no sign of listening. Victoriously, her hand shot up from the jungle of roses, clutching a small white card. She stood, turning it over in her fingers.

"Found it! Okay, let's see here…" Mary Margaret's eyes roamed over the card curiously. With each passing second, a pink blush rose to her cheeks. "Oh, wow."

Emma stared skeptically at the overwhelming mass of roses. How were they even going to get rid of them all? Sell them? She nudged some vases, trying hopelessly to make room. _I hope David and Kathryn didn't go bankrupt over this. That might be a huge tip-off that he's having an affair. _

"What? Did David write you a whole love letter?" Mary shook her head slowly, still eyeing the card in her hand. She seemed to be dazed and Emma had to wonder why.

_For a guy who has a wife, gave her the wrong card on Valentine's Day, and causes a world disaster by strolling down the street, he sure is going above and beyond in impressing her. Next he'll be screaming her name from the rooftops. Hopeless romantics. _

"Emma? These flowers aren't from David," she managed to explain, gazing around at the bunches of flowers as if now seeing them for the very first time. Emma cleared off a chair and sank into it. She stocked the extra flowers in the sink. It was the only place that was open.

"You mean you have more than one suitor? Have you been crushing on more than one charming guy who you evidently saved and who also happens to be married? I didn't think that list was very long in Storybrooke." Emma brushed a fallen petal off her knee. Mary Margaret was a statue. _Please say something! What exactly does that card say? Accept these roses or die in seven days? If water starts leaking out of our television, I'm out of here. _

"These flowers…are from Mr. Gold," she quietly revealed, lips trembling slightly. Emma's face contorted with confusion, followed swiftly by anger. Her next guess would have been Archie. But Gold?

"What, did he trip and you just happened to be there to catch him? So I leave him to sort out my thoughts for a week. Hell, it hasn't even been a week and his response is to send two thousand roses to my roommate? If he's trying to make me jealous, it's not working very well in his favor!"

At least the quantity of roses made sense. Gold was the richest man in Storybrooke. Indulging on countless roses to make up to his wife wouldn't be an issue. Show-off.

"No, it's not that. He sent these roses…for you," Mary Margaret nodded encouragingly as Emma's brain struggled to process this. Gold never sent her flowers before. It just wasn't in his nature, especially since he obviously did not like Moe French. She leaned forward to swipe the card from Mary Margaret and read it.

_My dearest Emma,_

_I hope you and our little bundle of joy are well. Please accept these roses as a token of my remorse for the suffering I apparently caused you as of late. By accept, I do not mean toss them in a dumpster. I would have personally delivered them in that red suit you like, except Goldie…ate it. _

_You are never far from my mind. Is it too much to ask that you say the same of me? You have no idea how challenging it is for a man with a lame leg to cuddle with a dog that is more than half the size of you. It doesn't feel right, darling. If you were considerate, you'd shorten that week of thinking. _

_Truly yours, _

_Gold_

Emma stared at the card. Any harder and her eyes just might have caused the card to burst into flames. Her stomach coiled and flopped with every finely scripted word. Apparently? Remorse for the suffering he _apparently_ caused her? Did he even realize how detrimental his actions of drugging her really were?

Just for that, he would be the farthest thing from her mind. Except it was hard to ignore these roses, whose presence mocked her.

"Well, you know what I think of Gold and his roses?" Emma tore the card into pieces. Then, she lifted one of the vases of flowers and flipped open the trash bin, buried under even more roses. Mary Margaret frowned as she realized the intention.

"Oh, Emma," she softly chided, but it was too late.

Emma dropped the vase into the trash where it shattered into a mess of glass and petals. She picked up another and repeated the process until the trash bin was bursting. And yet Emma had barely made a dent in clearing out the roses.

"I happen to think this is really…"

Emma whirled to shoot Mary Margaret a warning look. Down went another vase of flowers on the pile and then there was no more room at all. Mary Margaret shrugged, unable to resist sniffing a couple of the sweet roses.

"I was going to say charming," she finished, making Emma blanch. "Maybe even…romantic?" Emma tossed her hands in the air in bafflement.

"Charming? Romantic? If this were David, it'd be charming and romantic. This is Gold. It's strictly manipulative," she grumbled. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a dumpster? Or maybe I'll just drop them out the window and shout _'heads up!_'"

Mary Margaret couldn't help but giggle a little at Emma's bothered nature. It just proved how much she was trying to hide her care. Emma sighed as she wracked her brain for a place to stuff the flowers now. The shower was full. So was the stove.

"You think French would give me a refund if I sent all these roses back?" Mary Margaret shrugged as she opened the cabinets to retrieve some pancake mix. Now all she'd have to do is remove the roses from the stove and she could make breakfast.

"And what exactly would you do with the money? I have a feeling you wouldn't drop it in Mr. Gold's mailbox," Mary Margaret mused, arching an eyebrow in interest at Emma while she dumped the vases in the sink. They would have to decide how best to do the dishes afterwards.

"Nope," Emma agreed, planting her hands on her hips. "I might buy a monster truck and hire Leroy to 'accidentally' run it through Gold's pawnshop, though. Seems fair enough."

Mary Margaret frowned with disappointment. Emma really was taking this argument with Gold hard. The sound of the front door opened. Oh, dear. Was Emma going to start filling the rest of the apartment building, too?

"Hey, Mary. A little tip." She turned from placing a frying pan on the stove and ripping open the box of pancake mix. Hanging from the doorknob was the spare key Mary Margaret kept in the fake plant outside their apartment. It swung back and forth on a piece of rope, with Emma staring grimly at it. "That plant isn't fooling anyone."

…..

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me…_

Emma took one look at the interior of the station and immediately wanted to turn on her heel, dash back to Mary Margaret's place, and dive under the covers of her bed. Maybe stop at Mr. Clark's general store and invest in his state-of-the-art Weed-whacker. It was always conveniently right next to the highly-acclaimed Chainsaw and much useful Hammer.

It was Mary Margaret's apartment all over again. There were roses everywhere. How many did Gold order? The entire flower shop? _Moe must be rolling in dough this morning. Either that or he finally got his truck back. _

How exactly did Gold expect her to get anything done as Sheriff if her desk was buried under a field of flowers? What if Regina walked in here, smirking as usual?

"I think I've had enough roses for a lifetime or two," she muttered as she crept over the countless vases. Thank God no one was being held in jail today. Otherwise, there was a good chance they'd be drowning in petals. Or frolicking.

Practically trudging to the spot where her desk should be, Emma removed the vases of flowers only to find a square velvet box waiting. She sighed as she picked it up and flipped open the lid. It was a stunning pair of diamond earrings, absolutely real and very expensive. They were probably worth more than her car. And they were shiny. She could blind someone with those.

_So, Gold's plan to get me back is to smother me with roses and buy me priceless earrings that are so heavy they'd probably make my ears fall off? I'm surprised he's not hiding behind the door waiting to see my reaction and catch it on video. _

Emma's boot nudged something near the edge of her desk. It ruffled and she glanced down at it—a generous dessert basket, wrapped in pink cellophane. There were treats of all kinds. Cookies, fudge, brownies, chocolate-dipped strawberries…There was even a package of Oreos in the middle.

"Okay. Now he's just trying to butter me up."

….

Never could Archie recall a time where Mr. Gold sat on his couch. That fact changed at noon on a rather bland day, signaled by a soft rapping on his door.

Fixing his glasses on his nose, Archie frowned thoughtfully, glancing up from one of his files. There was no one scheduled for a session at the moment, which meant it was probably an unexpected person seeking his advice. He was always happy to guide people toward the right path. People even stopped to ask him for directions.

Depositing the file inside a metal cabinet, Archie checked himself over quickly. Not that he was hoping it was someone extra worthwhile…like Emma or Ruby or something. Smoothing a hand through his curly hair, Archie pulled open the door…to find Mr. Gold, cane in hand, dressed as impeccable as ever. _Obviously not Emma, then. Unless she's wearing a really good disguise. _

Archie's insides plummeted like a roller-coaster taking the high dive. There was ever only one reason for Mr. Gold to show up on his doorstep. Money. Archie's mouth grew dry, his jaw slack, nerves jumping like fish out of water.

"Oh…uh, M-mr. Gold," Archie stuttered, face flushed. "I…I thought the r-rent wasn't due for a couple more weeks." He mentally checked—no, it wasn't. Right? _It's not due, right?_ _Oh, holy crickets…I don't have the money. And if I don't have his money…please don't beat me senseless like Moe French!_

"Indeed, it's not," Mr. Gold casually agreed. Archie let out a low whistle of relief. But, then why was he standing at his doorstep? Was he asking for another guys' night out? "Believe it or not, I seek your advice." Advice? _Mr. Gold_ was here asking for _advice?_

Archie couldn't help but to be intrigued by this sudden turn of events. To delve into the mind of Storybrooke's most intimidating citizen—besides Regina Mills, of course—was dangerous and tempting at the same time. He suddenly recalled Emma mentioning that Gold had drugged her. Dangerous, indeed.

"Uh…okay. Sure. Right this way," Archie kindly gestured to the black couch in the middle of the room. The brusque tapping of the pawnbroker's cane matched the drumming of Archie's pulse as it pounded in his ears.

"Is it necessarily required that I lie down?" Mr. Gold eyed the couch with intense speculation as Archie settled into his favorite chair. He leaned forward eagerly, crossed a leg, and then uncrossed it again.

He would have offered Gold a peppermint, except the man had already taken one. Just like Emma and Henry. Like mother, like son, like…step-father and…husband…Instead of eating it, though, he stuffed it in his pocket for later.

"N-no, no, of course not. I mean, you can if you want to…but you don't have to. Only if you want to. No," Archie rambled and bit his tongue. Literally. Decidedly, almost gracefully despite his bad leg, Mr. Gold took a seat on the couch and seemingly waited for Archie to begin.

Archie grinned nervously and debated whether to immediately take notes. He decided he'd better not—some patients found it unsettling or suspicious when a doctor was jotting down the words that came out of their mouths. Mr. Gold would need to feel comfortable enough to open up.

"Alright, so…"

"I assume this discussion will remain entirely confidential," Mr. Gold abruptly intercepted.

Archie noted the distinct desperation in the pawnbroker's eyes and darkness beyond that. The man obviously expected Archie to betray him, to spread the news around the moment he left this office. It was sad, really; Mr. Gold clearly had trust issues. The diagnosis was free.

"Yes, of course. Nothing you say will ever leave this room. It's strictly between you and me," he assured Mr. Gold with that practiced, calm tone that suggested: _you can trust me._ It was up to the patient to listen to it, to believe it.

"I'll hold you to it, doctor," the man replied coolly and Archie nearly paled with fright. That cane was gripped between two firm hands and Archie tried his best to avoid staring at it. Nervously, he readjusted his thick glasses and nodded frantically. _Find a happy place, find a happy place. _

"Okay, right. What…what would you like to talk about?" Always the open-ended question. It was not his way to instruct patients to focus on a certain subject—he merely advised them to_ talk_. Talk about their lifestyle, their jobs, talk about the weather if that made them feel better.

It was quiet for a long minute. The only sound was the ticking of the clock that sat on a table near the window. _Tick, tick, tick…_

Archie had the urge to check the time, but fought against it. He didn't want to appear impatient for the man to speak. Finally, Mr. Gold opened his mouth to speak, face lined with grim seriousness.

"If you were in a relationship with Emma—" Excellent way to start the question. Archie blushed. "How would you manage to please her?"

Archie nearly tumbled from his seat. That question was most unexpected. _Is this what's bothering you? You're having trouble pleasing Emma? Drugging a woman doesn't usually please her. And trust issues on top of that…_

"Y-you want to please Emma? Well, that's—"

"That was not what I said. I'm interested to know how _you_ would please her," he corrected, adamantly swerving from the personal matter here. Archie sighed. He'd have to tread carefully with Mr. Gold. Words meant everything to him.

"Well, I…" He thought long and hard about it. How many times had he fantasized about asking Emma out on a date? "I would…send her dozens of roses. Beautiful, fresh ones as red as her lips. And I would tell her how lovely her blonde hair is when it falls in waves around her shoulders…and I might take her out dancing until she's dizzy. After that, I'd take her out to the Toll Bridge where we could look at the full moon and listen to the melody of the crickets chirping in the night. And I'd tell her that there wouldn't be anyone else I'd want to share that moment with…because it would be absolutely perfect."

For a long time Mr. Gold just stared at Archie with a blank expression. Apparently, he had succeeded in rendering the pawnbroker speechless. The exact opposite of what he wanted to happen.

"Okay…how might_ I_ manage to please Emma?" Archie shrugged hesitantly.

"You…didn't agree…with my scenario?" Archie bit down on his lip, the images of a smiling Emma by the water's edge under the Toll Bridge floating away. The couch moaned under Gold's weight as he shifted forward.

"Your vision was very sweet," he admitted. "So sickly sweet that it is a miracle I have not obtained several cavities simply by listening to it. I fear you'd financially ruin my wife due to the immense dentist bills that would pile up in her mail slot." Archie's polite smile dimmed with every word until only a frown of despair lingered on his face. _That…that hurt. Words can hurt, you know. I'll remember that the next time you want to sing karaoke with me! _

"Oh, well…every person expresses their feelings in different ways," Archie brought the conversation back to somewhat safer ground. "You could…start with the roses. And then work your way from there." _Money is not an object; everyone in Storybrooke knows that. _

Mr. Gold nodded thoughtfully, but there was no spark in his brown eyes. He seemed really depressed by this whole down-point with Emma. If Archie didn't know any better, Gold was truly in love with his wife. It just wasn't easy to please her. At least Gold was willing to try; that was all that counted.

"I've already sent her plenty of flowers. Knowing Emma, they have been wonderfully displayed in the trash bin," he said, tapping his cane against the ground. Archie mulled over the tension in the pawnbroker. Judging by the circles under his eyes, he hadn't slept peacefully last night.

"Starting off with flowers is nice…but just remember that money cannot buy her love," Archie spouted with that old Beatles' tune playing in his head._ I don't care too much for money, 'cause money can't buy me love._ Oh, now he was going to have it stuck in his head all day! There went his foot, tapping away.

"So what do you suppose I do, then? Ask her to go _dancing?"_ Archie flinched at the harshness of the word. It was meant to mock him.

Still, this was good—Mr. Gold was talking to him. That he could work with, given the time. Maybe try some ink-blots or have him recount his dreams or draw a picture. It usually worked for Henry. Except his drawings were rather disturbing. They were practically propaganda, claiming _'Down with the Evil Queen!' 'Savior Emma to the Rescue!'_

"I don't think you'd be much of a dancer with such a bad leg," Archie blurted. Mr. Gold sent him a piercing look and the cane stopped tapping. Archie gazed at the hardwood floor. "I mean, there are other things you could try. Have you…tried connecting with her?"

"Connecting?" Mr. Gold spat the word as if it were distasteful. One of these days, Archie would have to convince Mr. Gold to an extended session, if only to unravel the reason for such problems with communication and trust.

"Yeah, you know…communicating with her. Talking to her," Archie responded, growing reasonably animated as he leaned forward in his chair. Mr. Gold sighed impatiently. His eyes wandered the room, as if he were being restrained on that couch against his will. As if he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"I _tried _talking to her. She doesn't listen to a word I say. I even texted her goodnight, but she sent nothing back. Not even one of those strange little smiley faces with the tongue poking out." Archie snorted as he attempted to stifle his laughter and earned a suspicious glance from Gold. He turned it into a throaty cough, but somehow he didn't think Gold bought it.

"Texting…probably isn't what she had in mind. Did you try sitting down with her at the kitchen table and discussing your issues like adults?" Gold frowned.

"No," he said bluntly. Archie nodded slightly. "I never got across Mary Margaret's doorstep before she threw a hairdryer at my head and shouted like a banshee. She said she needed space. Kept telling me to back it up."

Archie guessed that was probably late last night. There was a faraway glaze to Gold's eyes as he seemed to reminisce about it. He could imagine Gold lying in bed all night, wondering what to do before deciding to ask for advice.

"It's obvious that you feel you made a mistake in hurting Emma, even if it's difficult for you to express it to her. You seem to care a lot for her if you're willing to please her. You should always let your conscience be your guide," Archie advised. It was his little slogan. Too bad he didn't have enough money for business cards.

Mr. Gold was silent for a long, drawn out minute and then he stood with the intent of leaving.

"I should thank you for your time, doctor," the pawnbroker muttered as he limped toward the door. Archie politely stood and held out his hand, but the man ignored it. He awkwardly let it drop back to his side.

"No problem. I'm always happy to help." Mr. Gold half-turned, causing Archie's alarms to ring in his head. Did he say something wrong to upset him? _Tread carefully._ For some reason, the smirk forming on Gold's lips did little to quell his worries. If anything, the alarms were louder.

"In that case, I believe I may have an interesting proposition for you. What say you, Mr. Nolan, and I discuss it over lunch? Perhaps I'll be generous and invite Leroy as well." Okay, now his alarms really were ringing loud and clear. David? Leroy? Proposition? The wheels were spinning wild and fast behind Gold's brown eyes.

Archie glanced around at the clock. He supposed he had time for some lunch. And if it was anything serious, he could always cancel Henry's therapy appointment. Only Regina would be disappointed and probably break another mirror. The Mayor was up to 45 years bad luck.

"Are you paying?" Gold halted in his tracks and leveled a hard stare at Archie. He laughed dryly. "Of course not. Ridiculous question. I hope David didn't stop at Mr. Clark's for Apollo bars again."

…..

Emma sat back in her favorite chair, stretching her arms leisurely above her head and planting her boots comfortably atop her desk. She was feeling quite relieved. The roses had all been cleared out, there was little paperwork to be done, Regina was busy taking Henry out for a mother-son day, and the cells were blissfully empty.

Now all she had to do was enjoy this cup of freshly brewed coffee, wait for someone to get robbed, and rescue Henry from Regina's loathsome, mind-numbing plans for mother-son day. But first she would enjoy this coffee. _As long as the kid doesn't voluntarily run into traffic or Gold doesn't get robbed…again…I should be good for a few minutes. _

Just as she was raising the cup to her lips, the phone rang. _Wow, that was fast, _she thought with arched eyebrows. _And it's off to work I go. _Setting the coffee down on her desk, she lowered her boots and begrudgingly picked up the phone. She really needed to elect a Deputy—when she worked for Graham, all she did was answer the phones and do the night shift.

"Sheriff Swan," she answered flatly. It was a habit to use her former surname, since most people weren't comfortable being reminded that their one form of security was married to Mr. Gold. She knew she should be more enthusiastic when it came to the citizens of Storybrooke. With her luck, Regina would use her lack of enthusiasm as an excuse to fire her.

On the other end of the line, there was an odd humming and she thought for sure the line was dead, until—

_I just called to say I love you…I just called to say how much I care…_

Emma held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Shaking her head, she slammed it down onto the cradle. Stupid prank callers. Didn't the people in this town have anything better to do? Like, say, live a strangely hazy existence?

As she reached for her coffee, the phone rang again. She unintentionally slammed the cup of coffee down on her desk, the fluid spilling over the rim of the cup and staining her desk. Someone had better have committed a serious crime.

"Sheriff Swan?" She cringed, almost afraid to alert the person on the other end of the line to her identity. The humming began again, except this time it was a different song. _We just argued, and this is crazy, but here's my number so call me maybe…._

Emma set the phone down, effectively hanging up.

Sinking back into her chair, Emma managed to pick up her cup of coffee without interruption, even though there were less waves of steam emanating from it. Still, she was grateful for the warmth that seeped into her fingers. _Now, where was I? _She lifted the cup to her lips. This time, a bit of coffee made it into her mouth, scalding her tongue.

And then the phone rang again.

Emma sputtered, the majority of the coffee dribbling down her chin and onto her blouse. Ugh, and it was a white blouse, too! Scowling, she dabbed the stain poorly with a napkin and picked the phone up at the same time. Whoever this prank caller was, they were in for a rude awakening.

"What do you want? Look, I happen to be the Sheriff and I'm pretty sure I can figure out where you live. Unless you want me to come knocking on your door tonight with my badge in one hand and handcuffs in the other, I suggest you quit it with the sappy love songs."

Silence on the other end. Maybe they were smart and hung up. If they were any smarter than that, they wouldn't call back. No, there was shallow breathing. She could hear it now on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Uh…Emma?" She jerked up, knocking her coffee over and spilling it everywhere. This was just not a good week for her by any means. First, she got into an argument with Gold due to the fact that he drugged her, then she ruined her only nice white blouse, and now she just bit Ruby's head off.

She sunk her blond head into her hand. The rumor mill churns on.

"I was just calling to see if you still wanted that grilled cheese for lunch? It's past noon," Ruby told her. There was a tremor of giggles underneath the usual chipper in the waitresses' voice. Oh, that was right. She'd forgotten that she'd told Ruby about stopping in for lunch. "You can leave the badge and cuffs at home," Ruby teased, bursting out into laughter.

In the background, Emma could hear Granny warning her to stop flirting over the phone. Ruby must have covered the phone with her palm for her words were somewhat muffled as she yelled back that it was the _Sheriff,_ for her information.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll be down to pick it up," Emma murmured, the apples of her cheeks flushing an unattractive shade of red. She hung up before Ruby could mention anything about the sappy love songs. It was bad enough Ruby probably assumed that it was role-play for Gold, but he wasn't the type for sappy love songs, anyway.

_My to-do list: Clean up the coffee, get Henry away from Regina, break the curse, have a baby. Hire a secretary. Not in that order._

….

Leroy hung up the telephone and exchanged wary glances with Archie and David. The three of them huddled next to a payphone and just wasted a dollar of pocket change.

"So? Do you think she got the message?" David grinned foolishly and gazed at Leroy as if he held the answers to all the mysteries of life. If he did, would he be in this provincial town surrounded by these people? No, he'd be living it up in Las Vegas. Archie's expression mirrored David's, just as eager. It almost reminded Leroy of caroling on Christmas and he shuddered.

If he wasn't getting paid for this, there was no way he'd be here.

"Next time," he growled, poking Archie in his sweater-vest-clad chest. "I'm picking the song!"

…..

Emma hurried out of the station, her protruding belly grumbling for that grilled cheese. Granny's made a really good one, second only to their hamburgers. Except it was proving tough to stomach hamburgers during this pregnancy.

There was her yellow Bug…with three people attached to the bumper. David, Archie, and Leroy gathered around her Bug, hands shoved into their pockets. Leroy was whistling _Someday My Prince Will Come. _By the looks of it, they were waiting to speak with her. Either that or they were admiring her little sunshine.

"Are you all here to report a crime?" _Let me guess. It was Regina in the diner with the poisoned apple, _she thought cynically.

"Not unless it's a crime to sing in public," Archie spoke up, sending her a lop-sided grin. It matched the crookedness of his glasses rather well. Emma paused, the dots connecting slowly in her mind as Archie's neck flushed red. Singing? In public? The prank call.

"That….was you?" Her fists curled into balls by her side, causing Archie's eyes to boggle out of his head. David nodded proudly while Leroy rolled his eyes impatiently. Oh, yes—she could see it now. They were quite the boy band. What exactly would they be called? Archie and the Crickets? Grumpy, Dopey, and Bashful?

"Our mission, should we choose to accept it—" David began to declare, even going as far as puffing out his chest. He might as well have been a valiant knight at King Arthur's table. If that knight were used as an example of how _not _to slay a dragon, that is.

"For $25 each," Leroy interjected.

"—is to accompany you throughout the day with the entertainment of love songs that may influence your love life," David finished, crossing his arms with satisfaction. Emma, however, was puzzled. _These three…are going to stalk me…and sing love songs….to convince me to take Gold back? _

"And we do accept the mission," Archie stated, as if the prank call hadn't cleared that up enough. Not only was she going to have that pop song stuck in her head the rest of the day, but there would be more to come. Her stomach grumbled, but the grilled cheese was the last thing on her mind.

"And let me guess: Gold gave you this mission?" Leroy shrugged.

"He's the only person in town who conveniently has enough dough to pay all three of us, sister," he barked, offering her a look that suggested it was pretty obvious. Oh, how impressive of Gold. Sharing his wealth with the community by harassing her with love songs. "I told you we should have negotiated for $30!"

Leroy attempted to elbow Archie in the ribs, but Archie jumped back in time. Leroy stumbled and dug his elbow into David instead. David made to slap Leroy on the back of the head, but Archie chose that moment to step forward and earned the slap. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. _Oh, boy. Not only am I dealing with my potential stalkers, I'm dealing with the Three Stooges. _

"If you'll excuse me, boys, I have a grilled cheese waiting at the diner," Emma hinted, shooing them away from her Bug. Leroy refused to budge, blocking her way to the door. Short and pudgy as he was, he was about as easy to move aside as a boulder.

"Sure…but we have a request to make first," he said, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest sincerely. Something told her to ignore the so-called heartfelt request, but she'd be lying if she said Leroy hadn't caught her attention. Maybe they would just get down on their knees and beg her to make up with Gold. _Why do I get the feeling that I am going to regret the next two seconds of my life? _

"Okay….what's your request?" Leroy, David, and Archie silently communicated with their eyes and then drew in a deep breath. Emma closed her eyes in annoyance. She should've known it'd come to this. Snap, trap, shut.

_Don't go breaking my heart,_ Leroy was the first to sing in a gravelly voice. David picked up where he left off, tapping his foot on the pavement. _I couldn't if I tried. Oh, honey, if I get restless—_

_Baby, you're not that kind, _Archie pitched in. Was he trying to impersonate Elvis or did his hips always twitch like that? It looked like he was trying to hop like a cricket.

"I've heard enough," Emma muttered, squeezing past them to reach the driver's side. The three men followed her into the street, where a passing car honked at them. A few more steps and David might have been mowed down.

"Hey, we're singing here," Leroy yelled after the car. _Ooh, that was not a friendly gesture that old lady just made, _Emma thought with a small smile as the car tore off. Was it a full moon or were people in this town just this mad on a regular basis?

_Lady with a baby here. I'm tired, I'm angry, I went swimming in roses, I spilled coffee on myself today, I've had two prank phone calls, and now a singing trio is smothering me. Nobody else had better mess with me. _

"So, is that a 'no' on the request?" Archie inquired, staring hopefully at her. She unlocked her car door, intent on ignoring them. That apparently wasn't going to be an easy feat. They started singing again. _Don't go breakin' my, don't go breakin' my, don't go breaking my heart—_

"Quick! Jump in her backseat!" Leroy shouted as Emma slammed her door shut. Archie looked at Leroy like he was mental while David continued humming to himself.

"Leroy, we are not jumping in Emma's backseat," Archie scolded, wagging a finger. Emma fumbled with the key and cursed under her breath when her car refused to start. This was not happening to her, not today. _Come on, sunshine. You can do this! Do I have to start singing, too? You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…_

"Besides," David added, returning to reality. "You're a heavy-set guy, Leroy. There's not enough room for all of us. One of us could take shotgun, except the front is filled with sweets." Once again, the engine stalled while the trio pondered over the matter of how best to infiltrate Emma's Bug. Leroy sent a fierce stare toward David.

"Alright, Nolan. You're riding on the roof!" Miraculously, the engine finally turned over, rumbling to life. _That's my sunshine. _Emma tossed the three men a victorious smirk as she tore away from the curb, leaving them stranded in the dust. Leroy pouted childishly.

"Anyone here have a car?" Archie questioned, glancing between his musical accomplices.

"I'm borrowing Kathryn's. She took it to yoga class," David said, shrugging pathetically. Leroy grumbled, stomping over to the sidewalk so as to avoid any other cheerful Sunday drivers in the vicinity.

"What car? Last time I left Granny's, I parked it somewhere. And I still haven't remembered where! There was something about a sneeze…" Archie sighed and rubbed his forehead, which was creasing with anxious lines.

"I do have a car," he admitted sheepishly.

"Great," David exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Their mission was back in motion. At least until Archie gave a shaky, weak laugh. It reeked of the sorrowful statement _here's the thing…_

"Except for the fact that it needs gas because Gold and I were doing burnouts in the diner's parking lot and I'm low on money this week. Rent." That was always the reason for having no money in Storybrooke. What was the world coming to when you couldn't even join in on burnouts without being reminded of rent?

The three of them exhaled miserably and starting walking in the direction of the diner.

"Forget $25," Leroy grumbled. "That gimp owes me a new pair of shoes."

…

Emma trudged up the walk heading to the diner, reveling in the blissful silence. No Archie, no Leroy, no David. No sappy love songs in her ear. What a relief.

"You're in a mighty good mood for someone who just had an argument with their husband," a voice called out to her from up ahead. Her head lifted to meet a pair of aquamarine eyes. It was August, descending the stairs like he was a princess at a ball. Well, at least he wasn't tap dancing and breaking out into song.

"And you're always inconveniently in my way. Did you put a tracker on me or something?" August scoffed as he ran a hand across the stubble on his chin.

"Of course not. Why? You think I could do that?"

Emma rolled her eyes as he examined her up and down, probably searching for the best drop-off spot for a bug. If his hand went anywhere near her butt, the citizens of Storybrooke would require a tracker to find his body. She tried side-stepping him, only to have him copy her moves. She sighed.

"And we're dancing again." August smirked down at her.

"Good. Consider it a prelude to our date," he declared, making a sweeping bow. Wasn't he just Prince Charming? Too bad that kind of thing had no effect on her.

"Prelude? Date?" August straightened and flashed a full-toothed grin. How many times did he have to practice that one in the mirror?

"Yes, our date. You said I could buy you a drink sometime and that time is…" He arrogantly brought his wrist up to check a watch that wasn't even there. "What do you know? It's half past _today."_ She shoved past him before he could put up his barricade and block her again. _Bet you weren't ready for that step, were you, twinkle-toes?_

"Oh, right," she shot over her shoulder. "Call in that drink the minute I have an argument with Gold. How very comforting of you. What, do you expect me to cry on your shoulder?" She stopped on the first step to glance back at him. He was still smiling in the same spot she left him.

"Are you breaking your word?" She grimaced.

"No," the answer came reluctantly. Apparently, he'd already known that since he was so accepting of it and quick to say _I told you so _with those mocking blue-green eyes. Didn't he have a typewriter to consult? Or special paper to buy that didn't come with furry pens?

"Then you'll have no problem meeting me here at five," he stated, backing away down the path. Emma's eyes flew to the town clock that overlooked the town in the distance. It was a little past one. That was good—she still had time to come up with an excuse…maybe call him later and fake a cough to say she was sick…

"Why five?" August shrugged carelessly, his shoulders rolling under the leather of his jacket.

"I've got stuff to do. And you're running from the Three Musketeers. Five should give you enough time to lose them. There's not enough room on my bike for more than two."

Five, right. She could get that grilled cheese, avoid the three Spice Girls following her trail, and then go into hiding until at least six. Maybe spend an evening at the cabin in the woods. If she didn't show up, he couldn't exactly have a date, could he? Who would be her replacement? Himself?

"And don't try calling me with some excuse that you were conveniently kidnapped or decided to jump back into bed with your husband. Don't crinkle up a bag of potato chips, telling me the line's gone dead, either. I played that one in college on my girlfriends. And I have the cabin in the woods under strict surveillance. I don't care if someone is trying to hog-tie you and throw you in their van. I'll still want that drink."

Emma's eyes widened. This guy meant business. And surveillance? Surveillance with what? Chipmunks? Or was he planning to sic Archie, Leroy, and David on her again if she went near the cabin?

"You have issues," she told him. He didn't seem entirely perturbed by it. He just inclined his head and shook it off easily. By the placid look on his face, he could very well be translating that into _you look fantastic today. _

"Still doesn't change the fact that you still owe me that drink. Oh, and don't try having me kidnapped, either. I have a bike." As if that would save him from Gold. When that man wanted something done, he could be quite persistent. Their honeymoon was proof of that. Emma sighed and headed up the steps of the diner.

"Just a heads up….Ruby's coming," she called over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed August scrambling like she yelled the word _fire _and he leapt into the bushes lining the path. She would have mentioned it'd probably be easier if he hopped on his bike and roared off, but that grilled cheese was waiting. Oh, well—August could fend for himself.

"Hey, Emma. Granny's got your grilled cheese ready," Ruby said as she passed by with a hefty bag of garbage ready for the dumpster. The bushes rustled and they hardly hid August. "Uh…August? Why are you hiding in our bushes?" Slowly August poked his head up from the bushes. His hair was covered with leaves. Brushing himself off, he stepped onto the path.

"Oh…I was….searching for…my whale tooth necklace. It seems to have gone astray," he offered the first thing that came to mind. Ruby's gaze dropped a few inches.

"But…it's hanging around your neck," she pointed out, frowning. August glanced down at it. Damn. He pretended to wipe his forehead in relief.

"Oh, there it is! Thank God for that. Oh, little whale tooth necklace, I was sure I'd lost you. Family heirloom," he explained. Ruby didn't look like she bought it. Maybe it was time to stop playing games with her. Unless it involved hide-and-seek and he had the use of his motorcycle. "Look, Ruby, I got to get ready for my date with Emma—"

"You're going on a date with Emma? But…she's married," Ruby protested, the garbage bag dropping to the cement. It almost burst open, not that Ruby would have noticed then. August raked a hand through his brown hair.

"It's…not really a date. Just a drink. She owes me," he said. Ruby's dark eyes roamed over his blue-green ones, struggling to understand. "Ruby, I know you like me. A lot. Bordering on obsessive, actually. But nothing will ever happen between us. Ever. Sorry." There, it was out. No more running or hiding in bushes or sneaking into the Inn through the drainpipe.

For a long moment, Ruby was silent, staring at him as if she'd just missed every word he said. It was as though someone yelled '_Cut!_' and she'd managed to replace her body with a wax doll. And then anger seeped across her face, turning it red. Great, now she was going to huff and puff. Or…no, she was picking up the garbage bag. Oh, boy.

"You jerk! Leading me on like that and then going on a date with Emma! You don't even have any consideration for my feelings or anything!" Slinging the garbage bag over her shoulder like Santa, Ruby whipped it across his back. She slapped him with it again and again, until he was holding his hands up to surrender. What was in that bag? Rocks?

"Ow! Ow! Ruby, let me explain—"

"Emma was right! I can do so much better than you," she cried out, slugging him right across the head. Forget this.

Taking off at a run, he aimed for his bike. Ruby followed behind, waving the garbage bag like a madwoman. God, she ran fast in those heels. Hopping on, he gunned it and sped off, leaving her to shout obscenities at his back. _Maybe I should have waited until she got rid of the garbage. _

….

Emma entered the diner and immediately made a beeline for Mary Margaret's lonely table. Finally a sane person in this town that wouldn't embarrass her in public. Before she even sat down, Granny came bustling over with the grilled cheese and a soda. Right on time.

"How are you holding up?" Mary Margaret observed her with a doe-eyed pair of concerned eyes as Emma munched on her grilled cheese. Ooh, that hit the spot.

"Besides swimming in roses, chowing through half a package of Oreos, and being stalked with love songs? Pretty swell. Oh, and I have a date with Stubble at five. My life is now complete," she announced sarcastically. Mary Margaret's hands curled tightly around her cup of cocoa, though she didn't have any intention of bringing it to her lips. She seemed distracted.

"Is that all? Obviously this problem with Gold is bothering you or we wouldn't be talking about it." Emma wolfed down one half of her grilled cheese and started on the other. She cocked an eyebrow, giving her friend an odd look.

"We're not talking about it. _You_ are talking about it to avoid talking about you," she retorted. It was too easy to read Mary Margaret sometimes. She might as well have been projecting her thoughts into the air above her head. Those friendly green eyes became saddened as she leaned close.

"Remember when you told me to stay away from David and I agreed?" Here it came. Flashing in neon lights above Mary Margaret's head like the Northern Lights. Emma nodded for the sake of it.

"Yes." Mary Margaret chewed softly on her bottom lip.

"I didn't," she quietly confessed.

"Yeah, I know," she replied back instantly. Mary Margaret jerked up in her seat, eyes full of alarm. Just because she had been dealing with problems of her own lately didn't mean she wasn't any less observant. After all, there had been a chance that those roses had come from David. "You are a lovesick schoolteacher. Covering your tracks is not your strong suit. New perfume, late nights, high phone bills, singing in the shower, plunging necklines…"

"Plunging?" Okay, it wasn't exactly a shirt Ruby would wear, but it was far from nun-worthy. Mother Superior would be offended.

"When I met you, you were a top-button kind of girl." Emma finished her grilled cheese with intense satisfaction and licked the grease off her fingers.

The diner's bell rang, announcing a customer. The hairs on the back of Emma's neck rose before she could shift in her seat and see who it was. Was that….? Oh, no. Humming. _Save yourself, Mary Margaret. This is about to get ugly. _

_I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you…I know you were right, believing for so long…_

Someone kill her now. Strike her with lightning, start a mob, open a vortex underneath her seat to suck her to some other world. Where was August and his bike when she really needed him as a distraction? Oh, there he was…riding off while Ruby chased him with a trash bag. Obviously she was over him.

And Emma's face was turning beet red.

"David," Mary Margaret breathed in wonder. The look on her face was oozing love. Maybe Mary Margaret thought this show was for her. As the three men circled their table, with everyone in the diner watching, Emma shielded her face with her hand.

"Stalkers," she mouthed to Mary Margaret, pointing discreetly at the singers. Her eyes widened with realization and she stifled a giggle. Such confident support. Shoving back her chair, Emma stood up with all intents and purposes of leaving.

"Hey, she's trying to escape again! Surround her!" Leroy, David, and Archie formed a triangle around her, blocking her exit. And they were singing louder. What was this? Lunch and a show? Over Leroy's shoulder, Mary Margaret offered her a sympathetic shrug. _Thanks for all your help, Mary. I'll remember that when Gold and I ask you to babysit. _

"Boys!" Granny stood near the counter with her hands planted firmly on her hips. The singing halted immediately. "What do you think this is? Karaoke night? No singing obnoxiously in my diner! It bothers the customers. Take it outside," she demanded, shooing in the direction of the door. Leroy frowned.

"But it's our job to—"

"_Outside!" Don't make her get the shotgun, _Emma thought with mild amusement. David, Leroy, and Archie shuffled to the door and apparently decided to wait for her outside. It'd be fun getting to her car. Oh, but now they were leaning against it again. She'd rather walk than face those three and their shrill singing.

Meeting Granny's gaze, she noticed a slight nod of Granny's head before the woman headed back to the kitchen. She'd have to remember to send Granny a bouquet of roses. Mary Margaret, however, was teetering on the brink of uncontrolled laughter.

"Stalkers, huh?"

…..

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. It's not warm when she's away…_

The singing just wouldn't stop. It was driving Emma up the wall, which was exactly why she was power-strutting straight to the pawnshop. It didn't help that everyone she passed gave her odd looks when they noticed the musical posse trailing behind. If Emma didn't hear another love song for the rest of her life, it would be too soon.

"If you three keep singing, I'll arrest you for….harassment and…personal invasion," she threatened over her shoulder. Personal invasion really needed to be made a serious crime in this town, what with the way she seemed to attract creepy men with a thing for invasion.

Archie's singing trailed off, but the other two were blissfully negligent.

"In other words, we're invading your personal bubble?" Emma whipped around to glare at Archie. _Way to go, making my threat an empty one. When you phrase it that way…_

"Yeah," she mumbled unhappily. She could draw a circle around herself, but she figured Storybrookers weren't immune to chalk. David would probably trip into her circle by mistake, Leroy would ignore her and cross it anyway, and Archie….well, at least Archie would appreciate it.

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone—_

Emma moaned and pulled open the door of the pawnshop, slamming it behind her before Archie and the Crickets could follow.

"Ah, Emma," Gold drawled as he dusted off one of the old-fashioned guitars that had been previously hanging on the wall. It was so dusty in this shop; the outline was visible on the wall. She would suggest he hire a caretaker, but she had a feeling she wouldn't approve of any of his choices. "What a lovely surprise. Did you receive my gifts?"

Emma strode up to the counter and curled her fingers around the edges. He laid aside the gray rag and offered her his undivided attention.

"If you mean the jewelry and the dessert basket, then yes. Oh, and Mary Margaret's apartment and the station were filled with roses. All 815 of them," she huffed. Gold arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Mary Margaret counted before selling them for the nuns. I guess a lot of people have to make up for Valentine's Day." The guitar clattered across the counter.

"You _sold _my _roses_, paid for with my wealth in token of my dearest affection, for the _nuns?" _Emma frowned as his skin turned red. "Next I suppose Mother Superior will host a charity event wearing diamond studs. Diamond studs which were meant for your ears, darling." He really was blowing this out of proportion.

"No, that would be Regina. Diamond studs aren't my style." Gold pressed a hand to his chest and let out a thin whoosh of air. Two minutes in his company and she'd already given him a heart attack. That was a new record. "Figures you don't like nuns." That brought back his focus with a vengeance, his brown eyes darkening to the shade of frozen earth.

"I don't have a problem with nuns. They have a problem with _me_." Emma shook her head pitifully. _Right, Gold. Because you are completely innocent and the world is out to get you. _

"Do me a favor and call off your little mariachi band that won't quit stalking me," she demanded, pointing to the window. Gold followed her finger to see David, Archie, and Leroy with their noses pressed to the glass. He grimaced—those fools were leaving fog and gods only knew what sort of disgusting germs.

"What's wrong, dear? I find it entertaining."

"And I find it annoying," she snapped back. "If that's how you're planning to win me over, try serenading me yourself." She strummed the strings of the guitar as a little nudge for his inspiration. One string broke.

"You'll have to pay for that," he said quietly. Emma gawked at him, her mouth falling open.

"I am not paying for a guitar that was probably already broken in the first place. You probably loosened the strings on purpose," she accused him boldly. Gold chuckled lowly, his eyes never straying from her body.

"A bit paranoid, are we? Oh, yes, Emma. My tingling Emma senses told me you'd be stopping by my shop today so I rubbed my palms together evilly, twirled my invisible mustache, and decided to deliberately play with the strings on this guitar knowing you would not be able to resist strumming it and therefore breaking one, the result being that you owe me. That sounds like me," he sarcastically spouted. Emma spread her palms wide on the counter.

"Yeah, that sums it up pretty well. Hits the nail on the head, actually. I'm still not paying for that," she argued. He exhaled impatiently.

"You break it, you buy it. One way or another." Emma drummed her fingers on the counter as if she were waiting for the punch-line of a joke. In that case, she'd have to wait all night. Spinning on her heel, she stomped into the back room. A second later, she returned with a roll of duct tape, much to his amusement. "Ah, eager, are we? I was simply going to ask that you share your Oreos." Ignoring him, Emma crudely applied two long pieces to the broken string, securing it down.

"There, I fixed it." The string popped up again, the pieces of tape still attached like a flag. "Call off the band."

Gold switched his gaze to the crew outside his shop and gestured for them to come inside. Leroy, Archie, and David obeyed, piling behind Emma, though she refused to acknowledge them. She was capable of holding a grudge.

"Are we gettin' paid?" Leroy inquired over Emma's shoulder. She scrunched her nose at the odor of his breath. _Someone desperately needs to be paid in Tic-Tacs. _

"How many songs did you sing?" Huh. So Leroy wasn't kidding about getting paid by the song.

"Five," David and Archie simultaneously answered.

"Hundred," Leroy added. Gold ceased gathering a handful of crisp twenties from somewhere in his suit. Eyes darkening dangerously, he tucked the money away, dashing their hopes. Emma snickered.

"Just for that dishonesty, you get nothing," he hissed. He was particularly aiming daggers at Leroy. The short man bristled in irritation, resembling a porcupine.

"Why are you lookin' at me, sister? Maybe I'm the one tellin' the truth! Just because I'm a heavy-set guy and I drink once or twice a week doesn't mean I don't have a good pair of lungs to sing with." Emma scoffed, earning their unwanted attention.

"No, but I'm pretty sure your liver's in the toilet," she muttered under her breath. She shot Gold a warning look. _Hurry it up, Gold. There's no way I'm hosting a parade down the middle of Main Street again. There were people actually crowding around waiting for the floats. _

"I happen to have eyes and ears everywhere. Boston could hear your singing from here. Regina should be receiving a letter of complaint. For now, I am dismissing you from serenading Emma," he declared. Emma released a pent up sigh of relief. No more having to hurry to her car in an effort to escape. No more being stalked by mushy love songs.

"Does this mean you two have resolved your issues?"

With Archie speaking over one of her shoulders and Leroy peering over the other, they might as well have been the little good and evil incarnations. And David was just in the background for support. Though, Archie did sound somewhat hopeful for their reunion. Was Gold threatening to attend daily therapy now?

"No," she answered before Gold could form a smart reply. "It means he's going to have to resort to plan D."

Emma turned and left the shop, the four remaining to watch her walk away. Gold winced as she closed his door harder than necessary. _Actually, Emma, this is Plan D, Part One, Section A…and a half. _David cleared his throat, catching Gold's solemn attention.

"Your guitar is broken."

…

_**The songs included in this chapter are: "I Just Called To Say I Love You" by Stevie Wonder, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" by Elton John, "All Out of Love" by Air Supply, "Can't Buy Me Love" by the Beatles, and "Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers. Just so you know. I don't own any of these songs (obviously). **_

_**Let's give it up for Archie and the Crickets (as I am dubbing them now). Who knows? Maybe one of these days, they will come back for an encore. (-; Things are going to start picking up in this story, too, with the little portion of Season One I like to call the "domino stage." So many exciting things to come! **_

_**I can tell you that I'm planning to have Gold officially serenade Emma next chapter. *cue 'Awwww's* So, what song(s) do you think Gold should serenade Emma with? Hand 'em to me! I really need the inspiration and I appreciate all suggestions. I have a couple possibilities in mind, but I'd love to hear what my readers have to say about it! **_

_**Speaking of my readers, it's time for shout-outs. Le gasp! 700 reviews? Oh, you guys are awesome! Oreos for all my readers! **_

_**Thank you DaesGatling, olverabonk (700**__**th**__** review!), Twyla Mercedes, Paranormal Moonlight, Aralain, discotimelord, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, Sweetangelz18, brontegirl89, DragonRose4, Notsureyet18, Tizmine, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, dirty-icing, The-Writer2012, Musicalfan2012, ekletik, and Duffer13. **_

_**Thank you everyone for taking the time to read. As always, much appreciated! (-; **_


	39. Chapter 39

_**A/N: Hello, everybody! Another long chapter for you—a lot of good stuff happening this time around. So read on and enjoy. **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Nine**_

It was past five o'clock.

It was also one of those nights that Gold was entirely reluctant to head home. Always, the house was too empty and quiet now that that Emma wasn't there, unless the dog happened to spot a moving animal on the television. Last time, Goldie even managed to topple the television set over and break it. Never mind the fact that all he had to snuggle with was the dog when he reached out during the night for Emma.

Speaking of Goldie, he wasn't looking forward to giving that dog her bath tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or February 31st. Why did that dog always feel the need to roll around in the grass on her walks?

The bell of his shop jingled and he sighed tiredly. Why did everyone have so much difficulty reading the sign? It was right on the door, for crying out loud. Rushing through the curtain, he had a very sharp retort on his tongue, until he spotted the customer in question.

Oh, this was unexpected.

It was Henry.

"Henry," he greeted flatly, enough to reveal his black mood. "If you're searching for Emma, I'm afraid you won't find her here…anymore."

The boy frowned as he bravely approached the counter, his backpack weighing heavily on his shoulders. He didn't know what surprised him more—his stepson's presence in his shop or the fact that he might have attended school today. On top of that, he wondered how much Emma divulged to her son about their little argument.

"I'm not looking for Emma. She's staying at Mary Margaret's," Henry informed him without doubt. Amazingly, his wide brown eyes held Gold's with all the strength of a knight. Perhaps he should give those swords to him next Christmas, start to train him. "I was wondering if I could visit Goldie some time. I've missed her."

Oh, so the boy was using the dog as an excuse. He would need some gentle coaxing in order to reveal his true reason for being here. Still, Gold smiled pleasantly.

"Of course. How could I deny my stepson the right to see his pet?"

Henry winced at the use of the term 'stepson.' Most likely due to his knowledge that he was really Rumpelstiltskin. Living with the Queen did not aid his skills of subtlety, as he had overheard the boy whispering more than once to Emma about the "Limping Imp." Even so, it settled a stone in his chest to see that Henry was still uncertain about him.

"Perhaps you could help me give Goldie a bath tomorrow morning," he suggested. If he knew Henry Mills, he was positive the boy would take any excuse to stray from the Queen. Plus, it would offer him a chance to learn more about the "Limping Imp."

"Sure," he eagerly agreed, his eyes lighting up like golden stars for a moment. Soon, the excitement faded and he quieted, gazing around the shop while struggling to bring up whatever else he wanted to say. Gold folded his hands over his cane and waited. Nothing. A few seconds ticked by. Still nothing.

"Was there anything else I could help you with?" He didn't mean to sound impatient and irritable, but he was tired. It had been a grueling two days, constantly wracking his brain for ways to win Emma back. And that pathetic guitar was mocking him with its broken string.

Slowly, Henry's head shifted in his direction, his expression overtly serious.

"I was hoping…you could get back together with my mom," he finally said. The ulterior motive came to light. Quite the turn-around for the boy, considering he had been regarding him with suspicion ever since learning of his true identity. Gold didn't know what to say. "Emma, not the…um, Mayor," Henry clarified. As if anyone could pay him enough to even consider dating Regina. Disgusting.

"As much as it would please me to have Emma back, I'm afraid that decision rests with her, Henry," he muttered solemnly. Oh, if it had been his decision, Emma would have been back in his bed before she'd even had the chance to leave it. It didn't keep Henry's face from falling.

"It's just…she hasn't been very happy since you two had that argument. She's always staring off in the distance and mopes a lot. The garbage is stuffed with roses and she didn't save me from Regina's mother-son day until _after _she flirted with our waiter at the Enchanted Rose. I call him Graham replacement number 3."

Gold stared at Henry in mild disbelief. As soon as the curse was broken and he won Emma back, Henry would be living with them whether Regina liked it or not.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Henry. Unfortunately, you'll find I have no influence on the decisions Emma makes. I've tried everything I could think of to win her back, and it seems I am all out of options." Henry pursed his lips in concentration. It made his mouth twist up as if he'd been sucking on a lemon. Gold had the urge to giggle about it.

"Have you tried Oreos? Those are her favorite," Henry advised him whole-heartedly.

"Yes, I offered her Oreos, but Emma is capable of holding a grudge. It seems it will take more than milk's favorite cookie to patch up the roughness between us." Henry's eyes gleamed with slight sympathy. Gold admired the fact that he simply wanted his mother to be happy. Emma, not Regina.

"What about the baby?" Gold fought hard to swallow the thick lump forming in his throat. Sometimes, Henry's tendency to ask the right questions was more of a burden than a curse. It was the reason he always won at the game _Guess Who? _

"She'll still have it," he assured the boy. He then realized too late that Henry wasn't worried about whether or not he'd be a big brother in seven or so months. No person in Storybrooke had looked upon Gold with as much pity as Henry was doing now.

"Yeah, but will you still be the baby's father?"

It hit him square in the chest with the power of one hundred bricks. It was the last probing question he had expected from Henry, but then he was always so considerate and clever for his age. He could probably perceive emotional situations that other children his temporary age could only struggle to grasp. Gold's mind was a terribly blank slate, his tongue lacking answers.

"I…I hope so," he admitted, his pulse racing faster and harder than he ever remembered in Storybrooke. He felt like that man he once was, nervous and vulnerable about what was to come in the future. The answer seemed to satisfy Henry, which was a great relief to him.

"I just want my mom to be happy. Is that so bad?" Henry appeared far wiser than his years, yet Gold could depict the childish plea for security in those wide eyes. Security and happiness were two concepts Henry had never truly known—two concepts no child should live without.

Leaning forward, he clasped Henry by the shoulder, a gesture meant to be one of comfort and understanding.

"Of course not, Henry. Everyone deserves a bit of happiness, yes?" Henry smiled and nodded in agreement. Yes, everyone deserved happiness….except for that horse of a woman in charge of their town. Oh, did he mean horse? How disrespectful of him. It was a terrible insult…to the _horse._

Where was that wolf when you needed it? Oh, right; hiding in a red skirt.

"Tomorrow, then?" He released his grip on Henry and tried to smile. It never reached anywhere close to his eyes. Henry hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulder and started for the door.

"Tomorrow," he promised over his shoulder. And then he was gone. It pleased Gold considerably to see his stepson in better spirits than when he entered the pawnshop. Such a smart, hopeful boy.

Gods, he needed a drink.

….

Truthfully, Emma had been skeptical when it came to her "date" with August W. Booth. She didn't expect much—nothing like ballroom dancing or a fancy restaurant or her name up in lights in Times Square while he bought her that drink. It wasn't like she was holding out for Buckingham Palace, either. She just didn't expect…well…a _well._

August dismounted his bike and gazed at the well as if it were the cure for cancer. Emma took a slower time getting off the bike, only because she was wondering if this was some kind of joke. A well? Not even a picnic? Was she on some small-town version of Candid Camera?

"So…are we walking the rest of the way?"

Maybe he meant to take her to a clearing in the woods. She was just thankful the cabin was in the opposite direction. August's life was already hanging in the balance with this "date"; if Gold found out he chose to take her to the cabin, August would be Gold's new window display in his shop.

August spread his leather-clad arms wide and flashed a winning smile.

"Nope. Sorry, princess. You're looking at it," he declared, quite proudly it seemed. Emma arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Princess?" August merely grinned, challenging her to make some smart-ass remark about it. She stared past him at the old well. The old, uncovered well. Wait, he expected her to drink from _that thing?_ Oh, he was a real keeper. "Do you…come here often?" _Not exactly one of Storybrooke's hotspots, Stubble. _

"About once a week. I'm probably the best customer around," he replied. Emma made a low _humph _in the back of her throat. _Try the _only_ customer, Stubble. I don't know many people that drink out of wells in the middle of the forest. _"Don't be shy. Come have a drink."

August approached the well and dipped the bucket down into the darkness. Emma trudged behind, not at all enthusiastic about this drink. The least he could have done was take her to some seedy bar that served cheap alcohol, in which case she could kindly refuse by having him watch her backside as it stormed out the door. She scrunched her nose as she peered into the depths of the well.

"There is no way I am drinking anything that comes out of that," she protested. He rolled her eyes as if she were only being stubborn. "First of all, it is _uncovered_. There are probably leaves, dirt, rodents, and other unnamable ingredients floating in there. Not exactly sanitary for a pregnant woman. Second of all, Storybrooke just got hit by a massive storm. Refer to Point A."

August sighed as he began rigging up the bucket from the well. He was making a real effort of pulling it up, probably to mock her for not helping. Too bad—it was his magic little well and he could pull that bucket up himself.

"You know, some people say that this well has magical properties," he said, giving her an expectant look.

_As if this date can't get any worse. Here we go with the whole magic thing. He's been hovering around Henry too much. That kid has got to stop spreading his book around and filling people's ears with fairy tales that may or may not have actually happened. Who has to deal with it? Me. _

"Some people are too gullible for words," she retorted, crossing her arms. _I'm still not drinking out of that well. _The bucket finally rose and August set it carefully on the edge. She would find it amusing if she "accidentally" sent it hurtling back into the well.

"Blame the plaque." He pointed to the sign attached to the well, telling a nice little story of how the water was supposed to be magical enough to return lost items. "Are you sure you don't want a drink?" He removed two plastic cups from inside his jacket. Nice to know he brought his own cups. Maybe that was why his chest felt weird when she was holding onto him during the ride here.

"I haven't lost anything I'm willing to get back," she muttered, even if her thoughts betrayed her by bringing up images of her and Gold. No, _she_ left _him_. She wasn't supposed to be missing him like this. Right? In any case, August was giving her a hard, doubtful look. He waved the cup closer to her.

"Going once, going twice…." She shook her head. He dipped the cups into the bucket and took a sip from one of them. Emma made a disgusted face. _I hope you end up in the hospital with a urine infection. It would serve you right for drinking possibly contaminated water, _she thought bitterly. "It's not poisoned," he taunted. _How would you know? Maybe it still has to set in. _

"No, thanks. I've learned not to drink anything I'm not one hundred percent sure of," she murmured, turning away from the well. All she wanted was to leave, return to Mary Margaret's and…God, she would help the woman bake cookies for the nuns' festival if it meant getting Gold off her mind for more than half an hour.

Behind her, there was an audible moan and then the cups clinked on the stone of the well. Was he toasting with himself now?

"You know, sometimes people make mistakes," he mused. Did she just hear that correctly or was it the wind? Slowly, she turned around and gawked at him. He shrugged loosely, all innocent and still clutching his cups.

"I'm sorry. Are you actually taking Gold's side? Or are you planning to out yourself for robbing a bank?" His body stiffened and he stared down at his cup curiously.

"I know, I don't understand it, either. Must be the water. Maybe it is contaminated, after all." Still, he downed the rest of it anyway. "Seriously, think about it. Does one mistake really define a person, especially if it only brings you happiness for a time? Maybe all he was doing during your marriage was trying to make up for it. Hence the…uh…bun in the oven." He gestured to her stomach. Emma grimaced.

"And maybe he was only trying to get me on his side. It's too hard to tell the difference," she sighed. She drew close to the well and leaned against it. Those clouds looked ready to open up again. If she was going to be stuck in the rain with someone like Stubble…"Besides, you of all people should be jumping for joy that my relationship with Gold is on the rocks. You've only been dogging at my heels for the past couple of months."

August gave a dry laugh.

"Which cost me my eyesight, and made Ruby assault me with a garbage bag. Plus the fact that you punched me and broke my nose, I nearly got into a fight with your husband on Christmas Eve and your son kicked me in the shin for kissing you. You, Emma Gold nee Swan, are more trouble than you're worth. At this rate, I'm a dead man walking."

Emma never heard him speak truer words than those. The two of them grew uncomfortably silent, so much that they could hear the birds chirping in the trees. August tapped his fingers against the edge of the well, much to her annoyance. This was some date.

"You have to admit, though…you were happy these last couple of months," August insisted, watching her from the corner of his eye. Emma's shoulders sagged as she leaned against the well, her boots digging into the muddy earth. "With him. If that wasn't clear."

"So, now you're feeding me the 'if you're happy then I'm happy' line?" The corners of August's lips twitched, threatening to form a smile.

"Maybe. I still blame the water. It makes your head kind of fuzzy, actually."

He rubbed his forehead roughly, as if he could scrub away the strange sensation prickling his mind. Now he was inspecting the water in the bucket, his head bent over it like he planned to bob for apples. Then he lifted his head, his blue-green eyes bright and shining in the sunlight.

"But if you are ever considering a divorce, I have tissues, I have alcohol, and I have a shoulder in which you may helplessly cry on. For future reference."

Emma picked up one of the cups and filled it with water. He gave her a victorious smirk.

"Ah, so you are thirsty, after all. Well, princess, drink up," he said. Emma smiled fondly at him. And then she dumped the water over his head. It soaked his hair, his neck, and his shoulders, dripping over his clothes. "That was not polite. But for you, I'll let it slide."

August raked the drops of water from his damp hair and shook his head wistfully.

"So, I take it I'm buying you a smoothie at the diner to make up for this date?" At least when she discussed this awkward moment with Mary Margaret, she could safely brag that August had more sense than David Nolan.

…

Gold couldn't remember the last time he felt the insatiable need to nurse a drink at the diner before bed. Even when he'd persuaded Emma to marry him the night of Graham's unfortunate demise, it'd never been about the drink. Only her. Maybe it was because his bad days were few and far between.

Either way, instead of making the weary walk home, he'd planted himself on a bar stool and ordered an alcoholic drink. Not too strong, but not too light, either. Ruby, sensitive wolf that she was, obviously sensed his foul mood and tried to lighten it by demanding to see his ID before serving. He brutally glared at her until she strutted off.

What ever happened to good service these days?

This day simply was not going the way he expected it would. Every time he tried to woo Emma back into his good graces, he failed. Miserably. So this was how it felt to be Charming. What woman didn't appreciate roses, jewelry, desserts, and serenading?

"How's Operation: Emma going?" And the wolf was in his midst again. What was it about him lately that made everyone flock around him at the worst possible moments? Didn't anyone ever realize that some people who drank at the bar didn't necessarily want some sympathetic fool buzzing in their ear?

"I've tried everything," he blurted out and winced afterward.

That came out wrong—his brain had commanded him to tell Ruby that she most likely couldn't afford to not do her job, given their habit of scraping by at the end of the month. Even his tongue was betraying him. Was nothing sacred? Oh, here it came. More babble. There must be something in the drink; Ruby poisoned it.

"Roses, jewelry…I've hired Leroy, Archie, and David to serenade her but that didn't work. I nearly owed them $100 each for pitiful singing."

Ruby rested her elbows on the bar, cupping her chin in her hand as she leaned toward him. She was twirling a pen through her fingers. She could poke an eye out with that. In that other realm, he'd helped idiotic people who poked themselves in the eye. It wasn't pretty.

"If you really want her back, you should show her exactly what she's missing." Ruby arched her eyebrows quite suggestively, bouncing them up and down. It reeked of _if-you-know-what-I-mean_. Suddenly, the alcohol tasted rather foul on the roof of his mouth. Oh, gods, now she was _winking_ suggestively.

"Dearie, I believe you have something in your eye." _Get away,_ he mentally berated her as he sipped his drink. Ruby huffed and impatiently blew a strand of streaked hair away from her face.

"Seriously, think about it. Show up at the station, profess your love, jump on her desk, and give her a show she'll never forget. Just make sure Leroy's not stuck in a cell. After he goes to Archie for PTSD, I'll never hear the end of it." Maybe it was the burn of the alcohol that made him grimace or the fact that these ideas were circling Ruby's mind in the first place. Not even a blush. He should charge an arm and a leg just for that.

"Are you suggesting I put on…a strip-show?" Ruby's crimson lips quirked and then flattened. She was trying not to giggle.

"It's not like she hasn't seen everything, Goldie. You never know—Emma might like it," Ruby teased, even going as far as to poke his shoulder. He stared at the spot where her finger just landed. Perhaps he should add a new sign to his shop along with the useless _Closed_ one: _No shirt, no shoes, no service. Touch me and you die._

It was his turn to invade her personal space as he stretched across the bar to come face to face with her. Judging by the way she took a step backward and blanched, she didn't like it. Good. That meant he was doing his job right.

"Call me Goldie one more time…and your rent will magically skyrocket." If Ruby had blanched before, she now looked ready to pass out to the floor like a fallen leaf. In a mere moment, she managed to regain her composure enough to shrug it off with a scowl. Persistent little thing, wasn't she?

"Maybe you should try serenading her yourself. Ever think of that, Goldi…Go-old?" She caught herself before it slipped. His lips curled in a sneer meant to frighten children.

"That is what Emma said," he admitted in a low, terse voice. The cold reception escaped Ruby's mindset and she perked up, beaming so enthusiastically that she almost flicked the pen into his face in her excitement.

"Well, then there's your answer! Don't you men ever learn to listen to your wives? Just stand outside Mary Margaret's apartment building with a boom-box. Or, wait! Play a guitar while sitting on the hood of her Bug. Yeah, and then when she comes out, you'll be the first thing she sees, singing and strumming…Mind if I offer a piece of advice?"

He rubbed his tired, swelling eyes. A piece? He felt like he should be scribbling down notes.

"What's stopping you so far?" He was certain she'd heard his short answer; she still had excellent hearing due to her little wolf tendencies, but she ignored him. Ruby was either mentally undressing him or preparing to give him the most critical fashion advice of his existence.

"Try…dressing down a bit. You're already married to her so it's not like you're proposing. Maybe the fancy suits intimidate her a bit, you know? Reminds her how powerful you are," she suggested. He glanced down at his lovely suit.

"Dress…down? As in…_jeans?"_ It came out sounding like a foreign word on his tongue. If she kept on like this, he would need subtitles. Ruby clicked her lacquered nails against the bar, unintentionally annoying the hell out of him. Or maybe it wasn't all that unintentional—he wouldn't put it past most of these people.

"You don't own a pair?" He gave her a blank look in response. Jeans. Foreign. Subtitles. "Okay…Then we'll just have to do some last minute shopping!"

He tried to remember why he ever thought it was preferable to come here instead of head straight home. Funny…he couldn't recall. Poor Goldie was all by her lonesome…and probably hogging his pillow.

"I suppose we'll find a photo booth and make silly faces at the camera, too? Make memories?" Ruby grinned, flashing a pair of deceptively sharp white teeth.

"Perfect idea! You and Emma can do that after you make up and show it to your kid," Ruby exclaimed as she tossed her crimson apron on the counter. He felt a headache coming on and he would bet his dagger that the alcohol had nothing to do with it.

…..

"You're welcome to stay here tonight…again," Mary Margaret sighed as she watched Emma from the corner of her eye. Sitting at the kitchen table with circles under her eyes, Emma looked worn down and emotionally exhausted. Even if the Sheriff was too proud to admit it, she must be missing Gold terribly.

"I wasn't planning on going back _there._ My second option was my car," she muttered as she plucked the petals off one of the roses in a vase on the kitchen table. Mary Margaret had thought it would be nice to keep at least one for the apartment. Now, all it had was a stem, in which case Emma moved on to the next one in the vase. "My third option was Henry's garage."

Pouring herself a cup of tea, Mary Margaret leaned against the kitchen counter. She wished she could do something to help Emma—she hated seeing her friend so down.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Emma's fingers cruelly twisted another petal off a rose, her lips pulled in a pout. All she offered was stubborn silence. "I'll take that as a 'no.'" Forgetting the roses, Emma scowled.

"He drugged me the night I married him. No amount of roses or serenading is going to change that. All he wanted was to get me on his side. Do you think that's reasonable grounds for divorce?" Mary Margaret set her mug aside and realized it was going to take a lot for Emma to settle with this problem. She chose her words carefully.

"Maybe…you shouldn't give up so easily. Love is not always sunshine, Emma," Mary Margaret advised. Instantly, Emma sat upright in her chair, blanching. Was that the wrong thing to say?

"You're taking his side?" Mary Margaret pinched the bridge of her nose. Emma was leveling such a hard stare at her that she felt she had to hold up her hands in surrender.

"I'm not taking anyone's side. I mean, _of course_ I am on your side, Emma…." This was coming out all wrong. She sighed. "Look, I know what he did wasn't right. It was very, very, _very_ wrong. But, Emma, maybe you should be admiring the whole forest instead of criticizing that one gnarled tree," she said.

Emma tilted her head, reminding her of the kids in her class when they did not understand something. Her brow furrowed. Mary Margaret wondered if they had Hallmark cards for this sort of thing—it would make it so much easier to deal with.

"Have you been secretly taking Chinese-cookie lessons from Gold?" Mary Margaret threaded her fingers through her short black hair, trying to come up with some simpler way of getting the message across to Emma. What they really needed was a girls' night out with Ruby, away from all this relationship drama.

"All I'm saying is that it might be better for you to stay with him for the countless things he's done right than to leave him for the one thing he did wrong." Emma pointed an accusing finger in her direction.

"So what I'm hearing is that you're taking his side," she insisted. _And these are the moments when Archie is very much needed, _Mary Margaret mused. Maybe they would invite him along for a night out as well. He wasn't nearly as troubling as Gold or David.

"Just sleep on it," Mary Margaret rested her case, taking up her mug again. The tea was starting to cool, but she swallowed it all down anyway. When she was finished, she was surprised to see a small smirk on Emma's lips.

"Yes, Mom," she sarcastically retorted.

Mary Margaret couldn't help the smile as she started toward her bedroom. It would be nice to have Emma as a daughter; she was already a close friend and Mary Margaret always felt protective of her. But then that would mean that Gold would be her son-in-law. That was just…well, odd didn't even begin to cover it. If he came for the rent one day and called her 'Mom', she'd be making an express trip to Archie.

She was halfway to her bedroom when the sound of a guitar reached her ears.

"Emma? Were you breaking anything lately? You know how you do that when you get angry," Mary Margaret lightly inquired. Nothing looked broken—there were no missing lamps and the toaster had been fine this morning. Emma sat back in her chair and seemed lost in thought.

"Not counting the roses? Not that I can recall. Are you suggesting I'm sleep-destructing?" Mary Margaret snickered at Emma's newly-created term, but shook her head.

"If anyone was capable of sleep-destructing, it would be you. But, no. I just thought you might have left your music on. Though, it's usually much louder than this. Usually our neighbors are calling you to complain." Emma shifted her head and her eyebrows shot up as she caught the sound of a strumming guitar. Mary Margaret wandered to the bay window and gasped.

"What? Have people finally figured out that Regina is an evil witch and created a mob in the streets? I think I'll join them," Emma quipped. "Where do you keep your pitchfork and torches?"

There was no answer. Mary Margaret appeared dumbstruck by whatever had caught her attention through the window. Placing a protective palm over her bump, Emma eased out of her chair to join Mary Margaret's side. _This had better be good. Did someone steal my stolen car that I ended up stealing myself? _

Emma reached the window and peered down into the street. Her mouth fell open.

Her car was there, all right. But so was Gold. Leaning against her yellow Bug. Not just leaning against it, either. He was strumming a guitar; probably one of the old ones from his shop. Stumbling forward, Emma opened the window. That solved the mystery of the music. Not only was he leaning on her Bug and strumming a guitar, he was _singing. _

_Don't, don't you want me? You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me. Don't, don't you want me? You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me. It's too late to find you think you've changed your mind. You'd better change it back or we will both be sorry. Don't you want me, dearie? Don't you want me…oh! _

Heat traveled quickly to Emma's neck. She buried her face in her hand to avoid gaping at Gold any longer. Of all the songs for him to serenade her with, he had to choose the most conceited. And Mary Margaret was inches away from cooing about how romantic it was.

"Oh, that's so sweet," she gushed. "At least he's trying to win you back." Emma lifted her head and glared down at Gold. Trying. Right. She just hoped Sidney wasn't anywhere close-by tonight or this would end up on the front page. She didn't know if Gold could handle such publicity.

"I'm giving him five minutes. And then I think I'll arrest him for public misconduct."

…

Gold lowered the guitar and watched Emma disappear from the window. Mary Margaret hovered there for a second more, but then she moved out of view as well. At least she had been blushing—Emma, not Mary Margaret. Even good ole St. Nick wasn't that jolly shade of pink. Or was she embarrassed? Emma had always taunted him about hiding his singing voice; well, here it was, darling.

Women. Emotional, pregnant women. Always such a handful and hard to please.

Muttering under his breath, he nudged the small communicative device in his ear that connected to Ruby at the diner. Supposedly, she used it once to gather Intel on August. Even stranger than that, the device had originally come from Henry, most likely used to spy on the Queen. That child was far smarter than Regina gave him credit for.

"This is not working," he spoke through gritted teeth. It was a good thing this device was fashioned in the sense of Bluetooth—otherwise, passersby might get the idea he was losing it mentally due to Emma leaving him. There was a small crackle and then Ruby's voice flowed through his ear.

"Maybe you should try something a little less narcissistic," she retorted. He grimaced. He had no time to deal with Ruby's barbs.

"Last I heard, everyone says you should stop wearing such short skirts and transparent shirts, but you clearly haven't heeded it yet. Rumor has it that Regina's thinking of putting it to a town vote at the next town meeting. Should our waitresses wear more clothes?"

He snapped louder than he meant to. Unfortunately for him, Miss Ashley Boyd—the used-to-be cinder-girl with the explosive fairy godmother—happened to be carting her baby along the sidewalk for an evening stroll and was now staring at him with the caution of _stranger danger._ The longer she stood there and stared at him like he was Medusa with a head of snakes, the more awkward it became.

"Yes, thank you for the advice, dearie. You know how much I value your opinion," he quickly spieled. He removed the device from his ear before Ruby could question his sanity and leered down at Ashley. She'd never been comfortable around him after he'd nearly managed to take her baby. "Evening, Miss Boyd. How are you enjoying your baby? What was her name again? Alexandria? Lovely name."

Just as expected, Ashley hurried past as if the world were coming to an end. He'd never seen someone move so fast with a stroller before. He wondered if he'd be invited to her little Storybrooke wedding. It wouldn't surprise him if his invitation got lost in the mail. Or perhaps she would invite him out of fear. It hardly mattered—he'd only go if Emma was on his arm.

Miserably, he tilted his head back and gazed up at the window, willing Emma to return again. _Fine, Ruby. Have it your way. _And he began to sing again.

….

It was almost closing time at the diner, but Ruby solemnly occupied a stool at the bar with her apron in a disheveled pile next to her. There were hardly any customers now and all she had to busy her mind was listening to Gold serenading Emma. Finally, it was too much and she turned off the device before tossing it on the bar. She never had anyone serenade her before.

Inevitably, her thoughts switched to August. Jerk. If she and Granny weren't so desperate for money, she'd demand he leave their Inn and forget about room service. Just drive off on his motorcycle and head back to wherever he came from, wherever that was. Maybe she'd stick nails in his tires. Or put a layer of superglue on his mattress so he wouldn't be able to get out of it—unless he took all his clothes off, anyway. Or she could put laughing gas in his vents—

"Ruby?" Shaken out of her furious revenge-seeking daydream, she glanced up at Dr. Hopper. She hadn't even heard him enter the diner. He was staring sheepishly at her behind his glasses. Probably wanted a doughnut and she was here sulking. "You look like you could use someone to talk to tonight."

Ruby pursed her red lips. What was he, her conscience?

"Why do you say that?" He pointed to the pile of confetti that used to be a napkin, just sitting on the bar in front of her. Whoops. She must have been ripping it to shreds while thinking of August. She impatiently swept the pile aside. "I'm fine. It's not like my heart got trampled under the feet of a handsome, mysterious stranger or anything. That would be ridiculous." Oh, she hated it when she rambled in self-pity.

"Are you sure about that?" Ruby gazed out the window absently to avoid Dr. Hopper's speculative look. Why did he even care if she was down in the dumps tonight? Was he out of business for people with problems? She'd rather die than attend therapy. "May I sit down with you?" Ruby shrugged listlessly.

"It's a free country, even if Granny runs this place like Hitler," she replied. Dr. Hopper hesitated before settling a stool to her immediate left. Surprisingly, she felt her pulse quicken with nervousness—she didn't know whether to say something or not. Her thoughts were a mess as it was. "I heard you, David, and Leroy were serenading Emma today."

Dr. Hopper's head swiveled around and a pink color rose to his face. It would be impossible not to realize that the doctor had been nurturing a crush on Emma ever since she arrived in Storybrooke. Too bad she was married to the town's most feared and loathsome individual. It was amusing to watch the normally calm doctor unnerved, though.

"Yeah, the town is calling us 'Archie and the Crickets' now. Rumor has it the nuns want us to sing at the Miner's Day Festival," he said, earning a small smile from her. The nuns must be desperate for entertainment. She wondered how Archie felt about encouraging Emma to go back to Gold. He was probably in the same boat she was—crushing on someone who had no interest or time of day. "So, what's really on your mind?"

Ruby stared down at the scraps of napkin, picking at them with her fingers. She really needed to quit assaulting the napkins and talk to someone. It wasn't like she'd go to Granny with her problems and explain her recent stalking activities.

"There's this guy…" Ruby started, only to clench her fists when August surfaced in her mind. Jerk. Leather-clad, stubble-jawed, motorcycle-riding jerk. Archie gave an encouraging nod.

"I see," he mumbled. He folded his hands atop the bar and waited patiently for her to continue. Didn't anything make him tick? She raked her fingers through her red-streaked hair and huffed. She felt like she was talking to Dr. Phil.

"I've been trying for weeks to get him to notice me, but he just brushes me off. It's like he's the only guy in town that doesn't appreciate a waitress in a short skirt. Except for Gold, but then I always assumed he was batting for the other team before he married Emma." Archie nodded vigorously as Ruby became more excited, waving her arms about like a madwoman. "And _then_ he decides to take Emma out for a drink even though she's married, which in plain English is a _date _and…and…I'm giving up on chasing him."

"That's a good thing…for the napkins," Archie said. Ruby glanced down to find a second pile of confetti on the bar. God, she did it again! What was wrong with her? Besides the painfully obvious? Granny was going to gut her for wasting napkins. "You want to know what I think?"

Ruby dramatically rolled her eyes.

"Isn't that why you're listening to my woes?" Archie gave a light smile and leaned forward.

"I think it's his loss if this guy isn't interested in you, Ruby. Any guy would be blind not to realize how good of a person you are. If he can't possibly feel lucky to have your attention, then perhaps he's not worth it, after all," he advised.

It made Ruby feel…bubbly inside. It made her want to tap-dance on the bar. It made her want to lean forward and spontaneously kiss Archie for such considerate words. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme, but not by much.

"You want to know what _I _think?" Archie made a small gesture with his wrist to tell her to continue. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she admitted. God, there was even a blush setting into her cheeks and Ruby never blushed around a guy! At least not since she was in her early teenage years. "Oh, did you need anything? Coffee? Dinner?"

Snatching up her red apron, Ruby hopped off the stool and tied it around her waist. It was a minute or so to closing, but she figured Granny wouldn't complain about one more customer. Every cent counted.

"Just a coffee, thanks," he politely requested. "I need a pick-me-up after a whole day of serenading." Ruby immediately got to work pouring a cup of coffee for Archie, just the way he always took it. She traded it to him for his money and he smiled warmly across the bar at her. "Have a good night, Ruby."

"You, too, Dr. Hopper," she robotically replied, sweeping up the bits of napkin into her hand. If she knew how much of a mess she made, she would have tried harder not to make it in the first place.

"You can call me Archie, if you really want," he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

Ruby glanced up to meet his bespectacled eyes in surprise. When he wasn't around, she usually called him Archie, but offered him respect with his title as doctor. Granny always complained about how informal she was to the customers. It was nice to be informal with someone besides Leroy.

"Archie," she repeated experimentally before returning to the confetti. Why did she feel the need to rip things apart when she was upset? Every time she had a major argument with Granny, she would resort to tearing up a pillow. Needless to say, their Inn would look like Big Bird's nest. Maybe she needed special anger management.

It occurred to her that Archie was still lingering in front of the door since the diner's bell never sounded. Was he considering buying a cookie or something?

"Uh…listen…" He nervously stuttered. His face was turning a silly shade of pink. "It's a full moon tonight. I was wondering if you'd….like to join me for a late-night picnic by the Toll Bridge? Just friends, of course."

Ruby didn't know what to say at first. Was he asking her…on a date? _Aw, I think the doctor has a crush on me, too. Maybe he's trying to get over Emma. _Strangely, the idea of a late-night picnic wasn't such a bad option. Just friends, of course. And she did enjoy watching the full moon. Besides, what else did she have to do tonight besides mope about August and wish she could release a man-eating bear into his room?

"My shift ends in…thirty seconds. If you can stick around that long," Ruby teased. Archie gratefully nodded and took a generous sip of his coffee.

"I can wait all night," he blurted out. She raised an eyebrow to challenge him, which only made him blush more. It was kind of…cute. For once, Ruby wore a genuine smile as she locked up the diner for the night. It was a beautiful evening, the full moon was shining above Storybrooke, and she was actually looking forward to a picnic with Archie. _Who needs August, anyway? _

…

"Close the window, Mary. At least spare me that much torture," Emma moaned as she turned her back to the window.

The last thing she needed was Gold proclaiming how much she desperately needed him. Like that was going to win her over, or any girl for that matter. Then again, if this was David serenading Mary Margaret, those two would already be well on their way to kissing in the street. Again.

"He's starting to sing again," she announced, as if that would change Emma's attitude. One verse wasn't enough for him? For someone so ultimately brilliant, he could be dense sometimes. Then his voice floated through the window, winding its way across her skin and into her ears. It rooted her to the spot as the familiar lyrics resonated inside her mind.

_How can you just walk away from me when all I can do is watch you leave? 'Cause we've shared the laughter and the pain…we've even shared the tears. You're the only one who really knew me at all…_

Ever so slowly, Emma hypnotically turned around and cocked her head to listen. It seemed a spell had befallen her, restricting her from taking another step, unless it was one that brought her closer to Gold. Mary Margaret offered her a knowing smile at the obvious state of awe she was experiencing.

"I take it you don't want me to close the window?" Emma was unable to find words as Gold's voice enveloped her in a rich, sensual cocoon.

_So, take a look at me now. There's just an empty space. And you coming back to me is against the odds, but that's what I've got to face…_

Dreamily, Emma closed her eyes and reminisced about her time with Gold. A hand flew to her swelling abdomen as she pictured it, molding and swimming to the surface. The honeymoon, the way he kissed her lips as if it were the first and last time, the golden swan necklace that still hung around her neck. Giving her comfort, holding her the night she'd been awoken by the thunderstorm, kissing her belly to connect with their unborn child. He never knew she knew he did that when he thought she was well asleep.

Stay with him for all the things he'd done right, Mary Margaret had advised. Hell, he'd even abided her every craving during this pregnancy and supplied her with Oreos even if it was midnight and the rest of Storybrooke was sleeping. Did all of that trump the mistake he'd made at the very beginning?

_Take a good look at me now, 'cause I'll still be standing here. And you coming back to me is against all odds, but it's the chance I'll have to take…_

"I think that's really sweet of him," Mary Margaret cooed for the umpteenth time, a hand pressed to her heart. "Don't you think so, Emma?" There was heavy silence and then the clomping of Emma's boots on the floorboard. She was walking away. Mary Margaret spun around just as the apartment door clicked closed.

There was either going to be a happy reunion…or Emma was about to arrest Gold in the middle of the street.

…..

Gold leaned the guitar against Emma's yellow Bug as the entrance door to Mary Margaret's apartment building opened. He hoped it wasn't another resident complaining about the noise or he'd have to threaten to triple their rent to force them away. It was a relief when Emma emerged. She wasn't holding her handcuffs, which meant there was a good chance she wasn't here to arrest him.

"I see you took me seriously about the serenading," she remarked, zipping her leather jacket over her bump. It was rather chilly out here. Ooh, a baby bump covered by leather….it sent a fresh thrill through his body. Her head bobbed as she gave him the once-over herself. "And you're wearing jeans."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ruby insisted on taking me shopping, as my luck would have it. Well?"

Pushing off the hood of the car, Gold decided to revolve in a circle and model the jeans for her. He could feel her gaze roaming over every angle. Emma sauntered forward as he made a full circle and slipped two fingers into the jeans' pockets, keeping him trapped in one spot. Clearing his throat, he shoved down that warm sensation gnawing at his lower body.

"She decided I needed to dress down to impress you…in more ways than one," he continued, expertly shielding his warring emotions. Emma removed her fingers from his pockets and ultimately crossed her arms over her chest. He couldn't miss the smug gleam in her eyes if he'd been a mile away.

"And you took dating advice from Ruby who, in Leroy's opinion, never wears pants?" Okay, he walked straight into that one. Her gaze wandered from his hips to his feet and upwards again. If it weren't for the chill in the air, the heat pumping through his veins would be more noticeable. "I think I prefer the suits."

"Yes, so do I," he breathed softly. These jeans were much too tight—tighter than leather, possibly. It was rather uncomfortable. There was something else Emma wanted to get off her chest; he easily recognized that distant, thoughtful look that always came before an important conversation on her part.

"I went to Archie yesterday and I remembered our wedding night. You were telling the truth about not taking advantage of me," she mused. She made it sound like a huge, mind-numbing surprise. It almost hurt. Technically, he was the victim in this situation, what with the manner of which _she_ had come on to _him_.

"I tell the truth quite a lot, dearie, yet people are always surprised," he mused flatly. How many times did he assure his customers that he kept his word and his end of the bargain only to have them doubt him? His toe nudged the guitar and it clattered to the sidewalk. "Well, now that that's settled, I no longer have to serenade you, I can peel off these jeans, and my bed will no longer be empty."

Emma's fond expression shriveled and diminished like Regina's tacky wallpaper. Why was she glaring so fiercely? This was the part where she was meant to kiss him passionately, run back up the stairs to fetch her belongings and return with him to their little house. So far, none of the three had happened yet.

"That's it?" Her voice was dripping with cruel, barbed wire that dug into his skin.

Did he somehow say the wrong thing? There was the part about stripping off the jeans…crawling into bed with him…Oh, he did mention that he would no longer have to serenade her. Did she perhaps _want _him to continue the serenading? He'd only learned two songs. And there were blisters on his fingers.

"Was there something else you wished to discuss?" Emma's mouth dropped open. She scoffed at him, her pretty eyes narrowing to slits.

"Wait, you actually think that just because you didn't take advantage of me, I'll come home with you?" He pondered over it for a long moment. It_ seemed_ she understood his intentions quite well. And yet she was still worked up as a kitten in bathwater.

"I fail to see the problem with your lack of understanding," he said. Emma gaped at him crossly and flung her hands in the air. Gritting her teeth, she angrily stomped her boots on the sidewalk. Something warned him her pregnancy hormones were riding the overload wave again.

"The problem, Gold, is that you _drugged me! _And you're obviously not that regretful about it." Was that what was bugging her? Hadn't he apologized for that? Perhaps not.

Truthfully, Storybrooke's Cards-R-Us store was all out of cards that said '_Forgive me for drugging you.' _Though, there was an attractive little one that read '_I'm sorry your grandma got run over by a reindeer' _for Christmas. Maybe he'd give that one to Henry next year when he found a conspicuous outline in the snow in the shape of his step-grandmother-adoptive-mother.

"Think of it this way, darling. Had I not drugged you, we wouldn't have shared those precious moments together," he reasoned. Emma looked torn between admitting he had a point and spouting a string of words that were not appropriate for children's ears.

"So, you're saying I should be proud of the fact that you drugged me? You're way more diabolical than I thought," she snapped. Maybe this would be a good time for a sincere apology. He opened his mouth to do just that, but Emma waved her hand impatiently. "Forget it. I came down here because I was impressed by the serenading and thought _maybe _you'd learned the error of your ways. Clearly, I was wrong."

Spinning on her heel, Emma made a strict beeline for the apartment door. Groaning, he reached out and caught her wrist.

"I am sorry," he said, pulling her back towards him. She dug her heels in and resisted, wrenching her arm away from his grasp. "Now, will you come home with me?" She gave him a skeptical look.

"No, because I'm fairly certain that apology is as well-meaningful as Regina's attempts at baking apple pies for the Miner's Day festival," she retorted over her shoulder.

She charged back into the apartment building, ignoring his tries to call her back. The fact that the operation of serenading was nearly a success sent him reeling over the edge. Picking up the guitar, he smashed it against the hood of the Bug, breaking it in half. Great. Now he had two broken guitars mocking him.

Breathing roughly through his nose, he retrieved the communicative device to speak to Ruby. The price of these jeans was definitely being added to her rent this month.

"Hope you're happy, Ruby. The serenading was a failure. It was so horrid, David Nolan could have done it." There was silence on the other end. Where was she? Asleep on the job? Chasing after that idiot Stubble?

At last, there was a crackle, though the message was not exactly what he expected. Then again, he felt like he had traveled down the rabbit hole to Wonderland these past two days.

_Sorry. Ruby's not here to take your call right now. She's currently on a date with Archie, having a picnic by the Toll Bridge, sipping wine, dancing under the stars, and watching the full moon. If you would like to leave your name and number, press 1. If you would like full details on the aforementioned date, press 2. If this is Regina Mills, press 3 and wait for further instructions. _

Press 1? There weren't even any buttons on this infernal contraption. Oh, wait, here was a button. The robotic message came through again. _Sorry, your entry is invalid. Goodnight. _Well, that was a waste of two seconds of his life. And a date with Archie? When did that happen?

Sighing, he glanced up at the bay window of Mary Margaret's apartment, but the lights went out. Miserable and alone, he began the walk home. He would've made it, too, if he hadn't been interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Grumbling, he checked the caller ID. Regina. For a second, he fantasized about playing Ruby's message over his phone and seeing if she actually was stupid enough to press 3. Instead, he begrudgingly answered it.

"You must be banging your pretty head against the wall in boredom if you're calling me, dearie," he addressed her without a single nicety. She didn't deserve niceties in his book. There was dry, unemotional laughter on the other end.

"Trust me, Rumpel; you're the last person on my list that I would resort to for a night out. In fact, I'd rather do karaoke with David Nolan," she retorted bitterly. He wished that she'd just get to the bloody point for once in her self-centered, impulsive life. She had ten seconds and he was hanging up. "I simply called to remind you of our little deal. The one that involved that scandalous photo? Of you drugging your precious wife?"

His hand curled menacingly around the phone, holding it tight against his ear. Some nights, he really wished he could command Regina to jump off a cliff. Well, all that was stopping him was a magic word. He didn't need to deal with this right now.

"Oh, I figured you meant that embarrassing one from your birthday party a few years back," he sarcastically replied. He expected her to start growing frantic, but there was only more victorious laughter. Was she drunk? It wouldn't surprise him.

"Hah! I never invited Mr. Gold to any of my birthday parties. He was too busy sulking in his little pink house. Hmm…it seems some things don't change," she taunted. Oh, look at that. Her ten seconds had come and gone. Too bad she was already talking again. He was convinced she just loved to hear her own voice. "In any case….she's leaving."

Inevitably, his attention was ensnared. Regina didn't have to confirm who "she" was—they were both aware of the only person they were counting on leaving. Kathryn. Anxiously, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, he really did not need this tonight. But what choice did he have when he proposed never to break a deal? When the dominoes were stacking up as they spoke?

"She'll never make it across the border," he voiced the obvious notion. Regina snorted. Oh, yes, the horses on Ole MacDonald's farm would be rallying a riot about now over being compared to such a hideous creature as Regina.

"Of course not. We designed it that way," she responded with utmost pleasure. It made him sick. Clenching his teeth, he wished she were standing in front of him so he could watch the light leave her eyes as he tore her down once again. His imagination would have to do.

"Let's get one thing straight, dearie. Deals might translate to alliances in your language, but there is no '_we.' _There never will be," he spat and hung up the phone before she could make any form of protest. Pocketing the phone, his hands curled into brutal fists as he came to terms with the task at hand. At this rate, he wouldn't be able to rest until late tonight.

The first person that commented on his attire was getting tossed over the border.

….

Emma unintentionally slammed the door as she strode back into Mary Margaret's apartment. Part of her had been impressed by Gold's serenading, demanding her feet to turn around and just go home with him. The dominant half replayed his words in her head and bristled upon realization that he did not believe he was entirely at fault. Arrogant to the core.

She expected Mary Margaret to be waiting, probably bouncing on her toes and ready to bombard her with questions about how it went and whether she'd be heading home with Gold. Not that she'd insist on Emma packing her bags—Mary Margaret wouldn't have the heart to kick Gold out of her apartment if he decided to spring through her window and crash in the kitchen.

The muffled sound of sobbing directed Emma's gaze to Mary's bedroom. Was Mary Margaret that moved by Gold's singing? _I'll grab the Kleenex, _she thought with a hint of amusement. _At least it doesn't sound as bad as when we watched _Marley & Me._ I'll rate this one a seven on the sob scale. _

Mary Margaret was in bed, laying on her side and clutching a pillow to her chest. Tears streamed down her face and her cheeks were flushed. If she was expecting a hug and a little bit of '_there-there', _Emma would be glad to call up Mother Superior for guidance. That is, if the convent wasn't forming a protest against Mary Margaret's so-called risqué behavior.

The floorboards creaked under Emma's boots and Mary Margaret lifted her head slightly from the pillow.

"His singing…it reminded me of David," she gasped, a sob caught in her throat. Emma had no clue how to respond to that. David used to sing to her? If Gold ever knew that Mary Margaret was comparing his singing to David's, she was afraid he'd make a stop at Mary Margaret's on his way to work. And probably take singing lessons.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" Somehow, their roles had been reversed. Mary Margaret was supposed to be the doting mother figure here, not her. There was a sniffle and another sob.

"Nope," Mary Margaret murmured into the pillow. Emma stuffed her fists in her pockets. What would have been worse: succumbing to Gold's serenading and heading home with him or having Mary Margaret sob on her shoulder? What would Archie do?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" _Please say yes, please say yes. There's half a basket of sweets out there with my name on it. Literally, Gold had the basket engraved. _

"Nope," her friend softly answered. _Damn it. _Emma glanced longingly at the kitchen and then sighed. Moving to the left side of the bed, Emma stretched out on top of it. She waited until Mary Margaret's sobbing subsided before she turned off the lamp and fell asleep, with Gold's singing still ringing in her ears.

_Don't you want me, dearie? Don't you want me…oh!_

…..

Emma had no clue what time it was when she woke up, still curled into a ball on Mary Margaret's bed. It was dark outside the window, which meant it was either late at night or early in the morning. And the bedside lamp was on. Did Mary Margaret make a trip to the bathroom and forget to turn it off again? Or was she going to come out and say she was afraid of the dark?

Nope, she was sitting up in bed reading a book and drinking coffee.

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma lifted her body up on one elbow to offer Mary Margaret an odd, half-asleep stare of confusion. She held up the book for Emma to see. _The Hunger Games. _That was…a comforting story before bed.

"I couldn't fall back asleep, so I decided to read. I hope the lamp didn't wake you," she apologized, setting her book upside-down on her lap. Emma punched her pillow a few times, if only to release some of the discomfort she still felt about Gold.

"Yeah, nothing like a glaring bright light to encourage sleep," she muttered sarcastically. Mary Margaret was already absorbed in her book again and missed that little comment. Emma pulled the blanket up to her eyes to block the light.

"Mm…I like Peeta much better than Gale. 'The boy with the bread.' Why doesn't David have a title like that?" Emma felt a headache start behind her eyes. It didn't help that she was going to have to be up early to head into the station—Regina obviously didn't believe in the beauty of sleeping in.

"He does. He's _The Guy Without a Clue_. Or _The Guy With The Pregnancy Scare._ Whichever one you think suits him." The drowsy effects of sleep numbed her mind again…until her phone went off obnoxiously. She groaned into her pillow. _Really? If it's another prank call, the phone is going out the window. _

Digging it out of her pocket, she blindly flipped it open and slapped it to her ear.

"What?" The citizens of Storybrooke didn't deserve politeness after midnight. It was hard to make out what the person was saying on the other end; they were talking so fast. All Emma knew was that it was a guy. Sitting up in bed, Emma seriously regretted answering the phone. "Okay, whoever you are, slow down and repeat everything you just said. In English this time."

The message repeated in her ear. With every clearly pronounced syllable, Emma's fingers tightened around the phone until they ached. She was barely blinking when she hung up.

"Who was that? A midnight caller? Was it Gold calling to check up on you? David sometimes did that with me," Mary Margaret said, her jaw tightening at the mention of David. There was a sniffle and Emma chucked the Kleenex her way. "I'm not crying, Emma! I think I may be getting a cold!" Sure, they all used that excuse these days.

"No," she answered, her eyes growing wide with awe. The message echoed around her skull, but it hardly made sense. "That was the gym teacher. Apparently, he was driving close to the border tonight and spotted Kathryn's car on the side of the road." Mary Margaret laid her book down and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Is she alright?" Emma frowned grimly as she relayed the message in her head until she recalled every single word. A cold chill seeped into her bones and she hoped she wasn't coming down with something, either. There would be no more sleeping tonight. God, she hated the night shift.

"Kathryn is missing."

…

**_The songs used in this chapter are "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins and "Don't You Want Me" by the Human League._**

_**Dun, dun, dun! Too bad the serenading didn't quite go as planned…Also, I kind of added that little Henry/Gold scene at the last minute. I was just inspired by last night's episode. There might even be another scene of them in the next chapter (can you imagine Gold giving Goldie a bath?)**_

_**But for now, there are people I would like to thank. Here's to DaesGatling, olverabonk, The-Writer2012, ParanormalMoonlight, ElizaDanvers, Sweetangelz18, littlered620, DragonRose4, discotimelord, KendraLuehr, thedoctorsgirl42, RainMirror, megumisakura, DamnationOfTheDead, Guest, Fairy Demon26, sundancemc, Emperor's Sister, louisethelibrarian, Duffer13, BlooperLover, Twyla Mercedes, Musicalfan2012, and russianeyes718ouat7ncis. **_

_**I also have to thank everyone that offered me suggestions for Gold's serenade. You have no idea how much I appreciated it! (-; **_


	40. Chapter 40

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! Can you believe it's the fortieth chapter of Sunshine? And the support is still going strong, thanks to all the lovely readers out there! Thank you everyone for all the kind words you've given me and this story thus far. I think you'll enjoy this chapter. Also, I wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. **_

_**Chapter Forty**_

If anyone claimed that giving a dog a bath was easy, they would make pitiful liars.

Henry came over bright and early, with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Probably an attempt to fool the Queen into believing he was attending school. Her ignorance toward her beloved adopted son was astonishing, even to Gold. Clearly, that void in her heart had been more damaging than he had intended. Oh, well.

Being the boy's stepfather, it would be the honorable thing to advise little Henry to go to school…but then he really detested the idea of giving Goldie a bath by himself. Besides, Charming would nag enough for the both of them once this curse was broken. This way, Gold had a good chance of being the favorite adult figure who always bought the best gifts for Christmas.

It had been a piece of cake for Gold to scoop up Goldie after Henry lured her with a treat. Up the stairs they went, Gold leaning heavily on the banister with Goldie secured under his other arm. In the bathroom, the tub had been filled halfway with water, waiting.

"Time for a swim in the kiddie pool," Gold muttered, scrunching his nose against the foul smell of the dog's fur. It'd been bad enough he'd had to switch pillowcases because Goldie had rolled over his pillow. If this stench clung to his suit, the dog wasn't getting any treats for a week. Unless Henry softened up and snuck her some.

"Have you given her a bath before? She's really calm," Henry commented, miraculously oblivious to the odor as he petted the dog's fur. Or maybe he loved Goldie too much to care whether she stank. Truthfully, this was the first time Gold had bathed any animal. He only hoped it wouldn't be a disaster.

Henry spoke too soon.

The minute Goldie spotted the bathwater, she squirmed and twisted in Gold's arms, struggling for escape. Her black nails were angry little daggers clawing at the skin of his wrist and drawing a few beads of blood. Hissing, he nearly dropped her, but maintained his grip as he held the dog over the bath. Both he and Henry knelt by the tub and he prepared for the battle ahead. The dog was certainly putting up a good fight.

"You…are…going…in…the tub!" Gold lowered Goldie into the warm water. Her back legs kicked desperately in the air and splashed water onto his suit. Something told him he should have grabbed his apron down in the kitchen.

Handing the dog briefly to Henry, he stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The dog seemed to relax as Henry held her close to his chest. It was as good an arrangement as they were going to get.

Snapping open a bottle of shampoo, specialized for dogs and scented with banana, Gold hastily scrubbed it into her golden fur. His fingers submerged in white suds as they rubbed and roved. For her part, Goldie kept lifting her face up to lick Henry's nose, which made him giggle. _Oh, I see. She's the best of friends with Henry. You'd think I was the one in need of a bath. _

"Okay, now you need to get underneath her tail," Henry pointed out, angling Goldie's lower wriggling body toward Gold. Instantly, he made a disgusted face and veered away. This wasn't listed in the job description.

"I refuse to put my hands anywhere near that dog's rear end," he protested firmly, holding up his hands to block Henry's attempts to thrust Goldie in his direction. The dog shifted her head so that her black eyes were watching him, as if to ask _what's your problem?_ Henry pouted.

"Unless you want her to keep dragging her butt across the couch—" Gold's eyes flew wide open, his face paling considerably.

"She does _what?!"_

It was then that Goldie finally broke free.

As she sprang from Henry's grip, it seemed she was suspended in midair for a moment. Her golden form dived into the water, splashing a sudsy wave over both of them and soaking their clothes through to the bone. Leaping over the rim of the tub, Goldie slid on the tiled floor, aiming for the bathroom door they neglected to close.

"Grab her," Gold demanded as he gripped the edge of the tub for support.

It was too late—Goldie slipped through the door, soap bubbles floating behind and a river of water trailing under the pads of her feet. Her nails clicked on the floorboards, quickening as she seemed to jump onto the bed in the next room.

Frantically, Gold struggled to get to his feet, but his shoes were no match for the puddles on the floor. Legs being pulled out from under him, he went down and banged his knee against the side of the tub. Pain radiated across his face, his body settling down on the floor so that his legs may stretch out.

"Are you alright?" Henry scooted forward out of pure concern as Gold massaged his knee. This was his stepfather, after all. The jarring solid crack haunted his eardrums; it had been so abrupt and chilling that Henry was convinced he'd felt a tremor vibrate along his bones.

Even if he was generally suspicious of the pawnbroker, he hoped he wasn't too hurt. Though, he wondered if Emma would be willing to sit by Gold's bedside and nurse him back to health.

"I've endured worse," Gold softly whispered as he sank his head back onto the wall, his hands working over the tense, throbbing muscle in his leg.

Henry frowned, but didn't pester him with questions. He knew he hated it when he got injured and Dr. Whale always asked '_Are you sure?' _Dipping a hand into the bathwater, Gold pulled the stopper on the drain, allowing it to suck and swallow the water away. Bath-time was over.

"When Emma comes home to me, it'll be her that handles the baths from now on," Gold muttered, returning to his swelling leg.

Henry heard him say 'when', not 'if' Emma came home to him, as if Gold were absolutely certain Emma would be returning. Still, he could read the little shred of doubt that lingered in his brown eyes. Neither of them mentioned what might happen if Emma never came 'home.'

"So, why did you two fight?" It distracted Gold from the issue of his leg, but that wasn't really what Henry intended. He was just curious. Before Gold could ask for an explanation for his question, Henry said, "Emma said you two fought, but she never said why."

Lines of uncertainty creased Gold's forehead, followed swiftly by an unmistakable grimness that suggested he was debating whether or not to divulge that news to Henry. But the pleading and curiosity in Henry's eyes proved too much to ignore and he sighed. _No one can say no to the puppy eyes, _Henry thought proudly. Unless of course your first name happened to be Regina and your last name happened to be Mills.

"I did…something wrong, Henry. You wouldn't understand," he said, closing his eyes in resign. As stubborn as his birth mother, Henry scooted closer on his knees, neglecting the damp puddles soaking into his jeans. His little face transformed into solid, serious stone that could not be derailed.

"Try me."

Gold shifted his head against the wall, glancing over at Henry with something akin to bewilderment. Maybe he didn't expect such a firm, non-negotiable tone from such a young boy. But Henry sort of picked up a thing or two from visiting every so often. It was amazing what he overheard while Gold was arguing with people about rent over the phone.

"I…I put the idea of marriage into her head," Gold admitted almost miserably. "I manipulated her into becoming my wife. It wasn't until much later, on our honeymoon, that she began to fall in love with me."

Instantly, Henry's sense of protection for his mother flared up—everyone knew Emma Swan made her own choices. She was the savior, after all. They way Gold spoke, all she had been was a pawn at one point. A piece on his chessboard. He had used her. It befuddled him, irked him more than a little. Was Gold even telling the truth?

Drawing away slightly, he noticed Gold wince. Something, some tiny voice of instinct, told him the reaction hadn't been a result of the lingering pain invading his leg. Peering closer, Henry began to recognize the tumult of crumbling emotions displayed on Gold's terrifyingly vulnerable face. Despair, longing, shame…and underneath all that, loneliness.

He was telling the truth, Henry sensed it. Maybe he had inherited Emma's 'gift', after all.

"I think I understand why you did it," Henry gradually broke the suffocating silence of the bathroom. Gold's eyes flickered in his direction, then away, his lips descending into a dubious pout. "You were lonely. You wanted someone to love you, someone that wouldn't see you as…"

Henry searched for the right word teasing his tongue. Evil? No, too harsh. Dangerous? No, that was ultimately a given with someone like Gold.

"A monster?" Gold offered flatly.

It was so simple, drawled so effortlessly and emotionlessly that Henry knew instantly that this was the way Gold viewed himself. A monster; not exactly a human being, who frightened others away, who no one wished to be friends with, who didn't deserve a delicate bond such as love. It was sad.

To Henry, the fact that Gold was capable of realizing and feeling this inside proved he wasn't one. Monsters were unfeeling, terrible beings like dragons and trolls. It was the thin line between him and the Queen. The Evil Queen didn't have any room in her icy black heart to care. It often seemed there was a void devouring any ability to nurture tender, loving sensations.

But Gold cared. He must, deep down, if this was what it came down to in the depths of his mind.

He was _trying _to convince himself it was true. But did a monster need to convince itself it was a monster? Even if Henry wasn't altogether sure of Rumpelstiltskin, Henry knew Mr. Gold had only ever been kind and helpful to him. Most of it might have been manipulation, but Henry didn't think so.

Mr. Gold had never asked him for anything. And Henry always noticed a veil of fondness in Gold's brown eyes when they crossed paths and the ghost of a smile when the pawnbroker was convinced no one—especially Henry—was looking. It was as though Henry reminded him of someone.

How could a monster really feel all of that? The Queen never smiled warmly around him or tried to help. All she did was destroy. A dragon, if ever there was one.

"You need someone who's not afraid of you," Henry finally corrected after pondering it. "Emma's not afraid of anything." Gold held up a finger to signal Henry's undivided attention. It wasn't that hard; Gold had a knack for earning the spotlight. It was too bad he wasn't in Archie and the Crickets.

"You're wrong, Henry," he protested in a lilting, sing-song manner, waving his finger back and forth before Henry's face. "Everyone is afraid of something. Emma is a brave woman, I agree whole-heartedly. But she is afraid of losing you. And she also happens to fear vulnerability. Always seeking to do the right thing, refusing to ask for help, never admitting to anything that might cause her undue emotional harm. You have no idea how long it took for those bloody walls of hers to come down for me."

Gold's hands fell away from the task of kneading his thigh muscles, instead folding limply in his lap. Henry sat quite still, the weight of Gold's words sinking in. In part, he knew Gold was right: Emma was at least afraid of losing him to Regina, even if she didn't always show it. Wasn't that why she was fighting so hard?

Still, he smiled at Gold with new, bright meaning reflected in his eyes.

"I'll help you get her back," he promised his stepfather sincerely. Henry found he was similar to Gold in one way—he never made promises he could not keep. "Emma's happy being with you. She's just confused and mad. The happy ending isn't easy to reach. There's always some conflict or trouble for the heroes. Otherwise, it wouldn't be a very good story. Who knows? Maybe it's…true love."

Was that pushing it too far? Henry was still trying to figure out if Gold was 'awake' or not. If he was, would it be okay to confide in Rumpelstiltskin? Then again, this was supposedly the guy that took off with children. Henry heard a story where Rumpelstiltskin ate them.

"I wouldn't say that," Gold disagreed under his breath.

The moment between them splintered and shattered as Gold gripped the rim of the tub and attempted to get to his feet. Henry quickly offered his hand and Gold used his shoulder for added support. For a long moment, Gold stared down at him intently, as if mentally comparing him to that other person that he was constantly reminded of. Solemnly, he shook it away, retrieving his jacket and slipping it on.

"Better round up the dog before she rolls on my pillow. Again."

"Mr. Gold?"

He paused from passing through the door into the hall at the small sound of Henry's calling. It was hesitant and Henry's heart pounded in his chest, his feet threatening to slide on the tiled floor like he was walking across winter ice. Gold didn't make a move to turn around, but he was listening.

"What are you afraid of?"

There was a sharp intake of breath and Henry watched the muscles of Gold's suited back tighten, his head falling forward from the stiffness of his neck. His hands curled into merciless fists at his sides and his bad leg jerked once. Slowly, Gold glanced over his shoulder, though his dusty brown hair shielded most of his features.

"That is a tale for another time." And then he left Henry alone to ponder his thoughts while Gold went to fetch Goldilocks. "No, not the _bear!" _Goldie took her sweet time skittering past the bathroom door, taking Mr. Teddy as her prisoner.

…

"It's a lot bigger than last year," Henry said as he and Emma traversed the town square, newly transformed into the annual Miner's Day festival. The kid's eyeballs were nearly popping out of his skull, his head whipping in various directions as he pointed at the stalls. "There's a dunk tank and a Zoltar machine. Ooh, and cotton candy," he hinted with a practiced pair of doe eyes.

Emma sighed tiredly.

"Henry, for the last time, you are not getting cotton candy. You've already had a hot dog, a pretzel, and I even bought you a soda. Your mother's sweetness detector will be going off before we even pull up to your house." Henry pursed his lips unhappily, but his attention easily strayed as they wandered. "Kid, I thought you said this was bigger."

"It is," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging.

Emma glanced around with a shred of disappointment. Some festival the town had going for them. Couldn't they have at least blown up a bouncy house? Or had one of those 'test your strength' booth games? The only other booth game was the classic one of knocking the milk bottles with a baseball. How pathetic was that?

"What exactly did it have last year? Just the booth of candles?" Henry nodded solemnly.

"Yep. Regina kept saying 'no' to everything except bobbing for apples." _Go figure, _Emma thought wryly. "Mother Superior insisted the nuns had to sell candles to pay their rent to Mr. Gold. The head nun is kind of scary when she gets upset. I think her hair was actually getting frizzier."

At least there was entertainment this year; Archie and the Crickets were making their official debut on a flimsy wooden stage. From the sound of it, they were engrossed in singing 'Truly, Madly, Deeply.' Of course, Mary Margaret somehow convinced Leroy to sell candles—a feat Emma would never understand since she could barely get him to keep quiet in jail—and was replaced by Marco. Archie looked ready to crowd-surf any moment.

"Good show, huh?" Ruby sidled up to them, beaming up at Archie as he enthusiastically poured out his soul. If Emma didn't know any better, she'd claim Ruby actually had a crush on Archie. She sure was staring at him hard enough. "Oh, free T-shirt?"

Ruby revealed a bundle of clothing from a box she was carrying and handed one to each of them. Emma unfolded it—a forest green T-shirt with Archie, Leroy, and David's faces underneath 'Archie and the Crickets.' If she stuffed this shirt in Gold's mailbox, would he wear it?

"So, how did the date go?" Henry raised his eyebrows expectantly at Ruby. Emma was left to stare between Ruby, Henry, and Archie on stage, slowly connecting the dots. Wait, did Archie really just point and wink at Ruby? And was Ruby…blushing?

"It was better than I thought it would be! I mean, he doesn't insist on calling it a _date,_ and we haven't exactly told Granny yet, but…" Ruby bit down on her lip. "We went dancing and had a picnic by the Toll Bridge and watched the full moon and he told me that it was the most perfect moment of his life. It was kind of…romantic. I was supposed to hold a kissing booth today, but I decided to advertise their band instead."

Ruby excused herself to hand a few more T-shirts to people passing by, some of whom she looked ready to chase if they refused. Emma had never seen the waitress so passionate about something before. Suddenly, she felt eyes on her and she noticed Henry watching her with that devious, 'I-have-a-plan' smirk of his.

"What now?" She groaned, knowing the wheels were spinning rapidly in that little head of his. Henry grinned.

"Maybe you should hold a kissing booth. It might make _Operation: Cobra_ progress a lot faster," he suggested. Emma crossed her arms and glared down at him.

"Henry, the last thing I am doing is holding a kissing booth. Just because you think I'm true love incarnate or something—"

"It worked on Graham," he protested a little too loudly, making people turn to stare in their direction. No one had mentioned Graham since he died, least of all her. With a tell-tale blush, she started walking away toward the dunk tank. Soft footsteps told her Henry was running to keep up with her. "Maybe it could help you solve your problem with Mr. Gold…if you kissed him?"

Emma halted in her tracks. She gave Henry an odd look over her shoulder. Was it the odd bit of hot dog rising in her system or was Henry really playing devil's advocate before her eyes?

"Since when do you sponsor my relationship with Gold? Every time you visit, you call him the Limping Imp," she reminded him. Henry shrugged. A stone sank into her belly as realization hit her full-force. She crossed her arms over her chest in sheer annoyance. Switching to mother-mode. "Is_ that_ why you skipped school again this morning?"

A slight downcast of his head told her all she needed to know. The kid must have had the worst attendance record in all of Maine by now. It was a wonder Mary Margaret let it slide so often.

"Well, I was busy…giving Goldie a bath," he explained. Emma's head sunk into her palm. That must have gone over swimmingly in the bathroom—a cripple with a bad leg and a ten year-old whose only interest was getting out of school and proving that fairy tales were real. "Besides, I just want you to be happy. Even if it's with him."

Ever since arriving in Storybrooke, Emma had fought to keep from getting attached to the kid she gave up for adoption ten years ago. Lack of emotional attachment meant she could easily sever ties whenever she wanted. Now that she was married, pregnant, and had spent more time with Henry than possibly any person in Storybrooke besides her husband, she realized just how much he had grown on her.

Something inside her chest ached. Guilt? Sympathy? Love? The occasional heartburn?

Kneeling down to his level, Emma awkwardly placed a hand on his shoulder. Slowly but surely, she was learning the ways of gentleness and motherly techniques from Mary Margaret. Henry gazed down at her with something like hope.

"Henry…finding happiness is not always simple. But I will be happy so long as I know that you are," she reassured him with a small smile. "You will always come first." The corners of his lips lifted into a satisfied smile and he nodded, releasing her from the duty of comforting. Good thing, too, because she was hard-pressed for comforting words.

_Just wait until I pop out the other one,_ she thought with a decidedly warm sensation as she touched a hand to her abdomen. It was too early to feel movement, but she secretly waited for the day it happened. She knew Gold longed for it, too. Faintly, she could recall how it felt to have Henry kicking inside her—it brought a fond smile to her lips.

The two of them passed close to the dunk tank and one of the nurses of the hospital was trying to round people up to play. Sitting on the bench was Dr. Whale, completely dry and looking rather confident in his ability to stay that way. Emma wondered how people in Storybrooke wouldn't want to dunk the arrogant doctor, but then he kept grinning suggestively at any female that walked by.

"You want to try? Only a dollar," the nurse offered to Emma. She caught Whale giving her bedroom eyes and quickly shook her head.

"No, thanks," she declined firmly. She was better off keeping her distance from Whale. The nurse frowned as she guided Henry away, but not before Whale could get his two cents in from the tank. Over her shoulder, she could hear him audibly scoff.

"There goes the brave Sheriff. She may be good with a gun, but I'll bet she fails at dunking," he muttered.

The nurse coughed, though Emma knew it was to cover a giggle. Angrily, she backtracked until she was standing directly before the tank, meeting Whale's gaze again. Oh, he was brimming with confidence as he smiled down at her. He deserved to be dunked.

"Excuse me?"

There was a warning tone in her voice, but obviously he missed it. Henry clutched the free T-shirts to his chest and watched the exchange with wide, eager eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a crowd beginning to draw forward. Maybe they were expecting a show.

"You heard me, Sheriff. I'll bet you could never dunk me. Admit it—you don't have the skill. Hell, I'll even take you for a drink to make up for it if you fail. Since your schedule is obviously clear this week," he boasted. A nerve throbbed in Emma's forehead as the doctor so casually referred to her rendezvous with August.

Oh, he was going down. Stepping forward to the table, she laid one of her last dollars down and snatched up a baseball. Whale 'oohed' mockingly.

"Just to prove my point of your failure, I think I'll take a note from Archie and the Crickets," he told her and began drumming his fingers on the sides of the bench. Never had she heard Whale sing before…and she never wanted to again. _"Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na, can't touch this. Na-na-na-na-na-na, can't touch—"_

Emma launched the ball for the target. It collided against the center and, with a sharp ring of metal, the bench under Whale gave way and he dropped into a pool of freezing water. _You can save your drinks, Whale, _she thought proudly as the crowd clapped for her victory. Henry was impressed to the point of being speechless as she returned to his side.

"I take it back, kid. I'm happy now."

…

"Okay, you remember your lines?"

Anxiously, Mary Margaret fidgeted with her cap and jacket as she and Leroy walked up the path to the first house on the block. Was the scarf too much? But then if she ditched the scarf, people might find her plunging neck-line offensive…The booth at the festival hadn't done any good for selling candles, so they were going door to door. The town harlot and the town drunk, partners in crime.

Now that Mary Margaret seriously considered it, she hoped at least one person could overlook their sketchy reputations. The only way this could get any more awkward and uninviting was if Gold decided to pitch in out of the goodness of his heart and sell candles for the nuns. That was a big 'if.'

"Yeah, yeah. I remember my lines. We only practiced them twenty times while walking from the festival," Leroy grumbled beside her. The wind was a little chilly, forcing Mary Margaret to pull her jacket tightly around her.

They could have taken a car instead of carting around a children's wagon filled with boxes of candles. The only problem was that Leroy's car had a boot on it and her car had been spray-painted with the word _tramp. _She figured everyone in town would know exactly who was pulling up in front of their houses and would proceed to lock their doors.

Once or twice he cleared his throat before raising a large fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. This was it—Mary Margaret plastered an enthusiastic smile on her lips in anticipation. How could anyone resist a friendly smile?

"Leroy, _smile,"_ she whispered through her clenched teeth. He shot her an irritated look and squeezed his candle.

"I am smiling! See?" Mary Margaret thought it was something alright. She just prayed a child didn't answer the door first. Lightly, she elbowed him in the ribs.

"You're not smiling! You are grimacing!" She retorted harshly, trying desperately to keep the volume of her voice to a minimum. It wasn't working very well. Whatever smile had existed on Leroy's gruff face broke away altogether as he spun in her direction.

"That's because you're getting on my nerves, sister! This is the way I smile; I'm not making a stinkin' toothpaste commercial! If you don't like the way I smile, then I say—" There was a jarring bustle and the front door burst inward. Leroy flashed a winning smile on the spot and extended his candle forward. "Well, hello there, my fine man! Would you be interested in buying a candle today?"

Mary Margaret was stunned by Leroy's abrupt turnaround and overly friendly tone. All she could do was copy Leroy and offer her candle to the man before them. He wasn't smiling. It was getting uncomfortable under his scrutiny; her jaw growing sore from smiling so hard.

"Sure, I'll buy one," the man flatly agreed, much to their relief. One down, five hundred or so left to sell. Leroy's expression was one of surprise and then self-righteousness. Obviously, he was imagining that he had better salesman skills than he thought.

"Really?" Selling candles would be easier than they thought. At least until the guy's cooperation disintegrated into an accusing glare.

"No." And he slammed the door in their faces.

Mary Margaret's smile crumbled into pieces. That was rude. Leroy, however, stared numbly at the closed door, a ticking time bomb standing idle in shock until the weight of the rejection fully settled on his shoulders. Then he was up against the door, banging his fist and yelling on the top of his lungs.

"Hey, I know where you live now, buddy! You better hope I crash into a tree next time I drive under the influence! Otherwise, I'll be paying you a visit! My car will drive straight through this door! And you'll be begging to buy my candles!"

Muttering under his breath, he whirled and stomped down the pathway, his temper simmering. Heat traveled up Mary Margaret's neck as she dashed down the path to keep up with him. Next time, she intended to do all the talking.

…..

Much to Mary Margaret's immense disdain, the next few houses were just as unpromising as the first.

The minute the doors opened, people either gawked at the two of them like they were speaking Gibberish or they immediately slammed the doors in their faces. They even mentioned they were selling the candles for the nuns, but still the doors slammed closed after people claimed they would go to confession on Sunday.

Either way, there were still candles sitting in their little red wagon without any takers.

"Hate to tell you, sister, but we ain't sellin'," Leroy muttered as they trudged along the street. Mary Margaret cradled a candle close to her chest. She didn't approve of Leroy's sour attitude, but even her green eyes kept trailing to the town clock and its ticking black hands. Time was running out.

"What do you expect us to do? Return to the nuns with all these candles and say _'Sorry, we failed. Good luck with the eviction?' _That'll be very heroic on your part," Mary Margaret boldly retorted. Was Leroy even listening? No, he was staring off into space. Wonderful.

Out of the blue, he caught her by the arm, an elated grin spreading across his face.

"I've got it! We're obviously not advertising to our full potential. All we got to do is try a different tactic, like…" Leroy shuffled his feet in the dirt as he thought for a moment. Any harder and he might have an aneurysm. Then he snapped his fingers. "We make the candles more appealing."

Mary Margaret's mouth fell open, astounded. She was pretty certain Leroy wasn't talking about putting the candles in pretty pink dresses and suits.

"Are you suggesting we lie?" Leroy winced at the iciness of the accusation. "These are for the _nuns, _Leroy! Next I suppose you'll want me to borrow Ruby's clothes and dress the part of the town harlot!" She stormed off seething and Leroy had to pick up his pace to reach her. He latched onto her arm again and forced her to slow her steps.

"It's not lying! It's…stretching the truth, that's all. All we need to do is make the people want to buy the candles. Smiling ain't cutting it. Here, watch how the master handles it," Leroy bragged as he strode up to the next house with the red wagon. If another door slammed in their face, the 'master' was taking full blame.

Leroy abused the doorbell until the front door swung open. There stood two children, both around Henry's age. Mary Margaret instantly recognized them as the children Emma had helped—Nicholas and Ava, she recalled. Just as she remembered, Ava was the one who took charge.

"You want to ring it again? I don't think we heard you the last seventy times," she scowled at Leroy. Mary Margaret forgot how much attitude Ava contained to make up for Nicholas' shyness. It reminded her of a mini-Emma. Leroy, however, was not amused.

"I didn't ring it seventy times! It was only twenty times!" Ava stared back at him hard while Nicholas used her as a human shield. Leroy cleared his throat, reverting back to the 'master'. "Anyway, would you like to buy a candle?" Ava flipped her corn-silk hair over her shoulder and gazed at the pale yellow candle as if he were holding out a dead rat. Her nose scrunched.

"Why would we need a candle?" Nicholas' eyes flew open wide in fear.

"Are we going to have a blackout?" Apparently, someone was still afraid of the dark. Nicholas was clutching Ava's arm so fiercely, his fingers digging into her skin until she gasped and pulled away. Mary Margaret stepped forward to comfort him.

"No, of course not, sweetie. We're just selling candles for the nuns. And these aren't ordinary candles. They're…" _Make them appealing, make them appealing, make them appealing…_"They're special candles." Even Mary Margaret had to shudder at her poor sell.

Both the children stared blankly at her yellow candle, as if waiting for it to light itself. If only Storybrooke were equipped with a magician.

"What's so special about it?" Mary Margaret felt warmth pool in her cheeks as the children awaited her answer. She started fidgeting in her spot again. Leroy had his eyes closed, like he was wishing for a spacecraft to fall from the sky and crush him. _This is why you let the master handle it. _

"Uh…well…it's really special…because…" Her mind was blank. The children kept staring. Her yellow candle wasn't magically lighting. It was just a candle….

"Because these candles float like the ones in _Harry Potter,_" Leroy intercepted. Mary Margaret buried her head in her hand. _That _was his plan to make the candles more appealing? These children were old enough to depict reality from fantasy. At least she hoped they were.

"You made that up! Candles don't float," Ava protested. Behind her, Nicholas was gazing at the candle with interest. Was he really buying into Leroy's floating candle advertisement? Leroy huffed at Ava.

"Are you calling Harry Potter a liar?" Now Mary Margaret was the one wishing obscure space junk would fall from the sky and crush her. Leroy was actually having an argument with a ten year old girl. Some master he was turning out to be.

"No, I'm calling you one," Ava shot back, her voice rising. "If your candle magically floats, then prove it."

Mary Margaret lifted her head to see how Leroy could possibly pull this one off. There was no choice but to admit that they weren't selling candles to these children. They'd have to take their little red wagon, turn around, head to some other house…

"Okay, I will," Leroy announced. Mary Margaret froze, a deer in headlights. Ava and Nicholas were at a loss of words, too. Probably waiting to see Leroy make a fool of himself. "Let me just light the candle first. Make the show ten times better."

Quickly, he turned around and dug something out of his pocket. Mary Margaret couldn't quite see what he was doing, but there was the insistent clicking of a lighter. For a few seconds, Leroy grumbled about the lighter refusing to light and then he spun around, holding the lighted candle in front of him.

"Are you ready for this, sister? 'Cause it'll blow your mind," Leroy warned. Ava was stubbornly silent, but Nicholas edged forward.

Suddenly, Leroy released his fingers from the candle and it stayed in place before him, seemingly hovering in the air. A floating candle, before their very eyes. Even Ava's eyes were widening in surprise, though Mary Margaret knew Leroy was pulling some trick. He had to be. Magic didn't exist.

"Whoa," Nicholas breathed in wonder before rushing back into the house. "Dad, he's got a floating candle! Just like _Harry Potter!" _Leroy grinned victoriously at Mary Margaret as the candle 'floated' in place, the flame flickering in the wind. Ava's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Hey, where are your thumbs?" Ava pointed to the fingers that weren't touching the candle. Mary Margaret realized the girl was right—Leroy's fingers were visible in the air except for the thumbs. His smile faltered as he scrambled for a reasonable explanation.

"They're right here. What, you think they burned off or something? Just 'cause you can't see them behind the candle—"

And then Ava reached out and tugged the candle away. With a sticky sound, Leroy's thumbs appeared, both covered with a piece of tape. Ava made an 'a-ha' expression as she pointed.

"See? You had tape on your fingers! I knew this wasn't a floating candle!" Ava tossed the candle back into Leroy's hands and started back inside the house. Another customer gone. "Forget it, Nicholas! The hobo lied to us!" The door slammed shut, leaving Mary Margaret wordless. Leroy was turning as red as a Mexican pepper.

"Hobo? Who is she calling a hobo? This candle's used, so I demand payment!" Mary Margaret stuffed her candle back inside one of the boxes and carted the red wagon away. "I would have sold it if the girl hadn't touched my candle." Mary Margaret whirled on him.

"You used tape? Why exactly do you carry around tape in your pocket?" Leroy dug the little roll of duct tape out of his jacket and smirked.

"I was helping the gimp fix his broken guitars. I forgot to give it back. Plus, whenever I shake hands with people I don't like…tape somehow gets on my fingers and then somehow slips inside their coat pockets and…" He shrugged as the rest of the picture was painted in her mind. Was that why Whale kept insisting the girls he dated robbed him?

"Leroy….you_ do_ like me, right?"

She imagined all the times she'd been around Leroy and kept a few dollars on her at all times when she was in town. There was a dollar missing today, but she was sure she dropped it…or did she? Was that his back-up plan for paying the nuns' rent?

Leroy gave a half-smile and patted her arm reassuringly.

"Sure, sister," he mumbled as he eyed the next house. Mary Margaret's mind grew frantic as she walked. Finally, she stopped behind Leroy to check her pockets for the money she'd put there earlier. There was a five missing.

"_Leroy!"_

…

The final house on the block loomed before them, tall and an offsetting aquamarine blue. Their wagon hadn't yet been relieved of one measly candle, except for the used one that Leroy had chucked into the bushes despite Mary Margaret's complaint. Someone else would probably find it and do who knew what with it.

"Do you think they'll be willing to buy one thousand candles?" _Only if these good people happen to treasure the art of collecting candles, _Mary Margaret thought without too much hope. She ignored his quip and rang the doorbell—politely, unlike Leroy's show of abusing the doorbell. The Bell-Breakers were multiplying these days.

"Smile," she reminded him. "And no tape! And no stealing their money! And fix your cap; it's crooked." Mary Margaret reached out and straightened it herself before he could move a muscle. Left, right, a little left…She did the same with his jacket until he swatted her away.

"Easy! What are you, my mother?" _No, supposedly I'm Emma's mother. But who else do I have to take care of? Emma's keeping Henry occupied at the festival and David's singing at the festival and I'm not there…at the festival. I'm only trying to help. _The door opened, silencing her depressed musings.

In the doorway stood a young girl, possibly no older than Ruby. Deep red waves cascaded over her shoulders and ocean blue eyes—just a shade darker than David's—sparkled with curiosity as she watched them with a slight tilt to her head. Mary Margaret couldn't help notice she was also barefoot, even though it was freezing out.

"Let's get this over with," Leroy fumed under his breath. The girl, whose skin was already a delicate, creamy shade the equivalent of white roses, paled. She probably thought they were Bonnie and Clyde or something similar. Mary Margaret shot Leroy a glare before smiling warmly at the girl.

"Hello. We're selling candles for the nuns. Would you like to buy one? It's for a good cause," she added, sounding a tad desperate despite her best efforts not to sound desperate. Immediately, the girl vehemently shook her head and made signs with her hands. Leroy squinted with confusion.

"What, are we playing charades? What's with the hand gestures?" _Be thankful she's not giving you any meaningful hand gestures, Leroy!_ The girl appeared perplexed for a minute before placing a hand to her throat, inches above a seashell that hung on a black rope. Leroy's eyes boggled. "Someone…choked you?"

"Leroy—" Mary Margaret tried to get his attention so as to explain it to him, but the girl was frantically waving her hands along her throat, up to her mouth. Up and out, over and over miming her meaning.

"You threw up and burned your vocal chords?" Both Mary Margaret and the poor girl mirrored each other's furrowed brows. Leroy shrugged. "It happens. When you're hit with a Level Six hangover, you can't speak for a week."

Mary Margaret had never known someone to drink that much alcohol and this girl did not look like an alcoholic. It did explain why no one could find Leroy last Thanksgiving, though.

"Leroy, she's—" Suddenly, Leroy's face lit up and he nearly jumped a foot in his euphoria.

"Oh, wait! You were at the festival, right? You were cheering on Archie and the Crickets so hard that you lost your voice—"

"She's _mute, _Leroy!" Mary Margaret shrieked into his ear, startling him.

The girl's cheeks were raw and enflamed as she stared intently at the cracked threshold that separated them. Leroy made a small 'O' with his mouth as the truth dawned on him. Perhaps they should have skipped this house, after all.

"Oh…this is awkward," he stated the obvious. A few seconds of silence passed between the three of them, stretching on for what seemed like years—the girl was probably wracking her brain for a kind way to tell them to get lost. Then Leroy thrust his candle forward. "Would you still like to buy a candle? Even mutes can light a candle. Nod once for yes."

Mary Margaret half-expected him to conjure a story of how lighting the candle would result in the release of some foreign incense that would bring the girl's voice back. Better not share that idea with him.

Instead of nodding, the girl reached for something to her right, out of view. At first, Mary Margaret's heart went into overdrive; she assumed the girl might have been offended and was going for a gun. A moment later, she held up a white piece of paper with only three words on it, scrawled in pen.

_No, thank you. _

The girl nodded once and softly closed the door, bidding them dismissal. _At least she isn't illiterate, _Mary Margaret thought as they wandered back down the path, both of them dazed by that odd encounter. The surprise melted down to disappointment—now there was no choice but to return to the nuns and regrettably explain their failure.

Strangely, Leroy was smiling. And chuckling. It appalled her that he could be in such high spirits. He shifted his head in her direction and exploded outright with giggles.

"At least she was polite."

…

_Don't need nothin' but a good time…how can I resist? Ain't lookin' for nothing but a good time and it don't get better than this…_

Archie and the Crickets had been performing for the better half of the evening. More importantly, the people of Storybrooke enjoyed it. They were actually cheering, dancing, demanding for more. Some people had even jumped on the stage to try to join them, if only as back-up dancers.

It felt good, standing on that stage and pouring your heart out with the music. Archie felt more confident about himself than he had in a long time, especially when he peered down into that wild, energetic crowd of people below him and saw Ruby smiling up proudly. This was definitely a good week for him so far. She made his heart flutter like butterflies' wings and he imagined he was singing some of those songs solely for her.

He felt good.

He felt happy.

It bubbled up inside him, a powerful emotion bursting forward, brewing thicker and building higher until his body seemed ready to explode. A foolish grin had glued itself to his face a while ago and it kept spreading from ear to ear. This wonderful feeling was so hard to ignore; it made him want to…want to…

He wanted to do a stage-dive. Right here, right now, right into the crowd. It sounded like fun as he mulled it over in his mind. Crazy, but fun. His legs were even bending in preparation for it. Imagine, leaping into that humungous crowd of cheering fans and crowd-surfing as smoothly as a log on a river.

He was going to do it. Maybe Ruby could even get a good picture, so he could show Mr. Gold and prove that he was capable of being spontaneous once in a while. It was too bad he couldn't make it to the festival tonight.

Archie and the Crickets hit the last few notes of their song, releasing Archie's feet from having to remain solidly on the stage. Okay, it was time. It was now or never. He was ready for it. Sucking in a deep breath, Archie tossed the microphone away, dashed forward, and took a flying leap.

"Incoming!"

Into the crowd he went, expecting to be swallowed up and carried along. He never expected the crowd to part in two and the people to make way for his dive. The minute his body hit the ground, a horrible collision that sent his head reeling, the lights in the town square went out. The festival was hopelessly shrouded in darkness.

"Whoa! Dr. Hopper's stage-dive caused a black-out!" Someone exclaimed from the crowd.

Murmurs and jeers rose in a dull roar as everyone tried to figure out what was going on. Ruby shoved through the crowd and knelt down by Archie's fallen body, her hands seeking him in the dark. His glasses were cracked and all he could do was lift a weak hand as he writhed and groaned in agony.

"I think….I need…help…" And then he blacked out.

…

For the fifteenth time, Emma's eyes rolled over the phone records until her brain could most likely recite the typed black letters and numbers in her sleep.

The one that stuck out like a sore thumb was the mysterious call from David, spanning eight whole minutes. He failed to mention that. Then again, maybe he was so charged for the Archie and the Crickets performance that he forgot…

The rhythmic clicking of heels interrupted her train of thought. God, she loathed that sound. Frustrated, she snapped the papers down on her desk just as Regina strode all high and mighty into the room. Why couldn't she take a vacation and torment someone that actually deserved it, like Freddy Krueger?

"If you're here to tell me that the power's out, I've noticed. Gold was in the shower when it happened and he already called me to complain about getting soap in his eye. So, feel free to locate the nearest exit," she spouted without glancing up. It would have been a miracle if Regina actually listened, but Emma figured she'd try her luck.

"Someone clearly needs an attitude adjustment," she bitterly mocked, her thin black-clothed body blocking the doorway of her office. _Someone clearly needs to remove the stick from her skirt, _Emma thought irately. "Or perhaps you're deprived of intimacy. Two men aren't satisfactory enough for your needs?"

Patience shot to hell, Emma abruptly rose from her desk, matching eye-level with Regina. She didn't have the time or desire to discuss her activities in the bedroom with someone like Regina. That disgusting smugness, fed by the bleeding of hearts, sent her nerves crawling.

"If you don't mind, I'm in the middle of an investigation. What the hell do you want?" _Besides rubbing salt in my wounds?_ Instantly, the pleased façade crumbled, the black stones of her irises glittering with malice. The dragon hath come. Time to get down to business.

"My son never made it to school today. Why?" Emma planted her hands on her hips defiantly as Regina more or less placed the blame on her for Henry's usual tendency to ditch class in favor of poring over his fairy tale book. The mental image of Gold and Henry giving Goldie a bath teased her mind while Maleficent's—uh, Regina's—black-toed heels impatiently tapped on the linoleum.

"How should I know? The only time I saw him was when I took him to the Miner's Day festival earlier," she retorted. It wasn't a lie by any means—it just wasn't the whole truth. Regina wasn't a fool. She was capable of reading between the lines.

"I believe you know more than you're saying, Sheriff. When my son arrived home this afternoon, his clothes were soaking wet. Unless it only rains in a certain section of this town, I demand an explanation." _Tap, tap, tap. _

Emma would have claimed Whale quit the dunk tank and Henry took over, but it was before Emma picked him up today. Heat traveled along the curve of her back, grazing her neck. Despite her 'gift', she really hated lying. Licking her lips—_easy does it—_she shrugged.

"Maybe Ruby decided to make snow in the blender again," she offered. Henry once told her how he had wished hard for snow and Ruby stuffed mozzarella cheese in the blender until it exploded in the diner, making it 'snow.' Granny had been beyond furious and the customers had smelled like cheese for the rest of the day.

"I'm sorry," Regina emotionlessly interceded her thoughts. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that horrendous lie of yours?" Regina's upper lip curled in a vicious sneer, daring Emma to defy her common sense. She could glare all she wanted—it wouldn't change Emma's attitude.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Madame Mayor," Emma countered.

Swiftly, Regina dominated the three steps it took to reach Emma's desk. As the Mayor roughly invaded her personal bubble, Emma was suffocated by the deceptively sweet McIntosh apple perfume wafting around the Mayor. The corners of Regina's blood red lips curved into a cold, unforgiving smirk.

"I prefer to see it as the other way around—guilty until proven innocent," she hissed. Emma held the Regina's smoldering gaze until it was time for one of them to break. It was Regina. Stepping back, her ebony eyes spotted the phone records on Emma's desk, with David's number highlighted in neon yellow. "Still pondering over useless phone records, I see. Shame. Here I was hoping you'd made some decent progress, now that you no longer have someone to run home to."

Another barb, meant to spike Emma's heart. Harshly, Emma swept the records up, away from the Mayor's intrusive attention. No matter how much Regina hated it, she did not have her pretty lacquered nails around the leash, anymore. Graham was her tail-wagging puppy, but Emma was the white wolf that would bite Regina's hand off.

"Like it or not, I'm doing the best I can to find Kathryn," she argued through barely moving lips. _So, take the hint and get lost, Madame Mayor. We both know you were never really her friend, anyway. _

"It's too bad your best isn't good enough, Sheriff."

Violently, Regina swept her palms across Emma's desk, sending piles of paperwork flying in a flurry to the tiled floor. With those scolding words, Regina briskly whirled on her heel and strode from the office, leaving Emma to mentally throw darts at the Mayor's black head.

…

The Miner's Day festival was alight with a sea of candles, the flames flickering in unison and casting a golden glow across the friendly faces of Storybrooke's citizens. From a distance, David watched Granny offer to relight Mary Margaret's candle. Just as the white wick reignited, the elated sensation inside David intensified. It had been there ever since singing on that stage. He could understand why Archie stage-dived. He just wished he thought of it first.

"David?"

He turned in the direction of his name and came face to face with none other than the Sheriff. Under the glow of the candles, the badge on her hip shined. That good feeling waned as he realized she did not appear happy. He'd seen the way she flat-out dunked Whale earlier today—she should at least be happy about achieving that. Whale's surname only increased the damage.

Or was this something to do with the black-out?

"Look, I know some people claim that Archie's stage-dive caused the blackout, but I assure you that's not true," he protested before a single accusatory word could pass her lips. Startled, she raised her palms in caution.

"Down, boy. Archie's stage-dive—as insane as it was—was a coincidence. I'm fairly certain that a guy jumping off a stage and landing flat on his face would not be cause for a massive blackout. Otherwise, he'd be featured in the Guinness World Records."

David frowned thoughtfully as he studied her. The way the shadows made her green eyes gleam like fresh emeralds reminded him of the shade of Mary Margaret's eyes. If she wasn't here for the blackout, then was she here for the festival? Without Henry? Or did it have something to do with…Kathryn? _And the good feeling's gone, _he thought sadly.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me," Emma morosely stated, just as she latched onto his forearm with the intent of leading him away.

The gesture was the equivalence of shooting off a gun; all of a sudden, every pair of eyes were shifting in their direction, watching. The left side of his jaw itched and burned simultaneously as the sensitive green eyes of the woman he'd grown to love inevitably settled on him from afar.

Emma was in the process of guiding him away when he abruptly wrenched his arm back, out of her stern grip.

"What exactly is this about? Did you get ahold of Kathryn?" If it was possible, Emma's hard-pressed face became even graver than before. The crowd of citizens was overwhelming, flocking like geese over discarded shreds of bread. At least no one had brought a camera. _Click. _Spoke too soon.

"Afraid not," Emma reluctantly admitted.

It bothered David deeply. What kind of person would run off without their suitcase of clothes? What person in Storybrooke would have reason to kidnap Kathryn? Ransom? It made no sense to him. Once again, Emma brought her hand down on his arm and this time he did not resist.

"I need you to come with me to the station and tell me everything."

Now he was really puzzled. Déjà vu clouded his mind. Was the Sheriff experiencing a memory relapse out of her intense relationship stress? He would try singing her a soothing song, but his mind was a blank slate of any such tunes. Maybe _Don't Worry, Be Happy?_

"Emma, I thought I already did," he reminded her gently as her cruiser came into view. Something told him he wouldn't be riding shotgun. "What more do you want to know? What I ate for breakfast?"

Emma opened the door of the backseat, confirming his worries. Definitely not shotgun, not even if he called it. It seemed he was no longer a potential suspect, but the primary suspect. Better him than Mary Margaret, he supposed. Perhaps he could spare her that loss of dignity.

"If your choice of cereal somehow relates to Kathryn's disappearance, then yes," she snapped, gesturing for him to slide in. At least he wasn't being led away in handcuffs.

Ignoring the stuffy confines of the backseat, he couldn't help grinning at Emma's misconstrued facts. Mary Margaret could have corrected her, had she been within earshot. Mary Margaret even knew that he picked up Chinese for dinner on Thursdays.

"Hah! I don't eat cereal in the morning! Kathryn makes me pancakes and toast," he exclaimed rather loudly. "Or at least she did." Emma's patience was obviously running out as she rubbed her hands on her jeans and pursed her lips. Sharply, she pointed.

"Get in, David," she brusquely demanded. She could have simply said please. Dejectedly, David squeezed into the backseat and the door slammed behind him, trapping him inside.

The last thing he saw before Emma started the engine and pulled away from the curb was Mary Margaret. Still as a statue of an angel, watching him being taken away. Though she paid it no mind, the flame of her candle danced wildly in circles until the wind blew it out once more.

…..

The hollow clicking of heels stirred Archie from his uneasy, sore slumber. At first, his mind conjured the image of Regina in spiky black heels, deadly as daggers though it would hold little contest to the grimness of her glare as she mocked him for the absurdity of a stage-dive that cost him a therapy session with Henry. _Please don't be Regina, please don't be Regina…_

Instead, a bright and energetic Ruby appeared in the doorway, easing his heart rate to normal with the speed of white water rapids. In her arms were flowers, a steaming cup, and a box. It was amazing she could juggle it without breaking a sweat.

"Ruby," he breathed with honest delight. _Thank God it's not Regina, _he added in his head. There was something niggling at his mind, some detail that was different about her. It wasn't her hair—it hung long, red, and straight as always underneath a crimson fleece cap. Slowly, modestly, his eyes dared to travel down past her torso, to her legs. That was it. "Holy crickets! You're wearing _pants!"_

That came out more bluntly than he intended. How many guys had Ruby heard that line from?

Striding in, Ruby set the flowers and the mysterious cardboard box on the bedside table. It took him a moment of thought to realize the box was the same one she'd carried while handing out T-shirts advertising their band. Hands free except for the cup, she revolved for him, modeling the crimson skinny jeans.

"You like them? They were half off—I decided to pick them up when I took Gold out shopping for his serenade outfit. Everyone kept giving me strange glances on the street. It's like they've never seen a woman wear pants before," she said, followed by a small laugh. He loved the sound of it, so carefree and genuine, warming her face with light pink. Archie smiled in response and offered her a seat to sit.

"They're just not used to seeing _you _wear pants, I think. To me, you look…" He tried to find the appropriate word. Pretty? Stunning? Pretty stunning? "Beautiful."

Ruby's face softened with relief, seemingly valuing his opinion highly. She smoothed her palm along her knee, truly treasuring the jeans for the first time. As her sultry eyes lifted to meet his once more, he noticed something else: she was wearing less make-up.

Gone were the over-applied shades of cherry red lipstick; she had opted for a lighter, subtler color. There was no eccentric eye-shadow caking her eyelids, allowing the beauty of those orbs to shine through. It made her appear lively and fresh with a natural glow.

He liked it.

"Thank you," she replied, her lips parting to show a perfect row of white teeth. Suddenly, her eyes widened and he almost jumped up from his hospital bed. "Oh! Look what I brought you! I found him on the way here."

Out of the cardboard box, Ruby revealed a plastic water bottle housing a small green cricket. The bottle was missing its cap in order for the little guy to breathe. "It was tough sneaking him in. It's the reason for the box—I sort of told the nurses I was bringing you some clothes, which I did. You left your sweater-vest next to the stage and there's an extra T-shirt for your band."

Archie watched the cricket hop—or try to hop—within the cramped space of the bottle. Mostly, he succeeded in bumping back and forth against the plastic walls. Carefully, Archie reached out to accept it and tipped it over, the cricket falling into his waiting hand. The fuzzy legs tickled his skin as the cricket stretched out, reveling in the newly open space.

"I always envied crickets. They're so free and happy, hopping around from place to place, getting the chance to see the world," he murmured softly as the cricket bounced around the cusp of his hand. He realized Ruby was awfully quiet, listening to his banter. He blushed. "Sorry. I know that must sound…pathetic. People dream of growing up to become doctors, lawyers, firemen. Not crickets."

Ruby laughed again, as pure as the first time. It wasn't sardonic by any means.

"I think it's…sweet," she said, earning his outright surprise. This young, small-town waitress seemed to have a knack for doing that. Cupping his hands, he extended the little cricket toward her in offering, if she would have it. It was a chance he dared to take.

"Would you like to try?"

There was a slight hesitation and tilt of the head from Ruby as she peered down at the hopping fellow. Then, placing the cup beside the box, she copied him and cupped her hands into the shape of a bowl. Gently, Archie guided the cricket into Ruby's hands—the guy seemed eager to leap from his palm straight into Ruby's. Immediately, she giggled and squirmed in her seat.

"Yeah, tickles a bit." He warned her a little too late.

"Yeah, he does. But I think he's cute," she cooed. "Maybe I should have asked Granny to make him a little T-shirt as well." Archie admired the way she took to the cricket instead of freaking out like other girls might have done. Instead, she switched him from palm to palm as he jumped about, the steady chirping just barely rising above the beeping of the machines.

"Dr. Whale said my injuries were minor, luckily. A couple of deep scrapes and bruises, but nothing broken. The worst I have is a sprained ankle and a headache. I'll be able to go home today," he explained joyfully, even as his stiff muscles protested upon the shifting of his head on the pillow. "So, how did we do?"

Ruby escorted their cricket friend back into his cozy bottle and set it next to the steaming cup on the bedside table. The next time her gaze locked firmly with his, she was beaming. Her fingers curled over the edges of her chair, as if she thought she might float away.

"You were awesome! Definitely the highlight of the festival. If Archie and the Crickets sold concert tickets, I bet they'd sell out. After you get better, anyway. It'd be hard to dance in a hospital bed," she joked. Every word made his lungs inflate like balloons, filling with the silky warmth of hope. "To celebrate, I brought this from the diner."

Ruby handed him the scalding cup and he tentatively lifted it to his nose, sniffing the fumes. This was for celebration? He wondered if it was laced with alcohol.

"Don't worry; it's not spiked," Ruby assured him, reading his mind. "It's hot chocolate with whipped cream. Beats the stuff in the hospital's vending machines. I call it Sludge in a Cup." He openly gawked at her, lowering the cup. "The stuff in the hospital, not the cocoa."

Even though it was still piping hot, Archie brought the cup to his lips and took a generous sip. The creamy chocolate flavor scorched his tongue and the roof of his mouth, but he didn't care at the moment. Seeing Ruby smile that way, he figured he would have downed the Sludge in a Cup just as eagerly.

_Be still my beating heart…_

…

_**The songs used in this chapter are 'Nothing But A Good Time' by Poison and 'Can't Touch This' by MC Hammer. **_

_**Tell you the truth, I kind of enjoyed writing for Hopping Red there. Maybe you guys will see more of them in the future. For now, I'd like to say thanks to all the reviewers out there. **_

_**Archie and the Crickets T-shirts go to DaesGatling, ParanormalMoonlight, Huntress4455, GracefulWolvesInTheNight, littlered620, Jenn (sorry, I couldn't see the link to the song you mentioned!), megumisakura, Sweetangelz18, eklektik, BlooperLover, discotimelord, brontegirl89, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, thedoctorsgirl42, Emperor's Sister, sundancemc, Duffer13, DragonRose4, louisethelibrarian, and The-Writer2012. **_

_**Once again, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! **_


	41. Chapter 41

_**A/N: Boy, do I have quite the interesting chapter ready for you, my lovely readers! Seriously, this has to be the longest one I wrote yet (prepare for it…27 pages). Lots of good stuff—a little Hopping Red, a surprise in store for Emma from Gold…**_

_**Head on and read! **_

_**Chapter Forty-One**_

"And then Goldie and Pongo rubbed their noses together! Just like this," Archie gushed, twitching his nose side to side.

He'd been doing it to anyone who would listen—his patients, Leroy, the mailman…except most people did not outright laugh like Ruby was now, leaning over him like he was the only customer in the diner. He'd have to remember to leave her a good tip.

"You better be careful, Hopper. Before you know it, Mr. Gold will have to put up with a whole litter of females in his house. I don't think he can stand all the hormones," she quipped, planting a hand flat on his table.

"Ruby, get over here," Granny barked, abusing the little silver bell that sat on the counter. _Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring-oh, would someone break it already?_

"Just a sec," she threw over her shoulder, absorbed in Archie. He looked a little wary about Granny, wincing as he shifted in his seat. It saddened Ruby that he still had so many bruises from his stage-dive. "As you were saying?"

He hesitated until she flipped her red-streaked hair to the other side of her head, effectively blocking out Granny from view.

"Well, Mr. Gold said the only possible way to ever get Goldie to leave him and Emma alone together in bed is to strike a proposal between her and Pongo. I voted for a June wedding." _Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring…_

"Ruby, stop flirting," Granny shouted, attracting the attention of all the customers. Straightening sharply, Ruby's cheeks enflamed and her expression stiffened into stone.

"Excuse me while I dust the antiques," she muttered sourly before storming off in Granny's direction. She slapped her palms on the counter in annoyance and pouted. "You never let me have any fun!" Granny's head reeled back.

"If you call seducing half the male population of this town 'fun', there must be something wrong with that head of yours. In my day—"

"Which was 1200 B.C.," Ruby dared to mumble under her breath.

Despite her incredible age, Granny's ears were in perfect working order. She leveled her steely eyes at her granddaughter. _Uh-oh, that's the face Granny wears when pounding meat for hamburgers. _

"What was that you said?" Ruby mentally kicked herself for mouthing off to Granny. It was a fight she could never win.

"I said…what's in your…special tea?" Granny directed a knobby finger toward Ruby's face.

"Don't change the subject. I told you not to ask me about my special tea until you were older and wished to make your enemies sound like Chipmunks with jelly legs. It's highly dangerous and maybe a little explosive, too. I save it for Regina."

Ruby was struck speechless by Granny's macabre concoction. _Oh, that's why it's never featured in the specials anymore. I figured Gold just had a really bad night with his leg. Is that why his bodyguard is permanently squeaky?_

"You have nearly every man in Storybrooke wrapped around your finger. What do you need Dr. Hopper for?" Ruby stomped her foot on the ground childishly.

"I…because he…You know, maybe this is true love," she argued, breathing heavily in her irritation.

Granny did the most unexpected thing then. She burst into laughter. Loud, belly-quaking laughter that had her cradling her gray head in her hands as though sobbing in grief. Wiping a drop of water from her eye, she sucked in a breath of air.

"Oh, you must be practicing your stand-up comedy for the Enchanted Rose. Very amusing, Ruby. If Dr. Hopper's your true love, then I suppose Henry Mills will come walking in here dressed in a banana suit."

Ruby rolled her eyes angrily and expected the diner's door to open. Clearly, Henry Mills would climb down the side of his house using only a strand of hair before he let Regina sew him into a banana suit.

"In any case, I want you to start working Saturday nights." That was it. Granny had officially crossed the line. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"No! We have an agreement about Saturday nights, remember? It's the night they show re-runs of _Lost _and I want to see if they get off the island this time!" She dug her nails into the metal siding of the bar until they felt like they would crack under the pressure. "Besides, I have special plans for _this _Saturday."

"Well, you'll just have to cancel them. I'm going to start training you how to do the books. Business is booming lately and with more money comes more paperwork."

"You just want me to act like you until I turn into you," she cried in a burst of frustration. She was mildly aware that her voice had raised several notches. "I'm sorry, Granny, but the only thing I'm interested in doing is going back over there and listening to Ar—Dr. Hopper's stories."

Ruby turned on her heel to do just that, but Granny insistently followed her along the length of the bar.

"Ruby, as long as you work here, you're going to listen to me," she berated. Ruby shot her a dark look.

"I didn't ask to work here," she fired back, her voice raw. "I wanted to work at the ice cream shop, but you were afraid I'd run into Mr. Gold every day. You know how he adores ice cream. And then I wanted to work at the animal shelter, but you're paranoid I'll get bitten, catch rabies, and turn into some foaming-at-the-mouth animal."

"If you want to drizzle hot fudge over Mr. Gold's cone and play with the bunny rabbits, what's keeping you?" Ruby ripped the red apron from her waist and flung it on the counter.

"Nothing. I quit," she shrieked and charged out the door with Archie's gaze burning into her back. Even Mayor Mills ducked out of her way as Ruby stormed past, muttering obscenities about Mr. Gold's cone.

…..

"What if I ask you in a different accent? I've been practicing," Whale pleaded.

Ruby sighed, conveying her incredible frustration. Did the nurses ever say _no _to him? It was bad enough he'd cornered her right outside the Inn. It was like he'd been waiting to pounce. Maybe he was taking advice from August.

"What would you prefer? Russian? French?" Ruby gripped the handle of her suitcase tighter and pursed her lips at him.

"Whale, the thought of you speaking with an accent is more ridiculous than the time Granny hired Leroy as a substitute cook in the diner after our first one burned his hand on the stove. Why do you think our freezer doubles as a panic room?" She impatiently tapped her boot on the sidewalk, waiting for him to move. "Besides, I don't take offers from men with accents."

The doctor frowned with disappointment, his eyes as blue and cold as glaciers.

"But…Graham had an accent," he pointed out. Ruby wanted to steamroll over him. Didn't he have better things to do at night? Like seduce naïve, unsuspecting women? Stare at himself in the mirror?

"And where is he now?" Whale's face contorted with suspicion, as though expecting it to be a trick question. He cleared his throat.

"Dead?"

"Exactly," Ruby exclaimed. Graham was the very last person with an accent that she had fantasized about. If she even thought about other men with other accents, it'd be cheating on Graham's accent.

In any case, the only man left in Storybrooke with a reasonably good accent was Mr. Gold. It'd be odd to defile his coffee one morning and move in on him the next. Plus, he was Emma's _husband. _It was asking for a life sentence in prison.

No, she'd stick with defiling his coffee. Or she would if she still had a job. Maybe she could train Ashley…

"How about a British accent?" Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. _How about you excuse me while I get my tongue stuck to that pole over there? That would be much more exciting. _"I think that one suits me well."

He opened his mouth to demonstrate—and torture Ruby—but a pattern of quick steps interrupted.

"Is there a problem here?"

Ruby breathed an audible sigh of relief as she peered around Whale's shoulder to see Emma, looking like the professional, badass Sheriff. _Thank God you're here, officer. Arrest this man for wrongful abuse of accents. _Whale was becoming flustered.

"I think I'd better—" Emma narrowed her eyes to slits.

"Yeah, you should," she snapped.

Sulking, Whale marched past Mary Margaret, though he paid her no mind. Ruby wondered why Mary Margaret ever thought it was a good idea to have a one-night stand with Whale. Of course, that was before she really fell for a vegetable-turned-married guy.

"What's his problem?" Ruby waved it off with a gloved hand.

"Oh, Whale's just jealous because of Archie and the Crickets' popularity. All the nurses are wearing the band T-shirts and gushing over it at the water cooler. So now Whale's decided to put on a one-man show. He was asking me to help him practice."

Mary Margaret and Emma were struck speechless by the revelation. Suddenly, the sound of running caught their ears and Whale popped up by their side once more, breathing heavily. It was a full minute before he could stop panting.

"And it'll be a hit, too! It'll be called _Whale! _and I bet it will sell out faster than Archie can hop off that stage!" Mary Margaret stared down at her sensible flats while Emma glared at the doctor.

"Go _home, _Whale!" Muttering, he turned tail and headed back down the street. The three of them made sure he turned the corner before they broke the silence. "Since when is Whale involved in acting?"

Mary Margaret perked up. Clearly, she had the answer.

"Oh, he mentioned that on our date. I think he wanted to be an actor before he became a doctor. He was once featured in a high school play of _Sound of Music. _Except during opening night, he dropped Liesl. It never worked out."

Ruby could hardly contain her giggles, though she could tell from Emma's expression that she regretted asking about it. Completely oblivious to Emma's discomfort, Mary Margaret gestured to Ruby's suitcase.

"Are you taking a vacation?" Mary Margaret's pink lips rounded into a shocked 'O'. "Don't tell me you and Archie got married, too!" Emma's head snapped up in alarm, her eyebrows rising into her hairline.

"I recommend staying away from seedy places in Pennsylvania and bars in Georgia," she advised flatly. Mary Margaret and Ruby both whipped their heads around to give Emma odd looks. She shrugged. "Gold wouldn't let me drive."

"No, I'm not married…yet," Ruby declined, blushing slightly.

It would be nice if she and Archie could go to Disneyland, though. They could meet Tinkerbell, ride all the roller coasters, and Archie could get a pair of Mickey ears. They could even have dinner in Cinderella's castle.

"I just had an argument with Granny," she explained, waking from her daydream. "The bad part about running an Inn is that you can't stay at the Inn when you run off."

It fell quiet between the three of them, the whistling wind the only sound in the air besides Whale's obnoxious British accent halfway across town. All of a sudden, eyes boggling wide, Mary Margaret smiled brilliantly at Ruby.

"You can always stay with us," she suggested kindly.

Slowly, Emma craned her neck in her roommate's direction in sheer disbelief. She gave her a stern look. For a long minute, Red watched as Mary Margaret and Emma held a silent conversation with their eyes.

_Us? Do I get any say in this? _

_No! Taking Ruby in is the right thing to do. Otherwise, she'll go to Boston and we'll never see her again. Do you know what happens in big cities to young waitresses? It's the kind of stuff you see on _Law and Order_. _

_Our apartment is turning into a sorority! We might as well call up Regina for a sleepover. _

_Why not? She might be…uptight…but Regina hasn't done anything horrible to me. Maybe she just needs some girl talk and she'll loosen up. _

…_.I wonder if I should mention seeing Regina in the paint aisle of Mr. Clark's store with a bottle of red spray paint in her hand. She claimed she was going to spray paint Gold's car before he painted hers. Funny, because Mary Margaret's car looks nothing like that chunk of ancient metal Gold drives. _

_Emma Swan-Gold, we are doing the honorable thing and having Ruby over for a girls' night in. No arguments, young lady. _

Then Emma threw her hand in the air in frustration, admitting defeat.

"Sure," she agreed. Ruby grinned gratefully and caught the two women in a huge bear hug. She strolled between them as they gradually made their way to Mary Margaret's apartment.

"Great! It can be a girls' night in! We can watch Meryl Streep movies, order pizza, prank call Regina, and tell embarrassing stories about the loves of our lives," Ruby gleefully declared, oozing excitement.

While Mary Margaret inquired about Archie, Emma mentally groaned and dragged her feet. _This is going to be a long night. Now I know how Gold felt going on that guys' night out. _

…..

Most mornings, Emma woke up with the irritating buzzing of her alarm clock, same as any other normal, sane person. If she'd still been sleeping in Gold's bed, she'd have woken to the tempting caresses of his fingers along her spine or Goldie's pink tongue kissing her face. Who hasn't been there before?

No, today she woke up to screaming.

_"Emma! Emma, Emma, wake up!" _

Henry's voice erupted from the black walkie-talkie she always kept on her bedside table. It was for emergencies—problems with school, comfort, Hurricane Regina. It jarred her from her sleep so much that she jolted up in bed and landed on the floor.

"_Emma? Emma! Can you hear me?" _

Grumbling, she grabbed up the walkie-talkie. _I don't remember asking for a wake-up call, _she thought bitterly, her mind still foggy with sleep.

"Kid, you'd better have a good reason for me suffering a concussion right now," she moaned, rubbing the back of her blonde head. Ooh, her funny bone was sore, too. At least she landed smack on her back instead of her belly.

There was a sharp crackle from the walkie-talkie as Henry responded.

_"Emma, you need to help me! Please!" _

Her feet rooted to the spot as she registered the fear in Henry's voice. It was raw and desperate, rising several notes higher as he cried out her name. What did Regina do, pick up the wrong cereal brand again? Chase him with the banana suit?

Gripping the walkie-talkie with both hands, Emma took a deep breath to soothe the internal sense of protection that usually meant she was ready to tear someone's head off, namely the Mayor's. _It's too early for this. I haven't even had breakfast yet. This kind of drama this early should be a crime in itself._

"Henry, where are you? What's going on?" Her eyes scurried to the town clock outside her window; it was a few minutes past eight. Way too early for the next world disaster.

The bell would be ringing at the school any second and Henry was supposed to be one of those children filing into Mary Margaret's classroom. If this was an outburst because she'd slept in and hadn't walked him to the bus, she wasn't hearing it.

"_The cabin! I'm at the cabin in the woods! I didn't know…inside the cabin, there's…Emma, you need to get here now!" _The kid sounded genuinely afraid, gasping for breath. That sense of protection sky-rocketed and she found herself lunging for her badge, securing it to her hip.

"Henry, I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay with me," she shot back into the walkie-talkie, her heart pounding in her chest.

What the hell was her kid doing at the cabin in the woods at eight in the morning? If Regina had any involvement in this, if anyone had hurt him, she just might lose her job. All that mattered was keeping Henry safe.

"_Emma!" _The shrill cry pierced her lungs, making it hard to breathe. It stung, listening to him cry for help that way, not knowing what was happening. But it inspired her to move twice as fast around the room.

She didn't even care that she was still wearing her old fluffy white pajama bottoms and a ratty tank top. Dashing from her room, she allowed herself enough time to throw on her boots and pocket her keys before flying out the door.

_Just once, I'd like to simply _walk _out the door…_

….

In the five minutes that it took to soar up the main street of Storybrooke and into the woods, Emma must have broken at least a dozen laws. Oops, there went a stop sign. Thirteen laws. She'd at least had the sense to use her seatbelt, but still she bounced in her seat while speeding over the bumpy trail that led to the cabin.

The cabin loomed into view and she stomped on the brake, the yellow Bug sliding unevenly across the sodden earth. Like a shot, she was out of the car and racing for the cabin door, gun in one hand and walkie-talkie in the other. She hadn't heard Henry's cries for a good two minutes and she felt her stomach curl at the scenarios streaming through her head.

"Henry?" Crackle, no answer. "Henry, if you can hear me, I suggest you get down on the floor because I have a gun and I'm not afraid to—"

Emma burst through the cabin's door and froze on the threshold. Her jaw dropped and she blinked once or twice to register if it was an illusion. On her list of scenarios, this one hadn't even been in the top 20.

"Shoot," she finished, lowering her gun. _You're telling me I tumbled out of bed at eight in the morning…for this? _

There was a commotion in the cabin, alright. It featured a table blanketed with a white fancy tablecloth, a prepared picnic of breakfast, candlelight, and to top it all off Gold was waiting for her in a fancy charcoal suit. Truthfully, he looked quite bored lounging in that chair, drumming his fingers on the head of his cane.

Suddenly, Emma was all too aware of the fact that she was still decked out in white fuzzy pajamas.

"It's about time, darling. Your eggs are getting cold."

Gold pointed to the place across from him, the plate and utensils already set for her. This had to be some weird dream brought on by too much hot cocoa. It was the cinnamon; that was it. She'd have to cut back on the cinnamon.

Oblivious to her puzzlement, Gold stood and pulled out her chair for her, motioning for her to sit down. His brown eyes roamed over her sleep attire.

"You should have told me you'd be hopping right out of bed. I'd have saved some time by not over-dressing," he remarked, deliberately fixing his red tie. "Correct me, Emma, but aren't those the lovely pajamas with the hole in the…rear?"

Emma's mind fizzled while her hand flew to the back of her fuzzy white pajamas. Sure enough, there was a giant hole, right under her butt. Heat rose to her face as her anger finally poured through.

Oh, this was wonderful. A perfect start to her morning.

She was going to ground the kid until he was thirty. That is, after she saved him from Regina's clutches. No more chocolate chip cookies from his 'grandma', either. His first girlfriend would have to climb a tower to visit him.

"Henry," she slowly sputtered into the walkie-talkie, her eyes never leaving Gold. There was not so much as a crackle on the other end. Oh, so now the kid chose to be mysteriously silent, huh? Playing possum? "Henry, I know you're there. Don't act like you've gone to school because we both know that's not true."

"_So, I take it you found the…surprise?"_ Busted. He was _so _grounded. It didn't help that a small smirk was playing across Gold's face.

_Those two were just best buddies now, _she thought wryly. _First, they're giving Goldie a bath. Then, they're luring me out to the cabin for a surprise breakfast. What's the plan for tomorrow? Spray-painting Regina's car bubble-gum pink? _

"Kid, I am going to be paying a _surprise _visit to Mary Margaret's classroom today and if your seat is empty, I'll tell Regina where you keep the rope you made out of sheets," she threatened, turning her back to Gold to maintain some sense of privacy.

"_You wouldn't dare," _Henry retorted, tone brimming with confidence.

Okay, there was a good chance she wouldn't have the heart to go through with it since that was one of the kid's forms of escape from Regina, but he didn't need to dwell on that. Otherwise, he'd be pulling these sneaky stunts all the time.

"Try me," she warned, dropping her gun on the arm of the couch so that she could dig out her cell phone. "I have my cell phone out and I'm calling Regina right now." That would scare him off.

"_Prove it," _Henry boldly returned. Oh, so he wanted to play that game? Flipping the cell phone open, she scrolled through the contacts until she reached 'Cruella DeVille' and hit dial.

Emma held the button on the walkie-talkie while it buzzed, the cell phone close enough so Henry could hear. It seemed to ring endlessly and Emma wondered if Regina was just sitting there in her black chair, ignoring the phone.

"I do hope you're not trying to fool the boy by calling David Nolan. The tone of cluelessness will be a dead giveaway," Gold mocked while pouring two glasses of orange juice. Emma waved her hand impatiently to get him to keep quiet.

And then _she _picked up.

"_Yes?" _

That snide tone was precisely why even salespeople hung up on her. Emma had to keep from rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Was there ever a morning where that woman answered with a simple 'hello'? Or was she immune to niceties?

"_Dang it," _Henry gasped over the walkie-talkie. _Hate to say I told you so, kid. _Regina's voice barked out of the phone like a hellhound before Emma could utter a word.

"_Who is this? Dr. Hopper, if this is you calling to brag about your little performance at the festival, you have enough supporters doing that already." _Emma's eyebrows rose in surprise. Archie and the Crickets already had a fan-base? That band must be quite the sensation.

"Ah, so she did receive my letter," Gold sighed. "Last time I communicated through snail mail, she claimed it got lost in her fireplace."

It figured that Gold was one of those supporters. It gave him the chance to bug Regina. _Seriously, if this is a surreal dream, feel free to wake me up at any time, Mary Margaret! _

"Sorry, you've…uh…got the wrong number," Emma hastily spoke into the phone, keeping her voice low in the hopes Regina would not recognize it. Unfortunately, Regina had the ears of a hawk.

"_Sheriff? Wait a minute, you called me—"_

The phone clicked shut before Regina could finish that threat. Emma had a terrible feeling she'd have another surprise at the station in the form of a glare. She'd rather take the roses.

"Go to _school, _Henry," Emma demanded into the walkie-talkie and shut it off, silencing the kid's protests.

When she turned around to Gold, his brown eyes snapped up sharply to her face, as if…Had he been eyeing the hole in her pajamas? Emma slapped a hand over it, cursing mentally for throwing on the first piece of clothing she found last night.

"And _you. _You never quit, do you?" The corners of Gold's lips lifted and he shrugged. She figured he'd have given up after the serenading. She wondered what ever became of those jeans.

"Indeed not. Now, how about those eggs?"

As her feet betrayed her, he lifted the cover of a silver tray to reveal more food than she'd seen in the last few days. It made her stomach feel empty as a vortex, despite the bundle growing in there.

Her stubbornness won out. She turned her nose away to the mouth-watering aromas.

"You convince Henry to scare me to death enough to race down here in my holey pajamas and you expect me to have breakfast with you?" Sometimes his logic worried her.

The golden candlelight gleamed off the silver tray, directing her eyes once again to the food. Ooh, that smelled delicious. Before she knew it, she was standing beside the table, close enough to Gold that she caught a good whiff of the subtle cologne on his suit.

"Stay a while and perhaps it'll be brunch," he silkily lilted, reaching out to brush his hand along her arm to the crook of her elbow. Her knees were weakening for the support of a chair, her hands clenched for a fork or knife…

Shaking her head, Emma charged for the cabin door. _Pine needles and lake water—that's what I need to drown my craving. Maybe a bear will come and share Gold's breakfast. _

"I don't think so. I'm working on a case," she threw out the excuse, if only to justify why she was walking away from a heaping, hot plate of food. The clink of the tray hit her ears as Gold replaced the cover over the food.

"And ten minutes ago you were floating in dreamland. The case can wait another half an hour, at least," he reasoned, sounding a bit irate. "You'd be wasting good food and it is vital for a pregnant woman to have her fill. Those are two good reasons for you to accept my offer."

To Emma's dismay, she actually paused with her hand on the doorknob, the icy roundness filling her palm. Her resistance crackled like thin ice, slipping away until she begrudgingly turned around.

"Give me one more good reason," she challenged him. That would make three. If he couldn't come up with one she agreed with, she'd leave. That would be it.

Folding his hands calmly over his cane, he loomed forward eagerly, clearly anticipating her request. Slowly, his lips curved and split apart, the glow of the candle shining across his teeth and glinting off his gold tooth.

"Simple. You_ want_ it."

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but no argument came. Stubborn as she was, she had to admit there was some truth to it. The food hypnotized her and she cringed at the thought of trudging through the Kathryn case on an empty stomach.

Gold inclined his head toward the table, his dusty hair falling across his face. She found herself claiming her seat without another word. Coming up behind her, Gold helped push her chair in, his hand sliding across her back longer than was gentlemanly.

"Candlelight, really? At eight in the morning?"

Emma watched a drop of wax leak down to the candle's holder. How long had Gold been waiting here for her to arrive? Decidedly, he leaned forward from his own seat and blew the flame out, the curls of smoke drifting her way.

"Better?" She gave him a loose shrug as she poked her fork into her eggs. "It was meant to be…romantic."

Right. Just as the roses and serenading were romantic. Which they were, if she were being honest. He had no idea how torn she was between leaping over the table to kiss him and throwing this orange juice in his face.

"Just to be clear, this doesn't mean you're off the hook. I'm just hungry," she insisted, shoving a piece of pancake in her mouth. An explosion of syrup, batter, and butter teased her tongue and her face relaxed into bliss. "You're lucky you're a good cook."

And she took another generous bite. Satisfied, Gold took up his fork and followed suit, patting his lips with a napkin for any stray traces of syrup.

"I wouldn't call it luck, dearie. More like…magic." Emma was halfway through her plate before he'd even really gotten started. She supposed this wasn't _too_ bad a start to her morning, after all.

…..

_Oh, Mary. My ex-wife could never compare to you in one thousand years of life. Nor would I ever live it without you. Oh, David, kiss me? And as his head bent forward, achingly slow for her taste, his lips hovering an inch above hers and the warmth of his breath on her skin, he moaned—_

_Rrrriiiing!_

Mary Margaret quickly swept the romance book off her desk as the children filed in, having returned from their lunch break. God, her face was still beet red and she had to shift a couple of times in her seat to ignore the pool of warmth in her belly.

It was a good thing Henry was here; Emma had convinced him to attend school today. Every time she talked to him about it, he claimed knights didn't need arithmetic.

"Good—" She rasped, her voice throaty from that damn book. She coughed. "Good afternoon, class," she brightly greeted them as she erased the math problems on the chalkboard. _That's better. Hopefully, they'll just think I'm catching a cold. _

An awkward silence filled the room and she turned to see every kid watching her. That happened quite a lot since she'd been publicly denounced.

"I guess we're all still tired, hm? Okay, today we have a visitor, but does anyone have any last questions before she arrives?"

It was still as a colored photo, each child perched uncomfortably in their seats. Archie's crickets could be heard all the way from his office. Slowly, a little girl with brown pigtails raised her hand.

"Yes?" Mary Margaret smiled encouragingly. That was exactly what these kids needed: patience and kindness. The girl stared down at her desk as though piecing together a daunting puzzle.

"What does 'tramp' mean?"

Laughter erupted like the background audience of a sitcom, but Mary Margaret didn't join in. Heat rose along the flesh of her neck, coloring it red as a tomato. Henry glared at the little girl as if expecting laser beams to shoot from his eyeballs into the back of her head.

"Where did you…hear that word?"

Mary Margaret knew very well that everyone in town—save for Emma, Ruby, David, and Mr. Gold—was calling her a…tramp behind her back. Did the patrons of this town have no decency for their kids' ears?

"Duh. It's on your car," the girl replied, shrugging. Now she was looking at Mary Margaret like she was thinking the _teacher_ was the uneducated one. Some children still snickered, but another girl scooted forward eagerly in her seat.

"It's the boy dog in _Lady and the Tramp,_" she chirped. Well, that was one viable explanation. Henry cracked open his fairy-tale book, pretending not to hear this ugly conversation.

Mary Margaret could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes and exhaled, demanding a shred of calm. _Must the whispering follow me everywhere? I'm not even safe inside a school. _

"Oh, right," Pig-Tails moaned with dawning realization. She touched a finger to her chin. "So, when my mom said you deserve that name on your car, she meant you were sharing noodles with Mr. Nolan?"

Mary Margaret needed air. She kept checking the clock, wondering where Emma was. Oh, she couldn't stop wringing her hands even though they were starting to ache and she felt ready to throw up even though her stomach was empty.

"No, it means Mrs. Blanchard was stealing Mrs. Nolan's noodles," a boy—whose face slightly resembled Gollum from _Lord of the Rings—_remarked. Mary Margaret was about to break when a rapt knock sounded at the door. _Emma! _

"Okay, everyone! As I said, today we have a visitor and—"

_Psst. _Mary Margaret paused to glance at Emma curiously. The noise had come from her side of the room. She held up a finger and then continued what she was saying.

"—and she has taken the afternoon off from her busy schedule, so—"

_Pssst._ Mary Margaret winced, clasped her hands.

"So, I would like you all to be respectful—"

"Mary Margaret," Emma called this time, stepping full-bodied into the room. Mary Margaret broke.

"_What?!" _She spun on Emma, the anxiety of the last ten minutes weighing heavily on her shoulders.

It was dead silent again. Emma stared unblinking as if Mary Margaret had up and danced the mambo alone. The kids' eyebrows were raised in bafflement.

"Ooh, Ms. Blanchard yelled," Pig-Tails announced. She pointed a finger at her teacher accusingly. Mary Margaret had the sinking sensation of being declared a witch at the Salem Witchcraft Trials. "You told us to be respectful. That's not respectful—it's rude."

"Maybe it's opposite day," _Lady and the Tramp _added in. _Breathe in, breathe out, Mary Margaret, _she coaxed herself.

"I know I yelled. I'm sorry. Excuse me," she whispered before striding to Emma and pulling her into the quiet hallway. She checked to make sure none of the children were out of their seats eavesdropping. "Thank God you're here. These kids are driving me crazy."

Emma never heard Mary Margaret say those words before.

"I take it the whole affair thing is getting around," Emma said, trying and failing to lighten up the situation. Mary Margaret kneaded her forehead. "What am I supposed to say to these kids, anyway? Don't do drugs?"

Mary Margaret sighed and was an inch away from knocking her head against the wall. Her patience was rather thin today.

"I don't know. Tell them…a story about your job. You must have one. Keep them preoccupied. You're good with kids," she rushed forward.

Pushing a hand on Emma's leather-clad back, she shoved her toward the classroom door. Emma grabbed the edges of the wall and dug her heels in. Pregnant women weren't easy to move.

"Well, you're _learning_, aren't you? Consider this an exercise."

"Yeah….see, I'm still working on the Kathryn case—" Shove. "And Ruby's looking for a job at the station—" Shove.

"No excuses, Emma. You told me you would do this. Be inspirational," Mary Margaret advised, leaning against Emma and jamming her through the door. Emma refused to budge.

"I don't know how to be inspirational! I'm not a pure-at-heart button-collared nun like you!" Mary Margaret huffed and pried Emma's fingers from the doorjamb.

"I am _not _a nun!" She began to slap her palms against Emma's back, as if to prove it.

Just then, Miss Ginger strolled by and halted in place when she noticed Mary Margaret working on Emma. The woman stared down her long pointed nose at the pair.

"A kink," Emma said, pointing to her tense neck.

"Clearly," Miss Ginger snapped. Emma's eyes narrowed and she looked ready to pull a gun. Paling, Mary Margaret leaped in front of her, offering Miss Ginger a small smile.

"Good afternoon, Miss Ginger. I was just—" The wrinkled hand of Miss Ginger pressed outward toward Mary Margaret's face.

"I do not need to discuss the details of your personal issues, Ms. Blanchard. I can simply read about it in the paper."

Mary Margaret's jaw dropped as Miss Ginger continued on her way, heels clicking sharply against the floor. She held a hand to her burning cheek; she felt like she'd been back-handed. Hard.

Emma whipped her head around and scrunched her nose at Miss Ginger's frizzy red hair.

"Hey, lady! That Muppet on your head isn't fooling anyone!" Mary Margaret gasped, though she couldn't fault Emma for standing in her defense. Then she shoved her forward again, urging her into the room. Her flats skidded across the tiled floor. "Mary Margaret, I really don't think this is a good—"

With one last shove, Emma was thrust into the classroom. Mary Margaret followed and closed the door behind her, thwarting Emma's escape. Anything to avoid the kids' jeers.

"Idea," she muttered, scanning the small faces in front of her.

At least Henry was here. Though, she still gave him a little 'I'm-watching-you' sign with her fingers to her eyes. It made the kids laugh and Henry scowled at her. _A little payback for that scare this morning, kid. _

Mary Margaret clapped her hands together, catching everyone's eye.

"Here is our visitor. The Sheriff. Remember what I said about being respectful," she warned everyone. _And no, it is not opposite day. _Mary Margaret drifted backward to her desk and suddenly the spotlight was on Emma.

For a moment that seemed to last a decade, Emma stared out at the beady eyes that watched her every move, waiting for her to say something. Mary Margaret swooped forward and nudged her back, like she hadn't gotten the message the first time. _Yeah, yeah, I'm going. _

"Um…" She mumbled, her voice cracking. This was worse than the debate during the election. "You all know I'm the Sheriff." _Because Mary Margaret just said that. Oh, and I'm a dragon-slaying savior according to my kid. This is why I don't let Henry near my resume. _

"I'm here to…talk to you about…the good you can do for your community," she declared.

_Yeah, that sounds legit. On the off chance I still have this job after the curse breaks, I don't ever want to slap handcuffs on fairy tale characters. Pig-Tails looks suspicious. _

"So…don't do drugs. And…don't talk to strangers. Don't talk to strangers who talk to strangers. I'm pretty sure they have their own Facebook. And don't push each other off the swings unless you want Queen Bi—I mean, Regina—to chop it down."

Henry was banging his head with his book.

Probably cursing her in the name of Snow White for not contributing something effective for the curse. What was she supposed to say? Don't be alarmed if you never grow older because you're cursed? Don't play near the border; you might get zapped by a freak bolt of lightning?

When they realized Emma had run out of things to say, Paige raised her hand politely. Why couldn't these kids just submit their questions in writing?

"If Mr. Gold really started that fire and almost killed the Mayor, why are you still married to him?"

Emma gaped at the girl, who sounded wiser than her years. _Is this kid serious? _She glanced back at Mary Margaret uncertainly, who quickly returned an innocent, doe-eyed Bambi stare. _Don't look at me, _it read.

"Um…it's…complicated," she murmured unconvincingly. Paige settled back in her seat, but parted her lips to fire off another question. Pig-Tails beat her to it.

"Sheriff, do you share noodles with Mr. Gold?" Emma whipped her head around to Mary Margaret, communicating with her eyes. _What exactly are you teaching these kids? _"Are you still having the baby?"

Emma self-consciously tucked her leather jacket tighter together over her bump. Gollum piped up.

"No, she's returning it at the baby store," came the sarcastic reply. Emma shifted in place, wanting nothing more than to run out of the classroom. What was this? An interrogation?

"Anyone have any other questions that do _not_ involve my love life?" _Crickets, crickets. _Henry actually lifted his head from the book that was practically stitched to his hands.

"Can you shoot off your gun?" Emma glared at him. _Thanks for your help, kid. Appreciate it. _

"Absolutely not. I have nothing to target."

Another hand rose, followed by another. Emma had a really bad feeling about the direction these questions were going to go. Reluctantly, she picked one.

"Have you ever been in a high-speed chase?" Emma scoffed. She was lucky if someone robbed a store. Though that seemed to happen a lot to Gold…

"What do you think this is? _Cops?" _The kids all murmured an agreement, fascinated by Emma's presence. _These kids must really dislike Mary Margaret today if they're willing to listen to me, _she thought. "Well, there was the one time I chased Leroy around the town square trying to pull him over. Ever heard of extreme bumper cars?"

Even Mary Margaret had to stifle a laugh at the image that produced.

"And I have to pry Archie's dog, Pongo, off Miss Ginger on a daily basis. Apparently she smells like bacon. The good news is that he hasn't bitten her head off yet." Henry frowned.

"How is that good news?" Emma planted her hands on her hips defiantly. _Just keep pushing your luck, kid. Maybe I can't officially ground you today, but according to you, the day will come where I will take you from Regina. And then you'll be grounded. _

"Yeah, I'm done," she muttered, making a bee-line for the door. There was the abrupt sound of footsteps and she thought it was Mary Margaret coming to drag her back in, so she walked faster.

"Hey, Emma. Wait up!" It was Henry. His short legs couldn't carry him as fast as Emma's did. Reluctantly, she slowed in the middle of the hall.

"Kid, just because Mary Margaret convinced me to visit your school doesn't mean you get out early," she protested automatically. He shook his head and she noticed a devious smile dancing on the corners of his lips. _Aw, you've been practicing in the mirror with Gold again, haven't you?_

"So…how'd it go?" Emma's shoulders slumped.

"You were just there! That whole 'don't do drugs' thing? Playing extreme bumper cars with Leroy? Ring a bell?" Henry gave her a stern look that actually silenced her. He sighed.

"Not that! How'd it go with the…surprise?"

Oh, so _that's_ what it was about. Details. The two of them began walking down the hallway, in case Miss Ginger was still lurking around. With any luck, Kermit would show up demanding his Muppet friend back.

"I ate it, if that's what you mean," she grumbled, patting her stomach. Henry jabbed her with his elbow.

"Did you…you know…kiss?"

Once again, she stopped completely and gazed down at him with something like a warning reflected in her green eyes. _Can't a married couple have breakfast in a cabin in the woods without anything coming out of it? Besides a full belly? And not in the baby-making sense, either. _

"Trust me; nothing happened." Henry didn't seem like he believed it. She knelt to his level. "You know what? I'm going to tell you a fairy-tale. Once, there was a prince who planned an extravagant breakfast for his…princess. They ate it together and when they were finished, the two of them realized…they had to go to work. And then they parted ways. The end." Henry scrunched his nose in disappointment.

"That wasn't a very good fairy-tale," he complained. "Define work." She pointed a finger toward Mary Margaret's classroom door, demanding that he return to class. She watched him shuffle off and then hurried out of the school.

Subconsciously, she tugged the sleeve down over her right hand and swore she could still feel Gold's lips brushing against her skin.

…

Archie had closed his office for the day. Now, he was sitting in Granny's Diner, enjoying an evening coffee and reading the latest edition of _The Mirror. _

Archie and the Crickets dominated the headlines. There were even two photos underneath; one featuring their group singing on the stage and the other with Archie in mid-air jumping _off _the stage.

At least they'd gotten his good side. He rubbed the knot in his shoulder, marked with a bluish-purple bruise. _Next time I'll kindly announce my intentions before leaping off the stage. _

The bell of the diner chimed as the door opened.

Peering over the top of his newspaper, he watched Emma walk in. She looked like she'd seen better days. She was oddly pale and distant as she approached the bar, as if her mind were on something else. Judging by the rigidness in her shoulders and back, her guard was up. Underneath, he could read the sadness and discomfort.

He'd sort of hoped Emma and Mr. Gold would work things out between them; even if it only meant coming to a mutual understanding. There were only so many days he could have the pawnbroker coming to his office to ask for advice—he was scaring off all his other patients and kept threatening them about rent.

"Sheriff," Granny respectfully greeted while wiping down the counter. She was forced to handle most of the labor work since Ruby had quit. "Don't tell me you've returned for another grilled cheese?"

Emma offered a weak, tight smile and rubbed her swelling abdomen.

Archie wondered if Emma was going to be comfortable doing her job during late pregnancy. Leroy would be in trouble if he ever got pulled over by Emma nine months pregnant. More importantly, what gift should he get them for the baby shower? Maybe he could save up some money, be creative, and buy Emma a vibrating baby stroller.

"No, thanks. Though I could use one of those giant chocolate chip cookies," she hinted pointing to the glass jar on the counter. Granny whipped out a small brown bag and filled Emma's order. "Have you heard from Ruby recently?"

The ulterior motive. Archie lifted his head, his attention snagged by Ruby's name. Granny didn't seem too concerned about it as she slid Emma's cookie across the bar.

"Haven't heard from that girl since she picked up the grilled cheeses. She told me she was practically a Deputy." Granny planted her hands sternly on her hips and leveled her eyes at Emma over the rims of her glasses. "Listen, if she's Deputy and something happens to you, Ruby'll turn this town into her personal dance club. What do young people call it? A flash mob!"

Emma's face turned to stone at Granny's prediction—she probably wasn't counting on 'something happening' anytime soon, unless it involved popping out a baby. And even then, Archie had his doubts.

In any case, he figured Ruby would at least be a better candidate than, say, Mr. Gold. He had a feeling that if Gold were to become Deputy or Sheriff or even overthrow Regina for the position of Mayor, the people of this town would just pack up and speed for the border.

"I just wanted to make sure she was okay," Emma was saying with a worried expression. Granny's face grew blank, her knobby fingers clenching the side of the bar. "Physically, she's fine."

"Something happen?" Granny was fighting to conceal her emotions, her commanding voice only slightly rising. But Archie realized she was concerned for Ruby's well-being in her own way. Ruby was her granddaughter, after all.

Emma quickly glanced around the diner, taking note of the small crowd of customers eating meals.

"Sorry. I don't think I should discuss it in the middle of a diner," she said. Snapping his newspaper closed, Archie fumbled with his black umbrella and found himself wandering up to the bar. His heart was racing a mile a minute.

"Excuse me, Sheriff. You're looking for Ruby?"

Emma spun around to face him, leaning most of her weight against the bar. He waited while she gave him a strict once-over, taking in his plain sweater-vest and slacks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. Have you talked to her?" Granny was watching him like a hawk, narrowing her keen eyes behind her glasses. A really hungry, over-protective grandmother hawk. It made Archie a little jittery.

"Why would Ruby have talked to Dr. Hopper? Far as I know, she's not in therapy," Granny interjected. "Just because she flirts with every customer doesn't mean she exchanges phone numbers. Men stopped calling the Inn right about the time I set up the message with the shotgun blasting in the background."

Emma and Archie exchanged a wary look, but neither said a word on the subject. He wondered if Granny was the type to inspect boyfriends while holding a gun.

"I just want to help. Maybe I can search for her," he suggested sincerely.

Emma looked like she was considering it, but Granny shook her head, mind made up on the matter. She must have thought Ruby was having another angst-ridden getaway in her nightlife.

"Trust me, if Ruby doesn't want to be found, nothing you do will help. During the night, that girl disappears like smoke."

Gripping his black umbrella, Archie squared his sore shoulders and cast off Granny's warning. He at least had to try to find Ruby, especially if she was hurting and needed to talk to someone.

"I'll find her," he vowed, starting for the door.

Never mind that it was getting dark out or that he had the whole town to search. All he could think about was Ruby sitting by his bedside after his stage-diving incident. She had been there until he'd been discharged. If anything, he should return the favor.

_If I were a young ex-waitress in distress, where would I be?_

"Wait," Emma called out and he turned back. She appeared thoughtful for a moment, as if just remembering a crucial piece of information. Still, Emma's eyes darkened unhappily. "She might be at the Toll Bridge."

Archie didn't ask why. Truthfully, it was the third place on his list he'd look. The first one was the dingy bar The Rabbit Hole and the second was Mr. Gold's shop. Somehow, broken desperate people always ended up there.

Nodding, Archie headed out of the diner in the direction of the Toll Bridge, feeling as if every step tugged him closer to Ruby. He just hoped she wasn't having a breakdown. He used up the last of his tissues in therapy.

…

Ruby didn't know why, but she had returned to the place where she least wanted to be at the moment: the Toll Bridge. The place where that…thing…was buried. Maybe she had come to figure out what it meant. Regrettably, there were no posters with _Missing Heart—Return if Found!_ Who else could it belong to but…Kathryn?

Oh, God, it was cold out tonight. She wished she'd worn more than a short-sleeved top; she was forced to rub her arms for heat. It felt like she was freezing from the inside out.

The gravel under her butt was sharp and uncomfortable, but still she sat on the ground with her knees curled up to her chest. _I can't believe I found a human heart inside that jewelry box. How macabre is that? I should never have tried to be a Deputy; I should have stayed at the diner. I have red heels on. There's no place like home, there's no place like home…_

There was a crunch of gravel behind her. It startled her so much that she leapt up, arming herself with a branch.

"Ruby?" It was only Archie, standing there a few feet away with his black umbrella. He held his hands up in surrender, as if the branch were a loaded shotgun instead. "Relax. It's just me. Put the branch down."

Slowly, Ruby dropped the branch, quivering with relief. For all she knew, he could have been Kathryn's kidnapper and/or murderer, returning to the scene of the crime.

"Sorry. I'm a little shaken up, can't you tell?" She sniffled, her nose raw and red. A small laugh escaped her throat, but it was thin and weak, breaking into short gasps before it even began.

Not wanting to spook her anymore, Archie dropped his umbrella and approached her with the caution of closing in on a startled horse. He kicked the branch aside with his foot. Better safe than sorry.

"Emma was looking for you. She wanted to make sure you were okay." There was no response from Ruby except another sniffle; her dark eyes were glazed over with fear as she stared hard at a hole in the ground. "What's going on?"

Ruby wrapped her arms around her torso and shuddered.

"I…I found a heart," she whispered, clamping her hand over her mouth. Archie lowered his arms to his sides and stared at her. He didn't know whether he'd heard that right. A…heart?

"Am I playing the part of the Scarecrow? Or Dorothy?" Ruby launched her head up and glowered ferociously. Another kick to the branch. "That was a quip. Sorry. What kind of heart?"

All Ruby could do as she swayed on the shore of the Toll Bridge's river was point to the mysterious hole in the ground. He followed her gaze, but couldn't see anything down there.

"A human heart," she cried out. The blood froze in his veins. "It was buried there. I think…I think it might be Kathryn's. I…it was…oh, God."

Ruby bent forward and covered her mouth, her body convulsing violently. Alarmed, Archie sped to her side and calmingly rubbed her back, murmuring for her to take slow, deep breaths. Ruby raked her fingers through her wild hair before settling into the circle of his arms. He tried to ignore the scent of her hair as he patted her shoulder.

"Ruby, I can understand your anxiety," he said. She pulled away slightly and crossed her arms.

"Have you ever found a human heart?" Archie opened his mouth, but was struck silent. He scratched a hand through his curly red hair.

"I found the stash of bones Pongo hid in Mrs. Ginger's yard," he admitted. Ruby cocked an eyebrow, suspicion radiating off her in waves. "They weren't human." A ripple of disgust shot through her as her brown eyes traveled back to that hole. Her upper lip curled and her teeth clenched until they ached.

"It's disgusting. It was just sitting there in the box and…I can't do this. I want my job back." Being a waitress was so much easier than being a Deputy. No grisly murders, no missing ex-wives, no gruesome hearts waiting to pop up at you like a Jack-in-the-box.

As Ruby internally struggled with the mental image that was seared into her brain, Archie gave her a soft smile and gripped her shoulders, keeping her grounded.

"Then what's stopping you?" Ruby gawked at him, as if he suggested she should jump into that river.

"Are you kidding? Granny would never hire me again. Not after….all the terrible things I've said." She hung her head in shame, the corners of her lips turning down worse than any depressed patient Archie had seen. And he'd seen a lot. "They still haven't gotten off the island, that's for sure."

"You don't know until you try," Archie fed her the timeless line of encouragement. He expected to see a slight spark nudging in the depths of Ruby's eyes, but all that lingered was doubt. Well, she was harder to break than most.

"I just wanted to be strong and happy…Today, all I did was freak out. Emma must think I'm pathetic."

It sent a sharp stick through Archie's chest to watch Ruby beat herself up over an attempt at expanding her horizons. Was there no one to tell Ruby how amazing a person she was? How she could light up a room with all the energy bubbling inside her? Did she not even _realize? _

Keeping a foot of distance—it was best for Ruby to feel comfortable and in control—he stayed silent until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. He wanted her to listen to every word he was about to say. Even more, he wanted her to believe it.

"Ruby, Emma thinks no such thing about you. Sounds to me like you're more important than you know. You helped Emma with her investigation and I'd say you're handling it well. You might not be cut out to be a deputy, but I'll bet you'll find something else to make you happy. You are strong, Ruby. You can be whatever you want to be."

A slow smile began to shape her normally optimistic lips and he noticed the burst of knowledge spread like a current of hope through her face. Then she tilted her head curiously.

"Are you just saying that?" He chuckled, his blue eyes bright behind the frames of his glasses.

Studying Ruby and drinking in every small detail about her, he wished he could capture that brief, beautiful moment when she understood how wonderful she could be. That growing smile, the way the milky, overcast sky seemed to allow that candle inside her to glow outwards and illuminate her tan skin…but mostly, the way her body took on a new form with the strength that had awakened deep inside her.

"I would never lie to you." He meant it with every breath he gave.

Flashing a full-toothed grin, Ruby swept over to him and embraced him tightly, her head falling against his shoulder. Nervously, he brushed his hand across her back and allowed it to unfold.

"Thank you," she whispered into his collar. As his heart rapidly pounded in his chest, he gratefully returned Ruby's hug, holding her close without the slightest notion that she resisted it. She felt warm and soft yet solid as stone as the weight of her body clashed against his. "At least someone understands."

Slowly, Ruby drew back though she did not sever ties with him completely. She inclined her head to gaze straight into his eyes and she looked almost dazed, her pupils enlarging with wonder. And then it was like a string was pulling her closer again, reeling her in until her lips were inches from his own. A torrent of emotions streaked through him—excitement, nervousness, fear, happiness. It was enough to make him explode.

At that moment, he knew precisely what Ruby commanded and he was helpless to stop it. A silver thread tied around his heart and dragged him forward; her breath tickled the skin above his lip, the gravel crunched like cereal as Ruby's boots slid over them.

And then it happened.

Ruby's lips were silky as petals—Archie thought it the moment her lips connected with his in a light, feathery kiss. It was neither demanding nor hesitant. It was simply…pure. He could taste her: cherries and caramel. He suddenly wished he didn't have that haddock for dinner.

In a matter of seconds, it was over, but it was the best few seconds of his entire existence. Their lips parted ways and Ruby licked her upper lip. He liked to think she was ingraining the memory of him in her mind.

"Wow," she breathed heavily. From the serene expression on her face, she might as well be Sleeping Beauty having awoken from a slumber with true love's kiss. She rubbed her palms across his chest. "Do you do that with everyone you comfort?"

Immediately, Archie blushed, his brain not comprehending how to answer that question. Was he a bad kisser? Was she…unsatisfied? Was she mentally comparing him to her other suitors? Oh, no…was his breath…fishy?

Registering his flustered behavior, Ruby laughed.

"Relax. That was a quip. The kiss was…nice." Nice. She'd said it was nice. That was positive, wasn't it? It lifted his soul to the clouds. Still smiling, he retrieved his umbrella and he offered her his other hand.

"I'll walk you home." And together they went, hand in hand.

….

It took a couple tries, but Emma finally found Mary Margaret and David in the animal shelter. The terrible news that she had to bear made her head spin. God, she did not want to do this. Maybe it could wait until morning….

Then David spoiled her escape plan by lifting his head and acknowledging her.

"Emma. Are you here to find a friend for Goldie?" She wished that was all it was. But she didn't know how well Gold would take to Ding-Dong-Ditch the Dog.

"No. Gold has enough females running around his house," she replied and then cringed when she realized how scandalous that sounded. And now Mary Margaret was turning in her direction, those green eyes glimmering with unspoken questions.

"Maybe he needs a male pet," David suggested. "How about a goldfish? See that one swimming around in there? We call him Fabio. He's a ladies' man."

David pointed to one of the bigger fish out of the fifty fish charging around a wide tank. Either that one had a serious weight issue or it was pregnant.

"How can you tell, exactly?" Emma was briefly distracted with following David's finger across the glass. He gestured wildly to it, beckoning her forward. He was so appalled; you'd think she asked why men like football.

"Just look at him! Clustered around those other goldfish. Look, they're chasing him around the tank! Ladies' man, guaranteed. Which means you should probably get two or three female fish to keep him company." _Okay, never mind the dog. It'll have to be Ding-Dong-Ditch a Fish. _

"I'm not here for a promiscuous fish, David," she flatly burst his cheerful bubble. _No, not the puppy eyes! That'll completely undermine the hard-edged professionalism I'm going for. _"I'm here because…you might want to sit down for this," she advised David.

Paling, he sank into the chair beside Mary Margaret.

"You found Kathryn, didn't you? Oh, God, she's dead, isn't she? Now I'll have to dress up for a funeral for my late wife and Leroy's twenty dollars richer." She really needed to cut Leroy off gambling. Emma shook her head, though David intercepted her protests. "No, wait. Am _I _dying?"

"David—" Mary Margaret rubbed his back, trying to soothe him, but the man was in the middle of a meltdown.

"Mary Margaret, there are only three reasons someone ever tells you to sit down. One, they invite you to dinner. Two, you're blocking the television and you risk having popcorn thrown at you. Three, _you're dying!_"

"No one is dying. Yet," Emma exclaimed. "I'm here because I…_we_ found a box." The two lovebirds stared at Emma as though she had seven heads attached to her neck. David gripped Mary Margaret's arm.

"But that means…" His forehead sported grooves of concentration. "Wait…what does that mean? Did Kathryn have a picnic?" Emma sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. _I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. Just keep telling yourself that, Emma, and someday it might be half-true. _

"There was a human heart inside it." Mary Margaret gasped aloud and covered her mouth in horror. David looked like he was going to faint. "We're going to send it out for some tests, but there aren't any other missing people."

"Maybe you should go. He needs a moment," Mary Margaret whispered, patting David's back as he sucked in air between his knees.

"There's more," Emma announced, though she was not happy about it. _I should have just taken Fabio and come back tomorrow morning. _David raised his head, his skin alarmingly white. _I think we might have a new Snow White on our hands. _

"Are you going to tell me they took her feet, too?"

From this point, Emma decided the best course of action was to ignore David. If only the universal remote controlled volume levels on people you'd rather not listen to. It'd be amusing to mute Regina every time she stormed into the station to rant.

"There were fingerprints inside the lid of the box. I ran them through the records of everyone in town. I checked Henry twice just in case it was proof that Regina has no heart. There was a match." David jumped up from his seat as if the chair were on fire.

"It's me, isn't it? I never knew a Sheriff who asked you to sit down because they plan on arresting you!"

Emma spread her hands out to calm him and now Mary Margaret was on her feet, coaxing him down. Emma waved for him to sit down, but he shook his head.

"No way is my butt landing in that chair! It'd be handing you a confession on a platter! I have the right to remain standing because any chair I occupy can and will be used against me in a court of law."

_Did Mary Margaret feed him Apollo bars again? _

"David, I'm not arresting you," she argued vehemently. That should have made him relieved, but he simply regarded her with suspicion. As if the moment he chose to sit down, she would slap the cuffs on him. "The fingerprints weren't yours. They were Mary Margaret's."

It seemed all three of them stopped breathing as that information sunk in. Not even the fish were swimming in that tank. Clutching a hand to her chest, Mary Margaret's knees gave way and she dropped into her chair.

"There must be a mistake…" David began to protest, but it was no use.

With obvious dismay, Emma approached Mary Margaret and read her rights as she linked the handcuffs around her friend's wrists. She seemed in shock as Emma led her from the shelter, barely parting her lips to speak.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Fabio," Emma heard David say as the door closed. The sound of his despair didn't miss her notice, either. Gradually, Emma guided Mary Margaret to her cruiser and opened the back seat.

"Emma?" It was hollow and small, like a child's. Mary Margaret's eyes were disoriented, staring at the interior of the back seat like it was the mouth of a dragon. She waited patiently for Mary Margaret to divulge what was on her mind.

"If this is about whether you'll get your one phone call, I promise I'll turn the other way while you blow up David's answering machine," she said. But Mary Margaret declined with a shift of her dark head.

"No, it's not that…" She whispered, barely above the wind. For the first time since Emma announced she was under arrest, Mary Margaret turned her head and looked her straight in the eye. "What will Henry do when he realizes you arrested your own mother?"

Emma ground her teeth together as Mary Margaret slid inside the back seat of her cruiser. Questions like that made her want to dig a hole and hide in it. _I love my job, I love my job, I love my job…_

….

_**I can never thank you guys enough for giving me so many awesome reviews and the inspiration I need to keep going! Here, have Mr. Gold's cone. **_

_**Also, for those of you who are interested, I recently wrote a humorous little one-shot about Gaston's POV of being turned into a rose in Skin Deep. Maybe you can swing by and check it out. **_

_**Much thanks to DaesGatling, Infinite Nosferatu, DamnationOfTheDead, FortunesFavour, Tizmine (hope you got/get better), thedoctorsgirl42, megumisakura, eklektik, Duffer13, discotimelord, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, DragonRose4, brontegirl89, TwylaMercedes, Fairy Demon26, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, Sweetangelz18, BlooperLover, sundancemc, louisethelibrarian, Huntress4455, beverlie4055, and GracefulWolvesInTheNight. **_

_**By the way, (for those of you who saw the season 2 mid-finale), what did you think? (-; **_


	42. Chapter 42

_**A/N: I have a few good surprises in this chapter for my readers. I think you guys will like it. Good news: I'm pretty much finished with the next chapter as well, mainly because I love writing for Jefferson. He's so much fun. Also, just a warning: it's finals week for me. Wish me luck! **_

"You _arrested_ your _mom?"_ Henry nearly choked on his chocolate chip muffin.

_That awkward moment when your son claims you arrested your mother for murdering your fake-stepmother, who happens to be the best friend of your step-grandmother and the adoptive mother of aforementioned son. _It only made matters worse that every head in the diner was facing their table. _Granny should really invest in some live entertainment._

"Thanks to you, we have Miss Ginger as a substitute and she's nowhere near as nice as Ms. Blanchard. Regina actually likes her. Last year, she won the award for Teacher of the Year. I think Regina rigged it."

_That's what he says whenever something goes wrong in this town—Regina rigged it. Teacher of the Year Award? Regina rigged it. Leroy winning the lottery? Regina rigged it. Food poisoning, tornados, and rabid dogs? Rigged, rigged, rigged. _

Emma sank her head into her hand and stared out the window at the clock tower that loomed over the town. It was only a few minutes before eight in the morning and her mind was frazzled. Nothing was going right this week.

"Kid, what was I supposed to do? Slap her on the wrist and say 'bad, Mary Margaret?' If I didn't arrest her, Regina would have seen it as favoritism and have reason to fire me. My job is already in jeopardy every time I yawn at my desk."

The kid frowned unhappily and picked a piece of chocolate from his muffin. Miss Ginger would do well to be careful in class today; Henry was going to be bouncing off the walls. Her gaze wandered to the bar where Archie was chatting with Ruby. The pair oozed happiness, smiling from ear to ear and at ease in each other's company…

"You're turning green," Henry interrupted her thoughts, calling her back to reality. She blinked down at him.

"Excuse me?" She checked herself for any obvious mishaps. Her stomach certainly felt fine. Henry rolled his eyes.

"You're jealous," he clarified, looking to Ruby and Archie for emphasis. The couple was blissfully unaware of the world around them. A mermaid could materialize on the bar and Ruby would still be trained on Archie, laughing at whatever he was saying.

"I am not jealous," Emma instantly went on the defensive. This kid actually thought…? Oh, that was ridiculous.

She survived life without Gold before; clearly, she could do it again. Just because he had a suave accent and good taste in suits….and proved to be a good cook…and an equally satisfying lover…and gave intense massages…and comforted her through thunderstorms…that did not mean there was cause to be jealous of a happy couple.

"Really? Because you looked like you wanted to cry into your napkin," Henry continued his interrogation, taking another chunk out of his muffin. At least he had the stake-out part down. He chased it down with half a glass of chocolate milk, leaving a brown mustache behind.

"Blame it on the hormones," she argued heatedly, pointing to her belly.

Talking about the baby usually drove Henry off-topic. He always asked what their plans were, where she'd go to college—to which Gold insisted Harvard—and what kind of birthday parties Gold would host for their child. Henry hoped she'd be born close to his birthday so there would be two cakes.

But now, he just looked across the table at her with sadness and sympathy.

"You miss him," he stated like it were any other commonplace fact of life. Emma chose to trace her nail along the heart that someone carved into the table. She caught herself before tracing invisible initials above and below it. _R.G. & E.S._ "So, when can I help decorate the nursery?"

Emma raised her head and noticed the excitement on Henry's face. He really longed for a sibling, if only to prove that Regina could not destroy their happiness. Plus, Emma had plenty of time since arriving here to figure out Henry's thought patterns. If he wanted to drill Gold on the baby and this whole deal with Mary Margaret, then so be it.

"I'm sure Gold wouldn't mind your help after school," she agreed. God knew she couldn't get near those fumes. "Just tell him not to get paint on his suit. No matter how invincible he feels in those suits, paint stains everything and I don't want him barging into the station to complain about it."

Henry nodded, already whipping out some blank sheets of paper from his backpack so he could draw up some of his ideas. She wouldn't be surprised if it came out looking like a castle.

"But he says he always has a suit for everything. He even has one for grocery shopping," he said. Emma never knew what Gold's shopping suit looked like since he always demanded her to go out and do it. She gave him a pointed stare. "Yes, Mo—um, Emma."

She winced at Henry's near slip of the tongue. He'd been trying to find secretive ways to call her 'Mom' for a while now. He even looked up the word 'Mom' in different languages. _I may not be good at Spanish, but even I know what madre means. _

Ugh, here came the puppy eyes. Did they run in the family? _Apparently, it's like psychics—it skips a generation._

"Please?" She shifted her head away, intent on ignoring his request.

"No, kid. You know the rules." Henry grumbled under his breath and balled up his muffin wrapper, leaving it on the table.

"I know. 'No jumping into traffic, the road-kill don't need 9-1-1, no throwing apples, and no calling you 'Mom.' Until you're comfortable with it, anyway." She inclined her head approvingly. But then he glanced up at her curiously. "But you're ready—I know it! Please?" _Here we go again. He's stubborn as me. _

"No."

"Please?"

"No." He folded his hands under his chin.

"Please, please, please, please, _please_—"

"Okay, fine," she roared out of mere irritation. Henry grinned happily. "Just once. Hurry up." Henry sucked in a wide breath and Emma knew the diner was about to have another show on its hands.

"Thank you…_Mom." _

He stretched out the word long and lovingly, savoring it. The crowd behind them burst into one moan of '_awww.' _Emma spun around in her seat and immediately every head shot down, back to their newspapers and food. At least Henry was happy about it.

"Come on, kid. Let's get you to school before another murder takes place. I have a feeling your mom really wants an excuse to kill me," she muttered, slipping out of the booth. Henry reluctantly stuffed his papers back into his backpack and grabbed it off the seat.

"But, Mo—" She held up a hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What did I say? Once is plenty enough for today."

Henry shrugged his backpack on and Emma guided him to the door. As they passed through it, the bell chiming, Henry looked back at her with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

"Okay, that's enough. For today." _It's official. Gold is rubbing off on him way too much. _

And Emma would never outright admit it to Henry yet as she had enough trouble admitting it to herself, but there had been a warm spot in her chest after he so readily called her his mother.

….

"Breakfast," Emma announced morosely as she swept into the station with a bag clutched in her hand. Her only prisoner was sitting on the edge of her mattress, staring into the next cell. Mary Margaret poked her head up when Emma thrust the bag between the bars. "One Boston crème donut from the diner. Ruby would have given you the one with extra crème, except Gold was already in there this morning. And a magazine for you."

Mary Margaret gratefully accepted the bag and a thin glossy magazine that she had once seen on the racks of Mr. Clark's general store.

"I feel like Lindsay Lohan," she commented, flipping quickly through her new reading material. "Except I didn't steal a necklace." Emma clung to the bars. She hated seeing Mary Margaret all pent up in a cell like a caged animal.

"Nope. You apparently kidnapped your lover's wife, cut out her heart, and stuffed it in your jewelry box."

Immediately she wished she could reverse time and suck those words back in. The magazine fell away from Mary Margaret's hand and her face was stricken with grief. _Oops, _she thought. _That's on the list of Ten Things Not to Say to a Criminal. Never remind them that they're criminals. _

"Thank you for the reminder, Emma. I went thirty seconds without thinking about it. That was my new record!"

Emma winced, feeling bad about having exploited yet again Mary Margaret's predicament. She might as well put one of those maps on the wall with a dot inside the jail cell and an arrow saying '_You are here.' _Now Mary Margaret was pacing and digging her nails into her palm.

"I even resorted to reciting the ABCs in my misery. _A, B, C, D, I'm in jail, E, F, G, I'm in jail…_They may as well make it a new letter!"

_If she's trying to make me feel guilty…it's working, _Emma thought as she struggled for some form of comforting words. _Should I say 'it'll be alright?' I doubt she'll go for that. Maybe…'I have your back'? 'We'll get through this together?' 'Don't stop believing?'_

"Trust me; I know how hard this is on you. Try birthing your kid in a jail cell. It's not exactly the story you put in the baby book," she retorted. Great. Now _Mary Margaret_ was giving her the puppy eyes. "I believe every word you're telling me. But you should still think about hiring a lawyer."

"An excellent idea," the unmistakable voice arose from the doorway.

Emma's hands clenched together as she turned to face their new visitor. Now was not the best time to deal with Gold's plans to win her back. Or was he here because someone built another tree-house and didn't want to pay him extra rent for it?

"I already told you, I'm not trolling Whale's one-man show with you," she protested, blocking Mary Margaret from his view. Oblivious to her underlying message of _get out, _he emerged into the room, his cane tapping against the linoleum tiles.

"You don't think it would be amusing to watch our egocentric doctor scream at himself? Or give himself CPR in the final act? Spoilers tell me he almost didn't make it," he said, coming within three feet of Emma. His brown eyes flickered to Mary Margaret and then back again. "In any case, I'm here to offer my legal services."

Emma raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"First, you're a pawnshop owner. Then, you're a dealmaker. Your secret occupation is a masseuse and you're apparently skilled at karaoke. Now you're a lawyer?" His lip curled in distaste at her naivety of his range of professions. He was skilled at many fine things.

"Obviously. Have you never wondered why I'm so adept at contracts? Or how my hands always smell like cocoa butter?"

He waved his fingers back and forth beneath his nose and took a large whiff, his eyelids closing dreamily. Emma thought he was one of those sanitary types that just liked lotion.

She could only imagine what his legal services commercial would look like. He probably yearned for the chance to yell out 'Objection' to something other than the length of Regina's skirt whenever she strolled into his shop.

"I think you'd do well to bring me on as your counsel, Ms. Blanchard," he spoke directly to Mary Margaret over Emma's shoulder. _Why? Because you're the only arguably reasonable lawyer in this town? Or because you're the best-looking in a suit?_

"Why is that?" Mary Margaret echoed her suspicion.

As far as Emma knew, Mary Margaret never had a problem with Gold. She'd even sent him a festive basket of candy canes one Christmas before Emma arrived in town. According to her story, he sent it back with a note asking if she was mocking him. From then on, she stuck with gingerbread cookies decorated as the town's citizens. That time, he'd sent a note back requesting more of the cookies that looked like Regina.

"Because Emma had me arrested for nearly beating a man to death and I persuaded the judge to drop the charges," he stated, boasting the tiniest bit. Oh, yes, he was quite satisfied with himself. Emma crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed.

"Just because you can secure reservations at the Enchanted Rose for one judge doesn't mean it'll work for this one," she shot back.

"It will if the judge likes his steak grilled right in front of him."

A scowl twisted Emma's lips. It was just like Gold to exert his influence. All the while, Mary Margaret's eyes followed them back and forth like she was watching a thrilling game of tennis. This was probably the most entertainment she had all day.

"If anything, that's a good reason for Mary Margaret not to have you as her lawyer," Emma argued, gesturing to her prisoner through the bars. Mary Margaret blushed and looked down at her feet, away from Gold's penetrating gaze. He smirked.

"Someone jealous of the female appreciation I'm receiving? You should be," he arrogantly proclaimed. It only made Mary Margaret blush harder and she opened her mouth to protest on his definition of 'appreciation', but Emma beat her to the punch.

"Why does everyone say that? I am _not _jealous! I need to do my job!" Gold rolled his shoulders carelessly, his hands gripping the head of his cane until his knuckles turned white.

"No one's _stopping_ you. I'm only here to help."

_You're about as helpful as Dennis the Menace, _Emma thought about firing back. Suddenly, there was a loud clang and their heads shot in Mary Margaret's direction as she brought her fist down against the bars again.

"Enough! No arguing or you'll be in the corner for a time-out!"

Gold and Emma stared at Mary Margaret as if she had three heads and spoke a foreign language. _Not unless you somehow get out or we somehow get in, _Emma mused wryly. Mary Margaret's shoulders sank as she realized the insanity of her threat. Gold's face cringed with doubt and Emma could nearly hear the thoughts swimming in his head. _Do I really want to represent her if she makes me stand in the corner while we're in court? _

"Sorry. I miss teaching. Please, go."

Emma was the first to snap back into life after her friend's little outburst. Her head whipped around to Gold and she smiled victoriously.

"A-ha! You heard her. The exit's that way," she pointed to the station's door and made a sweeping gesture for him to use it.

_Ah, the power of girl talk. Never fails. We'll have to invite Ruby over more often. _And yet Gold wasn't making any move to obey. He wasn't even frowning with disappointment. There was a suggestive dark gleam in his eyes that could only dance for Emma.

"I'm sure you'd love watching me leave…sweetie," he drawled, shifting his body fluidly for her benefit. Mental images formed in Emma's mind, ones that brought on quite the heat wave to her neck. _Now is not the time for me to be imagining these things. Not while Mary Margaret is in the room!_

"No, I was talking to you, Emma," Mary Margaret corrected.

Alarm iced over Emma's veins and she gaped openly at her friend. So much for girl talk. _You're supposed to be my mother! You're not supposed to take _his _side. _Oh, and now Gold was the one flaunting his victory.

"I think the phrase you're looking for is…_oh, snap," _Gold quipped, his gaze searing into Emma's body. He gleefully tapped his cane on the ground, each thud matching the rise of Emma's heart rate. "Perfect. Now I can watch _Emma_ leave. Be sure to take your time, dearie. Everything looks better in slow motion."

Gold's focus gradually slipped from her neck and down the length of her body, the curve of his lips increasing with every inch. Emma fumed and glared at Mary Margaret. _Do you realize how much you're egging him on? He may be a man, but he has the mannerisms of a child! _

"Oh, Emma. He's right. I need help and you need to do your job," she reluctantly declared, shaking her dark head pitifully.

At once, all attention switched to her and she could understand the message quite clearly. _As the Sheriff, I've never been kicked out of the station before. Fine; I'll let these two have their little chat. I'll just go down to Granny's, order a banana split…and mutilate the banana until I feel better. _

"Trust me," Gold interceded, as if that were the easiest task in the world for her at this moment. "This is in Ms. Blanchard's best interests." _Of course it is. It couldn't have anything to do with your own selfish wants and needs, _she bitterly thought. But Emma was outweighed by both of them.

"Good luck, Mary Margaret," she coolly addressed her friend with a small pout to her lips. She swept towards Gold and could not help pausing for the slightest moment by his side. Their sleeves brushed lightly, the most contact she would allow him to make. "I hope your best interests are what he's looking out for." _Just like he did with mine. _

The regret flashed in his eyes, but she didn't have the time or will to see it. Breaking the connection between their gazes, she began to walk away, feeling a sore bruise inside her chest.

In Gold's mind, he debated over whether to latch onto her arms and pull her into the searing kiss he'd wanted to give her since their cabin breakfast, but figured it would only earn him a trip to the ER. Whale was the last person he wanted to visit today, especially if he came in dressed in that ridiculous garb from his one-man show.

Plus, Mary Margaret was watching all doe-eyed and that would just be awkward. Kissing in front of his mother-in-law, technically.

Emma's heavy boots slapped against the tiled floor and in a mere few seconds, she was gone. Off to kill another banana at Granny's. That would be the second casualty this week. Soon she'd move on to the pickles. Granny always charged him extra for them, anyway.

All that was left were him and Mary Margaret, the harlot-turned-criminal.

"I can't pay you," her meek voice rose from the bars. Grimacing, he turned back in her direction and sincerely wished she were Emma. It would be so much more entertaining, so much more worth his time. Oh, well. Beggars can't be choosers.

"I didn't ask for money," he replied.

He was the richest man in Storybrooke—how much more could he need? The chances of him going broke were the same as the chances of Leroy becoming a police officer and asking questions like '_Sir, have you been drinking tonight?' _or the chances of that ridiculous Blue Fairy exploding into pixie dust. Actually, the possibility of such a tragedy might still be in her future, if he had anything to say about it.

"Then, why are you doing this?" Mary Margaret's gentle face pinched with confusion and suspicion as he flitted toward her jail cell.

Oh, this was _twooly _ironic. Never had he been on the _outside _before. He struggled to maintain the calm, still façade of a small-town pawnbroker. Inside, he was giddy as a drunken clown.

"I need to improve my success rate," he explained emotionlessly. It didn't look like she bought it. This town needed more crime if he was going to make his way as Storybrooke's leading lawyer. "And let's just say…I'm invested in your future."

Wow. Impressive thinking on his part. That sounded ominous and promising at the same time. He'd have to remember to put that on his legal services ad. _The professional law services of Mr. Gold. Because I'm invested in YOUR future, dearies! _

Mary Margaret's fingers curled around the bars and she tilted her head. It was enough movement for him to spy the uneaten Boston crème on the mattress. Ooh. Now _that_ was worth his time. Ruby claimed to have given him the one with the extra filling, but he sincerely doubted it.

"Alright," he sighed in defeat. "Pass over half of that lovely Boston crème and that shall cover the expenses. For now."

Mary Margaret glanced back at the delicious, tempting donut that had been left on the brown paper bag from Granny's diner, as though contemplating it. _A lawyer or a donut? A lawyer or a donut? Freedom or hunger?_

Then, she charged over to the bed, tore half of the donut apart and offered him the bigger piece. Clever girl. It was dripping with thick crème and his tongue could hardly wait to absorb it. He took a generous bite and licked the crème off his upper lip. Delicious.

"Deal."

He'd lived three hundred years, but he had to admit it: this was one of the best deals he'd ever made. _I knew Ruby didn't give me the one with the extra crème. _

…..

"So…how shall we do this?"

Henry stood alongside Gold in the empty guest room that would soon be transformed into the baby's nursery. Paint cans scattered the floor over a plastic tarp they had laid down. Rollers sat in the basin, waiting to be used. All the furniture, which was just more of antique clutter, was moved down into the already crowded living room. It hadn't been an easy feat on Gold's leg. Many of the dressers and boxes had tumbled down the stairs. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Henry was bouncing with excitement, but Gold studied the paint cans as seriously as if he were marching into battle. Henry figured he'd never done this before. He always paid others to do it.

"Well, the first step is to open the paint cans. Then, we pick up the rollers, dip them in, and ignore what Regina always says by painting it on the walls. Hopefully without getting it on ourselves," Henry chirped before he could filter his thoughts.

He'd gotten so used to having Gold in his company as his stepfather that he forgot who he was dealing with. Gold's eyes swiveled to him in bewilderment.

"I mean…Gee, let's paint?"

To Henry's surprise, Gold did not appear bothered. He smiled knowingly, the kind that was supposed to drive people from his shop or at the very least give them nightmares. He'd seen Regina drunk—nothing scared him anymore.

"You have Emma's humor, I see," he observed. It warmed Henry's heart to hear that he had garnered some of Emma's traits. It set him further apart from Regina, whose behavior he was thankful not to exploit. "I suppose we'll take your word for it."

Gold knelt to retrieve one of the paint cans, still clad in his fancy suit.

"Umm…" Gold glanced at Henry questioningly. Just a second ago, he couldn't get the boy to quit harping about painting. Was it a bad idea to feed him that plate of Chips Ahoy? "Emma said you shouldn't wear your suit because she thinks you'll get paint on it and barge into the station to complain."

Gold looked down at his expensive suit, protected by his trusty apron. It never failed him before.

"I appreciate your mother's concern, but I happen to be a mature adult. I believe I can handle throwing paint on my walls. And I would never_ barge_ into the station. Clearly, I'd leave a well-thought-out note of complaint under her windshield wiper. Or perhaps I'd invest in the _Dear Granny_ advice column in _The Mirror_."

Henry shuffled his feet, his little pout expressing his skepticism on the matter. Kids. Gold sighed and held up his hands in defeat. He tore off the apron and stalked out of the room. A minute later he returned, dressed in a simple shirt and jeans.

"There. Happy?" Henry's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he eyed Gold's new apparel.

"Emma said you burned those."

Gold smoothed his palms across the front of the jeans. They really weren't a bad fit and keeping them seemed to deter Ruby from any more shopping sprees. What was the harm in getting a little paint on them?

"Well, I _was_ planning on it…but I changed my mind. I have burned these jeans just as much as the Mayor burned that fuzzy pink crown Graham bought her for her birthday last year. Someone ought to inform her that it's not a real crown."

Henry stifled his giggle in his throat. He'd spied on his adoptive mother enough times in her office to see her trying it on in front of the mirror and rotating about like she was modeling it in front of her 'people.' Henry always bet that she must be imagining herself in her castle and being better in royalty than Snow White.

Except Snow White's crown would have been real.

"So…how's Ms. Blanchard?" Gold picked up a screwdriver and carefully began to wedge the cover off the first can of paint. According to the label, it was 'Birthday Boy Blue.' Henry insisted they should have gotten 'Birthday Girl Pink' since it was bound to be a girl.

"She's seen better days," Gold admitted, his forehead creasing with weary lines as the cover stuck. With a wet _pop_, it flew up and splattered blue paint all over Gold's shirt. Henry fought hard not to laugh as his fingers swept over the specks, making it worse. _Now aren't you glad you changed clothes? _

"She's lucky to have you as her lawyer," Henry said as Gold moved onto the next can of paint, grumbling under his breath about the stains. He glanced up sharply, as though surprised to hear such praise from Henry. But why? If anyone could get Mary Margaret free, it was Mr. Gold.

"Thank you, Henry."

It was a soft whisper, filled with more kindness than Henry had ever heard Gold use for anyone besides Emma. Tenderness flashed in his eyes and just as quickly vanished. It reminded Henry of Emma nearly crying into her napkin.

Was his stepfather hormonal, too?

"Emma found that knife in her apartment, but—" Gold thrust the screwdriver harder than he meant to, conveying his aggravation. Henry accidentally bit his tongue.

"Henry, you know I'm not at liberty to discuss these matters with you. Please." It was not open for argument. It was a demand for Henry to drop the subject.

That word kept echoing in his mind: _Please. _His thoughts turned to his fairy tale book and that old drive to dig up information fueled his curiosity. It was a stupid idea, would probably make Gold suspicious, but…questions were already piling up on his tongue.

"You say that to the Mayor a lot. Please. And she listens to you. Kind of like…she has no choice. She doesn't listen to anyone," Henry pointed out. Even though Gold's muscles were tensing underneath his shirt, a slight smirk played on his lips.

"No, she doesn't. Perhaps someone should take it upon themselves to super-glue a hearing aid to her ear. Might make a difference."

_Not a bad idea, _Henry thought, picturing the old bottle of super-glue inside their garage. Or maybe he could glue her to her seat. That would be funny, seeing her wiggle her butt around trying to get her office chair to detach from her body. Or…

Wait. Was this a distraction? Henry was sure of it. It meant he was onto something.

Oh, he really should drop the subject now. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

Maybe it was only a coincidence, though he never really believed in them. But there was always something off about Gold, something that suggested he knew more than he let on. No way would this end well if he insisted on asking that one trivial question. But this was too good to resist…

"Do you…remember?" _If it turns out to be wrong and he doesn't know what I'm talking about, I'll just mention the time I beat Emma five times in a row at Battleship. Pass it off. _

But a definite change had overcome Gold.

The cover of the paint can burst off, landing somewhere on the tarp with a moist _plop_, though those mysterious brown eyes never followed it. His whole body seemed to freeze in place, akin to a deer that's just spotted the hunter with the shiny rifle. Fingers curling around the can of the paint, Gold obviously struggled to maintain his composure.

But Henry knew. He'd seen the abrupt fear and perplexity written on Gold's face. The intense recognition, the bright spark of life that was missing from those victimized by Regina and living dull lives while stuck in time. That was the same burst of life Graham had the day he died. Mr. Gold had shared that dull, flat gleam in his eyes once, but it hadn't been there for a while.

And Gold knew he knew.

Ever so slowly, as if time had slowed again, Gold turned his head in Henry's direction and stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Breathing heavily, scrutinizing him critically as if debating whether to make the truth known or not.

Henry's heart pounded in his chest as he realized how bad a decision it was to ask that question. To_ dare_ to ask that question. Did Rumpelstiltskin still know magic? Would he be alarmed at Henry's knowledge and do something drastic? This was the guy who pillaged babies, after all.

Tilting his head inquisitively, Gold leaned forward and Henry could not command his feet to move from their spot. A dark grin slid across Gold's lips, splitting apart to reveal his teeth.

"I'm not sure you're aware…the Limping Imp has ears." _Limping Imp. _That was the name Henry had dubbed Rumpelstiltskin for Operation Cobra. If he overheard that…how much did he know? "Does it surprise you that the most powerful man in the Forest discovered a loophole to such an equally powerful curse?"

Henry's heart would have burst if not for the rapid fire of his brain keeping it subdued for the moment. The realization—_I was right_—was enough to make him want to skip past the Queen's office and make funny faces at her through the window.

"So, it's true! You're Rumpelstiltskin!"

Rising to his feet, the used-to-be pawnbroker made a swift bow for Henry. There was something like pride on Rumpelstiltskin's face as Henry's eyes boggled. He studied his stepfather in an all-new light. _I'm Rumpelstiltskin's stepson. My mom is having Rumpelstiltskin's baby. What would Archie say about that in therapy?_

"The one and only," he agreed, inclining his head. "Though, the Brothers Grimm are obnoxiously misinformed. For one thing, I never pranced around a fire in the middle of the woods singing a silly little rhyme about my name any more than the Queen chanted 'Mirror, Mirror on the wall."

Henry couldn't help the giggle this time. The excitement was overwhelming.

To think that not only Graham had regained his memories once, but one of the most powerful beings in the Enchanted Forest…there were so many questions he wanted to unload. He wondered what had convinced him to let Henry know that he remembered.

Maybe he figured he needed an ally. Or else it could be a bonding moment.

"How long have been..?" Henry trailed off, trying to choose the right word. Aware? No. Back? Maybe.

"Awake?" That was it. Henry nodded. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes became distant as he recalled a memory, the first moment of flickering golden light since that dreadful fog of darkness descended over his consciousness. "Since the day after your mother arrived in Storybrooke. When we had the fortune of crossing paths in Granny's Inn."

That long ago? But that was almost four months!

Henry was amazed that Rumpelstiltskin had kept it hidden from Regina for so long. Or did she know the truth? He didn't think Rumpelstiltskin avidly worked with the Queen, only when he wanted to use her for his benefit. He'd never hurt Emma, he knew that much.

Emma. Something rang inside his mind and he imagined flipping through his fairy tale book, even though it rested on the kitchen table downstairs.

"It was her name, wasn't it? Names mean a great deal to you. You told Snow White about the curse in exchange for her baby's name. 'Emma' was the key." Henry rapidly connected the dots. Rumpelstiltskin nodded once approvingly.

"Clever boy," he praised. "Much more than Regina gives you credit for. Enough questions, now."

Henry immediately frowned with disappointment. But he had so many he wanted to ask! This was a good opportunity for Operation Cobra! Rumpelstiltskin help up his hand, silencing his protests.

"And…a small favor: do _not_ tell Emma that I remember. She would…distance herself considerably. Neither of us wish that, do we?"

Henry supposed it would be an even worse idea to run straight down to the station and bombard Emma with his newfound knowledge. She'd never believe it. And if some part of her did listen, she'd never regard Gold in the same way again.

Ooh, but those tantalizing questions…Henry no longer had the interest to paint the nursery without somehow satisfying his curiosity.

"Hmm…I don't know. Emma is my mom. Are you asking me to keep secrets from my own mom?" Emma was right—he was learning too much from Gold.

The pawnbroker paused in turning back to the open paint cans, set on dumping it into the basin. Suspicion darkened his eyes and he wasn't going to pretend he didn't understand the underlying meaning of Henry's words. He'd seen too much of the world through his deals to be naïve about such matters.

"What is it you want?" Henry grinned. He wasn't going to demand for a million-dollar cake for his birthday or anything like that. Though, that did sound good.

"Intel. Answers," he stated, shrugging. Rumpelstiltskin swooped forward and lowered his body to Henry's level, snickering.

"Tell you what: I'll make you a deal. In exchange for keeping our little secret, you may ask three questions a day," he proposed, holding up three fingers for emphasis. Henry tapped a finger to his chin, weighing his options. He had to be careful about this. Cinderella didn't end up so good.

"Any three questions?" Rumpelstiltskin made a soft wave with his hand.

"Any three questions you wish to ask."

It reminded him of the genie and the whole three wishes deal. Except the three allowances didn't run out. He hoped it wasn't restricted about love, either. Everyone had to have a true love, right? What if it wasn't Emma? Or would Rumpelstiltskin assure him it was, just to make him feel secure?

"And you would answer them truthfully?" Rumpelstiltskin made a 'cross my heart' gesture over his chest. If he wasn't too old for it, Henry would make him pinkie swear it. No one broke pinkie swears.

"You have my word." It was quiet as Henry thought long and hard about it. Thankfully, Rumpelstiltskin rested back on his haunches and patiently waited for his answer. Finally, Henry held out his hand and they shook on it. "Deal. As they say, fire away."

Much to his surprise, Henry did not immediately corner him with three questions on the spot. His little eyes scanned the baby's nursery as he discarded question after question. His focus lingered on the double doors that led out to one of the balconies in the back of Gold's house.

Hey, wait a minute…

"If the baby's room has a balcony, do I still get the larger room?" Henry regretted tossing out the question the minute it left his tongue. It was a careless mistake, but it still counted. Rumpelstiltskin's gleeful expression confirmed it.

"Yes, you shall. I never break my promises," he assured Henry, sweeping over to nudge one of the balcony doors open and let in some air. "Two left." Henry stomped his foot down, pouting.

"I didn't mean that as my question—" Rumpelstiltskin held up a finger, commanding silence. It always worked as he oozed power and his very presence demanded respect from those he dealt with. Henry should have expected there to be pitfalls.

"Ah, ah, ah! Our deal implied that you would ask three questions. Is that not a question?" There was nothing to be said about it.

He'd have to be more careful about the words that slipped out of his mouth. No asking for the time, no wondering if he too would like a snack if he went down to the kitchen, no inquiring if he was alright should a meteor come crashing into the room.

Henry would have to play the game according to Rumpelstiltskin's rules. Rumpelstiltskin was the mighty opposing team, the rule maker, the referee and the announcer all at once. Heck, he might as well be the audience, too. Henry wasn't sure the world could handle so much Rumpelstiltskin.

"Can you really spin straw into gold?"

Henry had always been fascinated by that detail in the volume of Grimm fairy tales Emma had given him for Christmas. It had become one of his goals after the curse was broken: find Rumpelstiltskin and watch how it was done. Buy a candy bar at Mr. Clark's with a thread of gold.

"The fairy tales got it half-right, I suppose," he muttered in answer. He picked up a roller and surveyed the plain walls that were going to be painted over. "To answer your question clearly, _yes,_ I can." Henry's eyes widened in amazement.

"Can you teach me?" Strike three. "No, wait—" But Rumpelstiltskin was already on top of his game, pointing a mocking finger down at Henry.

"If ever I retain my magic, I'll let you try your hand at it. That's three, Henry. Better luck tomorrow."

It fell silent between them as Rumpelstiltskin turned to the task at hand. Henry really did not want to paint the room blue. Maybe paint it half pink and half blue, just in case. An idea unfolded in his mind and he really wished he brought his book upstairs.

"Instead of painting it this way, can we—" Swiftly, Rumpelstiltskin spun and shot Henry a warning look. He'd just been about to utter another question, which would make their deal null and void. _Be careful, _Henry reminded himself.

"Sorry. I mean, I have an idea for the nursery. Be right back."

Henry dashed out of the room and down the stairs, retrieving his book from the kitchen. When he returned, he opened his book to a page with an illustration of Snow White's nursery, the one she'd intended for baby Emma. It was a marvelous, colorful picture—one of Henry's favorites.

Taking the book into his own hands, Rumpelstiltskin fingered the page in consideration.

"Interesting. I imagine this isn't solely for the baby's benefit." And he would be right again. Henry half-lifted his shoulder modestly.

"I think it'll help Emma believe. She was there once." Granted, it was about thirty seconds and then Emma was tucked away in the wardrobe to be shipped to the real world. He recognized the doubt crossing Rumpelstiltskin's features. He wasn't so optimistic.

"Henry, Emma was far too young to be able to remember anything of our world."

He grabbed the book back and stared intently at the picture. It was a beautiful nursery, with soft shades of color on the walls, a balcony overlooking the rest of the castle and land, and a glass unicorn mobile that hung over a crib. He'd seen it before in Gold's shop.

"She's special, isn't she? She has to be, if she's the savior," he argued back. What Snow White and Prince Charming had was true love in its purest form. How could that not have an effect on baby Emma? "It wouldn't hurt to try."

A gentle breeze ushered through the open balcony window as Rumpelstiltskin internally debated over it. Henry could tell he was faltering, easing up on his insistence that it would not work. If anything, it might do to chip away a little piece of the curse. Even a tiny shard was progress.

Exhaling deeply, the tension loosened from Rumpelstiltskin's body.

"Very well," he relented.

Henry gladly laid the book down on the floor, open for reference. There were plenty of things they would need, including new curtains for the room, replacing of the worn floorboards, and different paint for the walls.

"And because you are right in saying that Emma is special, I'm willing to overlook that last question."

_And that is where my Charming traits kick in. I really need to think before I speak. _

…_._

_100 mugs of cocoa on the wall, 100 mugs of cocoa…you take one down, sprinkle cinnamon around, 99 mugs of cocoa on the wall…_

Being a prisoner sure was boring. It was like waiting for the world to end.

Mary Margaret was minutes short of banging her head against the cracked gray wall until she forgot about this whole nightmare. Maybe it was a nasty dream and she'd wake up like Dorothy Gale in her bed with all her friends crowded around her bedside in concern. _And you were there, and you were there, and you were there…_

The sound of footsteps in the hall interrupted her lonely, bland thoughts. She perched on the edge of the thin cardboard that served as a mattress, unable to sleep an ounce. Slowly, she lifted her head from the pillow, watching the shadows near the doorway slither as whoever it was approached.

"Emma?" Did she forget something here at the station? Like, perhaps, her roommate? Was she here to give her a bathroom break? Because right now, her bladder was about to burst. _Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee…_

Mary Margaret shot to her feet and raced to stick her face through the bars. _Please tell me you've found Kathryn, Emma. I am innocent! I know every criminal says that, but it's the truth! I don't want to spend the night in this cell! There's not even a bathroom in here! I'm so glad this station is lacking in cameras; I'm about to do the Potty Dance and it won't be pretty on tape. _

There was a flicker of movement in the doorway and then David appeared. Her heart soared as he entered the room, blue eyes locked on her behind the bars.

"David," she breathed with immense relief. She clenched the bars as though she could pull them apart and step through into his arms. "You found me."

David looked quite tired and stiff as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. For some reason, he wasn't meeting her gaze. Maybe he was nervous. Though, he usually bit his nails until they looked like a hobo's.

"Yeah, well…It wasn't that difficult. You're the only one locked up here in Storybrooke."

Why did everyone keep reminding her about that? Right, because in her excitement of seeing David, she'd forgotten her predicament of being locked up in a cell in the dark station with a bursting bladder for a crime she did not commit.

"Did you receive my messages?" David scratched a hand through his blond hair, eyes roaming the dim station. Why was he so…distant? Usually he had plenty to talk about, especially now that Archie and the Crickets were set to perform regularly at the Enchanted Rose.

"Yeah, I heard them. All ten of them. You're lucky to have Emma as a roommate if she lets you have more than one phone call," he said. He chuckled, but it fell horribly flat. "Listen, Archie helped me remember what happened during my blackouts."

A chill skittered across Mary Margaret's body and she shivered. Instinctively she crossed her arms, a way to protect herself. Maybe it was the way David wouldn't quite meet her gaze, but something warned her that this was not meant to be good news. It was like a Jack-in-the-Box—you're turning the silver handle and pretty music is playing and you _know _Jack will be popping out soon, but you keep going and Jack jumps out when you least expect it, dashing your hopes.

"Okay…What did you remember?"

David crept closer to the bars, though he stayed back a foot or so. What, did he think she'd pull him against the bars and attack him? Kiss him to death? The bars were a dreadful separating them, another cruel reminder that she was on the inside being punished and he was on the outside, free as a bird.

"Well, I remembered why I don't like trees," he mused, rubbing his forehead. His shoulders squared, his expression boiled down to grim seriousness. It was far more serious than she'd ever seen before. "And I remembered something about _us."_

He paused another moment, allowing it to sink. The way his eyes roved through those bars and watched her, it was like he was testing her about what that memory might be. _If he's talking about that late-night date where I smashed that pie in his face right before that odd dove swooped down and pecked him unconscious…_

"David, just because I teach little children doesn't mean I'm a mind-reader," she hinted. "What was the memory?"

He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again and left it that way. If he wasn't careful, he'd swallow a fly. It happened to Leroy once while he was sleeping in his cell.

"We were in the woods and I was…tied to a tree. You were there, standing over me, and I kept yelling 'don't do it.' Now that I think about it, you might have had a feather in your hand. You know how ticklish I am. I thought you might have been playing one of those games Gold likes to play with Emma, but then you walked away…and I yelled it again. Don't do it."

Mary Margaret frowned, deep in thought and struggling to understand what he was telling her. She was still stuck on the part about Emma and the games Gold liked to play. Wonderful—now whenever her lawyer walked into a room, she'd blush.

"Wait….don't do what?" David took a single step backward and the air thickened until Mary Margaret could hardly breathe. Silence never used to be so loud.

"Don't kill her," he whispered, muscles tensing under his shirt.

Every cell in Mary Margaret's body froze over like tiny beds of ice, her nerves tightened like piano wire. As it occurred to her what he was insinuating, her heart collapsed, a deflated balloon that was once filled with hope.

"David? Are you asking me if I had something to do with Kathryn's murder?"

It was the equivalent of a bottle of soda exploding and fizzing like a volcano. All of his emotions that had built up to that moment burst forth in a flurry of anxiety and distress.

"The Sheriff found a heart buried at our spot. Our spot, Mary Margaret! It was in your jewelry box! The weapon was found in your apartment. I have these memories…and you sat back down in the chair! Emma came into the animal shelter and said you were being arrested and what did you do? _You sat down!_ A confession on a platter!"

Outrage flowed through her, replacing the black ice with scorching fire.

"You're basing my innocence on the fact that I sat down in a chair? Forgive me for being disheartened by the news that I was under arrest for the murder of the wife of the man I am currently in love with! Have you ever considered that I am being set up?"

"Who in town would want to set someone up for murder? You said it yourself: you're in love with me and Kathryn is my wife. Kathryn was standing in the way, so you…you…it makes perfect sense to me!"

_Well, that's a relief, David. Because I'm still trying to figure it out. _

Never had Mary Margaret's teeth clenched so hard or her hands curl so tightly into fists. Never could she say she hated someone, but what she now felt for David came pretty close. Warm water pooled under her eyelids and her lip trembled with fury.

"Get. Out."

Mary Margaret turned away to stare at the gray wall. If only Emma could give her some nice crayons or paint, then she could brighten up this cell. Maybe it would make Leroy happy, too, next time he visited.

She barely heard David leave the station, every hollow footstep flanked by despair.

_ And I still gotta pee! _

…..

Emma swept the flimsy curtain aside and found her husband behind his cluttered desk. In his hands was a gold, jewel-encrusted lamp that could have come straight out of _Aladdin. _In the cradle of Gold's articulate fingers, it revolved this way and that, shining under the yellow glow of the shop's lights.

Examining it with intense scrutiny and concentration, he never picked his head up to acknowledge her. But she would bet all the money she had to her name—which was also in his name—that he noticed. He always noticed.

"No matter how many times you rub it, it won't grant your wishes," Emma quipped as she approached his desk. Even though a small leer played on his lips, his eyes never strayed from the antique.

"Ironic. I believe that's what you said during an excursion with me between the sheets. And I always prove you wrong."

Emma handed an exasperated look his way, which he was content to ignore. And yet her mind flashed to the multiple "excursions" that had left her breathless and aching, the heat cultivated between their bodies during unforgivably cold nights.

"What would you even wish for?"

The lamp paused in rotation. Gold now had a new challenge to decode. He studied the lamp thoughtfully, as if the answer would be in his reflection. Or maybe he was admiring himself. It wouldn't be the first time.

"First, I would wish for a year supply of ice cream in my fridge, complete with hot fudge. Second, I'd wish for David Nolan to grow a brain so as not to put our daily lives at risk any longer. And lastly…I would wish for you to come home."

The last one yanked on Emma's heartstrings until she could hardly breathe right. There was such vulnerable want written on Gold's face that she was forced to avert her gaze to escape drowning in it. Coughing, she demanded her body to return to business matters. Apparently, as he laid the lamp down on the desk, he had the same notion.

"What can I do for you, Emma?" _Just say the word, _she practically heard the extension of his meaning, unspoken though it was. Those calculating chocolate eyes observed her every move, storing it for future reference.

Perhaps he'd compose a mental slideshow, lounge in his envisioned home theater, and eat buckets of invisible popcorn. Maybe that's what he was really doing in his head while "taking inventory."

"Regina set her up," Emma finally sighed, shoulders slumping under the despair her friend was facing. Bet Mary Margaret didn't feel enthralled over giving Regina "girl talk" now. Gold, meanwhile, clasped his hands and arched an eyebrow challengingly.

"Do you mean to imply that the perfect, sweet little angel that is our Mayor has somehow taken it upon herself to kidnap Kathryn Nolan, cut out her heart, hide the knife in Ms. Blanchard's apartment, and proceed to framing someone else? And that the she-devil behind those bars is…_innocent?"_

Gold pressed a hand to his chest, feigning astonishment. Emma planted her hands defiantly on her hips, but could not help admitting that it was right up Regina's alley.

"Or are you writing the newest script for _General Hospital?" _Emma tried to hide the smile threatening to pull over her lips. Gold dipped his head, catching it with a low 'mhm.'

"That's exactly what I'm 'implying'," she agreed, making air-quotes. His back straightened against the chair and he spread his hands wide.

"Show me your evidence and we can get this over with immediately," he said, tilting his head slightly to the right as he waited. Emma lurched forward until her knees brushed the solidity of the desk. She laid her palms on the flat surface and let her head fall forward. Perhaps it was to hide the shame coloring her cheeks.

"That's the thing," she murmured regrettably. She heard his groan of disappointment. "There isn't any. But I know it now."

She lifted her sunshine-shaded head to meet the glittering dark orbs that were engraved with ridicule. She felt like a kid who'd just been sent to the principal's office.

"I'm afraid, _dearie,_ the weight of your knowledge will not be embraced with open arms in court," he retorted. "This is not Salem during the witchcraft trials. As much as you or I would like to, it's not possible to charge into City Hall, point the finger at Regina, and expect everyone to burn her at the stake."

Emma pursed her lips, her tongue already firing up a hot argument.

"I don't expect people to burn her at the stake," she roared, slapping her hand down on the desk. Gold never flinched. "I expect them to give her the drowning test first."

Gold exhaled impatiently through his nose and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. His gaze never faltered from Emma. The fight seeped out of her body—she knew she was just being stubborn now.

But she did sort of wish someone would give Regina the drowning test.

"I need help," she whispered, looking at Gold straight-on. Genuine surprise registered across his features, the lines of tire and anxiety in his brow smoothing out. He chuckled and pointed a finger at his chest.

"From me?" _No, from the other available man in this room, _she sarcastically spouted. And he was chuckling again. Did he not think she was being serious? Or was it because she was downright serious and desperate that he found this too good to resist? "As I recall, you don't exactly approve of my methods."

"No, but I approve of your results."

Drawing back, Gold offered her a long, leisurely once-over. It started at the crown of her head, slipping down over every inch of her body, lingering here and there. The corners of his tasteful lips pulled into a smirk.

"Oh, I know you do, Emma," he drawled as his gazed paused on her belly where their unborn child slumbered.

Heat stroked the skin of her neck as her mind clicked on his risqué underlying meaning. Suddenly, she realized how much her posture added fuel to the fire as she was gripping the edges of his desk and nearly bent at the waist. Instantly, she shot up, earning another amused snicker.

"Lighten up, darling. Why not shed that jacket, kick your feet up, _relax?"_ Something dark and velvety stirred through Emma's belly and it sure as hell wasn't the baby. One thing she knew: Gold must be getting lonely only having Goldie to share his bed with.

"I need to save my friend," she growled, growing impatient with his elusive, ambiguous ways. It had been a daunting, tiring day; she didn't think she had the willpower to fight against Gold. The amusement faded from his face.

"You're willing to go as far as it takes?"

This time, Emma didn't care for the suggestiveness of her posture. She leaned forward over his desk until their faces were mere inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, could practically taste his tongue as it darted out to lick the upper curve of his lip. But she remained unblinking, the shade of overturned earth the only color in her vision.

"Farther," she replied with nothing short of seriousness. Anything to save Mary Margaret from this undue fate.

Before she could pull away, the back of Gold's hand reached up to sweep the locks of gold over her shoulder. It brushed her cheek, traced her jaw, cupped her chin to hold her in place. Not that she could have moved an inch for the abrupt lead in her feet.

Slowly, Gold's lips parted and she anticipated his words like a wasting wanderer thirsting for a drop of water in the desert.

"Now, we're talking," he breathed throatily.

It was as though the two of them were standing together in a crystal ball, cut off from the rest of Storybrooke. Everything in Emma's environment seemed brighter than it was a moment ago, the air heavier, her heart pounding harder in her chest. Neither of them dared to breathe or pivot away or blink.

"Fear not, Emma. Regina may be powerful…but something tells me you're more powerful than you know," he assured her softly.

His thumb brushed against her bottom lip and she shifted her head, leaning into his touch until a small kiss was placed on the tip of it. All the while, Gold watched her with growing fascination, memorizing the sensation of her proximity.

With a sudden intake of air, Emma broke away and rose to full height, folding her arms deftly around her body. Gold frowned, his muscles rippling in the way of having ice water poured over his shoulders. His fingers curled into his palm and then dropped.

"What's your price?" The age-old question. If a nickel were donated to charity every time someone asked that, then the world would improve at the speed of light.

His head shot up in amazement and she wondered why he considered that the wrong thing to say. Just because she was married to him and shared his bed did not mean she walked away from his deals scot-free. In fact, their legal binding only spurred him on most nights.

"Are you honestly asking me that question?" And Emma realized there was only one price he would ask her to pay. Besides a year supply of ice cream in his fridge, anyway. Her throat tightened, trapping the words for a split second.

"You're asking me to come home with you." One of his hands danced along the spout of the lamp that still rested on his desk, witness to the intensity brewing between them. This had been his third wish; he expected her to grant it.

"I'm not asking you, Emma."

Her breathing quickened and she narrowed her eyes slightly in warning. Gold's eyes flickered to his cane settled against the wall behind his seat, as though Emma discovered how to magically make it materialize in her hands. Nope—still there, unbroken.

"You're demanding me," she flatly corrected, discontent dripping over every syllable like poisoned icing. But Gold declined with a subtle shake of the head.

"No. I'm not demanding you, either," he said simply. Emma's expression crumbled into blatant curiosity. If he wasn't asking her, if he wasn't demanding her, then what was behind door number three? He sighed. "I'm just…hoping."

Hoping. That was a new piece for him to play and, judging by the uncertainty shadowing his irises, it was quite the trivial one. Scraping back his chair, he took ahold of his cane and circled the desk to join her side. The only sound was the hollow _tap-tap-tap _of his cane hitting the floorboards.

"I…am…sorry," he gradually admitted, his head bent so that his hair fell across most of his face. He glanced at her beneath his eyelashes, checking to see if it was indeed working. Emma turned and he opened his arms to receive her…but she did not come. Instead, she maintained her stubbornness.

"For what?" He scowled and dropped his arms before he looked too ridiculous.

"Is it that difficult for you to accept a heartfelt apology?"

Emma stood still as stone, her simmering silence becoming her answer. _If that were a heartfelt apology, there would be a poem involved. And none of that 'roses are red' stuff, either. _He tried again, looking everywhere but directly at her.

"I am sorry….for giving you the happiest months since you arrived in Storybrooke." Holding up a hand, he rushed onward before she could crank open her mouth and protest on his arrogance. "I'm sorry for putting the idea of marriage in your head. For forcing you into something we both know you would never have originally chosen otherwise. I leave the choice to you now, Emma. Please…" He extended his hand to her, his eyes oddly sorrowful in the dim lighting. "Come home, darling."

For what seemed a stretch of eternity, she allowed his hand to hang in the air. It quivered as seconds slipped by, his arm struggling to stay in place. Anxiety began to creep over his body like an old cloak as he imagined her saying no. He recognized that concentrative edge in her green eyes; she must be weighing the pros and cons.

And then Emma stepped forward and placed her hand in his. He enclosed his hand over it, as if she might change her mind and retract it.

"Okay," she agreed, albeit hesitantly. It would be a few nights or so before he safely regained her trust, he figured. She surely wouldn't let him make the coffee in the morning.

"Okay, what?" He could not help himself. He enjoyed that fierce stroke of life burning inside Emma, kindling with the strength of a raging fire. He had the excitement of a child when playing these games.

"_Okay_….I'll come home with you," she huffed. It thrilled him to no end to hear the finality of her decision.

Gently, he guided her toward him and started to reach out to touch the swell of her belly. As his hand began to fall away, Emma caught it up and pressed it firmly to her bump, knowing he anticipated their child more than anything.

"I did miss you. Both of you," he admitted, fingers splaying over her belly. He almost expected a swift kick then and there in response, but that would have been magic in itself. And he could read it in Emma's eyes: she had missed this, too.

"Before we head home, I want to check in on Mary Margaret one last time," she announced as Gold extinguished the lights and fumbled with her through the darkness to the curtain. It took them a couple tries before they stumbled through it.

"She's not going anywhere," he pointed out sternly. Gold scanned the front area of his shop, mentally checking off everything on his to-do list before escorting his wife outside and locking up.

"I know that. Unless she's found a way to shimmy through those bars. But I have to at least make sure she uses the bathroom."

He pocketed the keys and they began to walk along the street, rubbing their palms against the iciness of the wind.

He wished Emma would not walk to his shop so much. If ever there was a sneaky patch of black ice and she landed the wrong way…Most mornings, he reminded her what not to do for her safety—_don't drink any harmful substances, take the car instead of walking, make sure not to run into that clumsy oaf David Nolan—_but he was starting to think she tuned it out.

"You know what they say. When you've got to go…" Emma slapped him on the arm for such a careless comment. "Very well. I suppose we can grant Ms. Blanchard a bathroom break. No doubt she's hopping on her feet and dancing. But first, mind if we stop for a cone?"

They would be strolling past the ice cream shop, anyway. Emma gawked at him as she took notice of the obvious _Closed _sign on the glass door, painted in pastel colors. Just because everyone barged into Gold's shop after hours did not mean he had to do the same.

"What are you planning to do? Break in and raid the freezers?" Gold rolled his eyes to the stars.

"Of course not. That would be ridiculous. By my calculations, the ice cream shop closed a mere twenty minutes ago. With any luck, Gertrude will still be cleaning up." _Wonderful. He's on a first name basis with the ice cream shop owner. _

With that, he lifted his cane and banged it obnoxiously against the glass door. Any harder and it would probably shatter. He kept at it until there was a sign of movement inside. _Right, because this is not ridiculous at all. And I'm supposed to be the one with the late-night cravings. _

To Emma's surprise and Gold's glee, the owner hobbled to the door, screeching though she was.

"What do you _want?_ No one knows how to read the sign," she shrieked, switching on the overhead luminescent light so as to study them better. _Please, lady. If we were dangerous, this glass door would not stand a chance. Unless it's bulletproof. That would hurt. Maybe Gold should hire David to run into it first. _

Gertrude turned out to be a scrawny, hunched woman with a few wisps of pale hair on her scalp and a shoddy shawl draped about her shoulders. As rude as it was, Emma couldn't quit staring at the state of her skin. It wasn't wrinkly or leathery, but a strange pink shade and stretched tight, scarred with burns. Her eyelids barely opened an inch; the way she fumbled in place, Emma wondered if she was blind.

She hoped she wasn't the one serving the cones every day. No wonder kids stayed away from this part of town.

"Ah, yes. Just as you so welcomingly barge into my shop at the end of every month," Gold remarked through the glass. "Consider this a token of repayment. Now, are you going to leave the richest man in Storybrooke without a cone?"

When Gertrude registered the identity of her customers, she sang a different tune, edging the door open and offering them a wide berth.

"Oh, never too late for a cone, I say," she chirped as Gold helped himself to the interior of the shop. As he passed Emma, his head bent down to her ear. His lips nestled into her blonde hair so that anything he had to say would not be heard by Gertrude. To her, it would look like he was giving his wife a tender kiss.

"I love being the villain," he whispered with too much enthusiasm.

Emma would have protested, but he was off and away, gazing around like a kid at Chuck E. Cheese's. Gertrude gave Emma a wary look, which she returned. Her beady-eyed attention switched to Gold. If Emma didn't know any better, this lady was mentally undressing him.

"Vanilla, I remember. Strawberry sauce or fudge? How shall I drizzle it?"

Emma didn't know what this lady was on, but she didn't want to ask. Stifling a yawn, her eyes jumped to the clock on the wall. It was already close to nine. Gold didn't seem to be in any rush.

"Chocolate, of course," he barked as he settled into a booth and propped his bad leg on the seat. Probably a show to make Gertrude feel guilty and earn him a free scoop. _Here he is acting like he owns the place. Oh, wait…_"Don't trouble yourself, dearie. My wife can carry it over."

Emma whipped her head around and shot him a dark look.

"Oh, she will?" Gold met her firm gaze and shrugged, brushing off her bristling with ease.

"You've been slacking in your duty as my ice-cream waitress, Emma. If you weren't my wife, I'd fire you." And to think just a few minutes ago, she'd gladly agreed to head home with him. She bet this was his plan all along, to ensure himself an ice cream waitress. Smug opportunist.

_The sad part is…he's being serious. Well, since we're here, we might as well get one for Mary Margaret. _

….

_**Ta-da! Golden Swan has been reunited once more. What will come next for them? Can you feel the tension?**_

_**As always, I appreciate all the support and good reviews you've all given me. It means quite a lot! Cheers to DaesGatling, Kendra Luehr (I'm sorry to hear the long chapters hurt your eyes, but I greatly appreciate the kind words!), discotimelord, Tizmine, yuiop, thedoctorsgirl42, Huntress4455, brontegirl89, ParanormalMoonlight, louisethelibrarian, Fairy Demon26, megumisakura, Emperor's Sister, Black-Cat164, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Guest, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, Musicalfan2012, beverlie4055, and Infinite Nosferatu. **_

_**Hopefully I'll get the next chapter in soon since it's nearly done. Fun time with Jefferson. **_


	43. Chapter 43

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you're all prepared for the holidays. Though, my prayers go out to all those in need at this time of year. Here's a fun little chapter featuring Jefferson. I simply adore writing for him. Enjoy. **_

"It will never work, Gold," Emma insisted as she tugged open the door of the station.

The abrupt wave of heat overwhelmed her and she stripped off her leather jacket the best she could while juggling Mary Margaret's cone. The two were caught in a heated argument and Gold wasn't going down without a fight.

"Think about it, darling. Let it unfold and take root inside your mind. Dinner-flavored ice cream," he proposed with the enthusiasm of a professional businessman. His eyes fell on the vanilla ice cream in Emma's hand, melting quickly. He licked his lips. "This way, ice cream lovers like myself have an excuse to indulge in ice cream whenever they please."

"You're the only ice cream lover that would go for that ridiculous idea," she shot back.

"Say you're eating spaghetti," he continued as if she never spoke. "Why not have it in ice cream form?"

Emma made a disgusted face as she considered the types of ice cream Gold must be creating in his mind. _Mmm….because I'd love to walk into an ice cream shop, observe all my options, and order a scoop of Spaghetti Surprise._

"That sounds disgusting, Gold," she admitted. He shrugged, though she could tell he was bothered by her rejection.

"Suit yourself. It'll catch on, mark my words." _No, it won't. Mark my words. With ice cream like that, we'll all end up like Violet in Willy Wonka. But instead of turning into blueberries, we'll turn into noodles. Maybe he should offer his mythical ice cream to supermodels. _

Emma vehemently dropped the subject and started down the hallway. Her steps slowed in pace as she noticed Henry sitting in the hall, his book propped open in his lap. He sure was concentrating hard on it—from the frustrated lines in his forehead, he could have been reading fairy tales in German.

"Henry, I've told you before. Just because you don't like sleeping under the same roof as Regina doesn't mean you can have a sleepover in one of the jail cells. No matter if it teaches you life lessons," she scolded as she came to stand in front of him.

"Henry, I need your opinion," Gold started. _Oh, here we go. Does he have to do this now? He's dragging my kid into his nonsensical fantasies,_ she mentally groaned. "How does dinner-flavored ice cream sound?" Henry tossed it around his head a moment.

"You mean, instead of…" Henry paused as he nearly slipped out a question. "You're talking about instead of having real dinner." Gold inclined his head in answer. Henry's eyes lit up with the brilliance of stars. "Cool!"

_Figures my kid would go for that. I'm starting to think Henry might actually be Gold's long-lost son. Of course that would mean he and I go way back. _Gold suggestively nudged Emma's side with his elbow, commanding her undivided attention.

"See that? The boy has taste," he praised. Henry scooted forward in his seat, his mind lost in a wonderland where pizza-flavored ice cream existed.

"Could I help you make it?" Emma wiped the dripping excess of vanilla ice cream off her hand and was more than willing to ignore this conversation. As if Gold seriously insisted taking it upon himself to make dinner flavored ice cream.

"You're hired," Gold announced, earning a stern look from Emma. "You can even create the names." Henry had never smiled so widely. _I suppose they'll set up a booth on the street to sell their ice cream dinners. _

"Henry, what are you _doing_ here?" He snapped back to reality, the elated smile slipping away. It was replaced with a smirk dipped in awe as he gazed up at Emma.

"I came to congratulate you," he said. His tone suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Emma was left to ponder over it. She exchanged glances with Gold, whose face was expertly blank. Who knew what went on inside his head.

Had Henry been following her again?

"New travels fast. We only got back together fifteen minutes ago." Oddly, Henry stiffened and he closed his fairy-tale book. He might as well be meeting the real Santa, what with the way his eyes grew wide as saucers.

"You two got back together? Congratulations!" Was Henry playing innocent? Or did he really not know? Emma's brow furrowed with utmost confusion.

"Yeah….hence the reason you're here. To congratulate us?" Henry shook his head. "If you're not here because of that…then what exactly are you talking about?"

"Your genius plan," Henry said. The word 'duh' rang out loud and clear at the end of that sentence.

Emma forgot all about the rapidly melting ice cream and gaped open-mouthed at her kid. Now she was beyond lost. Her mind felt like it was circling inside a labyrinth. What genius plan? Getting Mary Margaret ice cream? She was bemused beyond words.

"I'll leave you two to continue this conversation while I check on my client," Gold stated, the hollow thud of his cane pounding in Emma's ears. "I'll take that."

He reached out for the Mary Margaret's ice cream. Emma returned to life enough to bring it just out of his reach.

"It goes to her, Gold. You're not allowed to stand in front of her cell licking it in mockery," Emma reminded him, to which she only earned a half-hearted 'mhm' as his glove enclosed around the cone. Handing ice cream to Gold was the equivalent of handing a beer to a raging alcoholic. Emma waited until Gold vanished around the corner before rounding on Henry. "Now, what genius plan?"

_If he means the party Ruby will be throwing once Mary Margaret's name is cleared, he'll just have to sneak out of the house if he wants to come. And bring his own drinks. No doubt the first thing Mary Margaret will want to do after getting out of that cell is get drunk. _

"The escape plan," he explained slowly, giving her the '_you-know-what-I-mean' _eyes.

Her body froze until she could barely move her pinkie. Her gaze swept to the door that led to the heart of the station, containing the cells. _Please don't tell me Henry just said what I think he said. I must be hearing wrong. Where's the rewind button? _

"The…what?" She stuttered, unable to process it. Henry frowned when he realized she was utterly clueless. _Escape plan? Mary Margaret…_

Before Henry could answer, Gold called out for her to join him. With Henry in tow, she rushed through the station and halted as her eyes caught the cells. The empty cells.

"Apparently, Ms. Blanchard has no desperate need for this ice cream," Gold hinted, his tongue treating itself to the dribbling vanilla along the cone. "Why let such delicacies go to waste?"

Mary Margaret was gone. She wasn't in her cell. Unless she somehow discovered the secret to turning invisible…she was gone. Emma wandered to the open cell door and peered in, as if Mary Margaret might pop up from under the bed and yell _Boo!_ If only.

"Henry," she warned, settling her suspicious gaze on her son. It wasn't a long shot—this was the kid who'd stolen Mary Margaret's credit card and taken a bus to Boston. He held up his hands in surrender.

"I had nothing to do with it! She was gone when I got here," he protested. "Where would a kid like me hide her, anyway? In my closet?" Then his face smoothed out, the idea blossoming to its fullest. Emma clenched the bars tightly, thinking. _How'd she even get out? Did she break the door down in her desperation to use the bathroom? _

"Ah, Ms. Blanchard. She shall be missed," Gold mused as he lapped up the ice cream with nothing short of delight. His smugness wasn't helping matters. _You shouldn't be so happy, Gold. This won't help your success rate. _

"No, she won't. I'll find her before the arraignment tomorrow. Before Regina even notices she's gone," she declared, even though she had no idea where to begin. She'd have to search all the way to the border. If Mary Margaret had gone beyond the border, there was no finding her.

"You have until eight a.m.," Gold reminded her.

_Thank you for the time limit, _she thought bitterly as she shrugged on her leather jacket and prepared for the chill of the night air outside. This was definitely not how she expected her night to go, not after agreeing to return home with Gold. _I was so looking forward to that foot massage. _

After Emma rushed out the door in pursuit of Mary Margaret, Gold smiled down at Henry who'd all but been left behind. He finished his cone and wiped his lips with a handkerchief from inside his suit.

"How about I walk you home? We can discuss your salary on the way."

…

She hadn't had any luck finding a runaway schoolteacher accused of murder, but she did almost drive over a man in the road. That's what he got for wearing all black and taking a walk in the middle of the night. It was because of his limp that she was giving him a ride home.

"It's right around the bend here," Jefferson pointed out a thin trail on the outskirts that Emma could have easily missed any other given time. _This guy must really enjoy his privacy,_ she thought as she eased her little sunshine onto the rocky road.

"Your house is on a hill? You must be one for extreme Halloween parties," she mused. Jefferson flicked his wrist as though brushing away her words before they could infect his brain. He went back to rubbing his ankle and making her feel guilty in the process.

"Truthfully, I don't celebrate it. Where is the enjoyment out of having children knock on your door all night and abuse your doorbell?"

Emma offered him a sideways glance. Kind of cynical, wasn't he? Was he one of those people that claimed Halloween was unholy? _Oh, great. What kind of guy did I pick up in my car? I swear; it's never the normal ones. _

"Um…so you can give them candy?" _Obviously. What world do you live in? _The hand that was rubbing the ankle stopped in movement. Jefferson touched a finger to his lips in concentration.

"Let me get this straight," he started, pointing that finger in her direction. Emma readjusted her grip on the steering wheel. _Here we go. You couldn't have just turned on some music, Emma? _"You reward kids that disturb your evening by handing them free candy? And have them prance around the streets dressed as little angels, devils, and fairies with wings?" His brow furrowed with thought and he appeared a bit skeptical. "And they say I'm mad," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" He perked up in his seat, clearing his throat loudly.

"I said…that's really sad."

Her lie detector was starting to ring in disagreement. _That's not what you said. _But Emma decided not to push him. After all, she still had no clue what kind of guy he was. _One thing's for certain. Better not tell Gold I had another man in my car only a few hours after I agreed to come home. _

"It's supposed to be…fun," she insisted, ending this whole argument about Halloween.

In the seat beside her, Jefferson was still as a statue, having given up on his leg. Instead, he gazed out the window at the fringes of black trees swallowing her Bug.

"Have you ever been trick-or-treating?"

His eyes tore away from the window, landing on her with a demanding curiosity. She could see how some women might drown in those eyes. For Emma, the irises were the wrong shade of brown. And when she imagined someone whispering in her ear, the words were laced with a silky Scottish accent.

Her hesitation, coupled with the grim downturn of her lips, should have given him the answer he was seeking. But he was still drilling holes into her body.

"No," she admitted, experiencing a dull pang of regret in her chest. "I never stayed in any foster home long enough to do it. The most I ever did was watch my first pumpkin rot on the windowsill."

Why on Earth was she telling him this? Was she seriously about to pour out her heart to a complete questionable stranger? _Tongue, quit betraying me. _

If Jefferson was surprised by her revelation, he didn't show it. Though, there was a hint of a smile as he turned his focus back to the window.

"Too bad. I would've given you all my candy." And on that note, Emma switched on the radio to a deafening rock station that would not allow for any more unusual conversations or chances to delve into her past.

…..

"So, we have Pizza Pizzazz, Turkey Trouble, Spaghetti Surprise, and Hypnotic Hamburger. Kissable Ketchup on the side," Henry recited off the top of his head. Gold nodded his approval.

Perhaps they could truly invent this dinner-flavored ice cream and make it into the Guinness World Records. Business would boom and never would Henry have to endure Regina's cooking again. It shouldn't be that difficult. He'd spent roughly 300 years making potions and cures—how hard could it be to make an ice cream flavor?

"Could I—" He tilted his head expectantly, but Henry caught himself in time. "Instead of asking my three questions tomorrow, I want to ask them tonight. If that's alright."

He chuckled under his breath at Henry's eagerness. It reminded him of Bae's curiosity when he was very young, never satisfied.

"It can't possibly wait until morning?"

Gold peered down at Henry as he walked alongside him. He could tell Henry had been anxiously waiting to unleash his next three questions. Normally, Gold would decline, but he found himself wondering what kinds of questions Henry was desperate to ask.

"Very well. But no questions tomorrow." Henry nodded frantically and his lips parted to dole out the first question.

"How old are you?" One of the questions he'd been dreading. Of course, he could answer for the persona of Mr. Gold and it would still be telling the truth... "As Rumpelstiltskin, not Mr. Gold," Henry quickly covered his tracks.

Damn. The boy was learning.

"It's impolite to ask the Dark One his age, Henry," he chastised. Not that it would get him out of answering. Their deal hadn't accounted for politeness. "Truthfully, I hadn't considered my age in centuries. No reason to celebrate it."

He knew Henry would want an exact answer. The patient silence confirmed that. Quickly, he did the math in his head. When you lived for centuries, age became simply a number and not entirely important. _Minus that, carry the one…Gods, I've gotten old. Any day I'll have my third mid-century crisis._

"Come next month or so, I'll have aged 325 years," he admitted almost sheepishly. Henry's eyes flew open wide in amazement. The only other person he'd probably heard of that lived that long was the old headmaster in _Harry Potter. _

"Wow. I would ask your birthday, but that would mean another question. I'll just plan a party for you sometime next month," Henry promised.

Gold appreciated the gesture, but he didn't think it would go so well. Only Henry and Emma would likely attend. Maybe Ruby, if Archie came. And Granny, due to his complicated relationship with the woman, though she'd charge him for catering.

"Next?" Henry was quiet as they passed the last shop and turned the corner onto Henry's street. Those precocious eyes sought out his leather-bound fairy-tale book. Probably planning on asking him about the Miller's daughter. Cora wasn't exactly a pleasure cruise to deal with.

"Did you attend Snow White's wedding?" _The first or the second? I'm pretty sure there might have even been a third. Silly lovebirds. _

But Henry had cracked open his book and showed him an illustration of Snow and Charming holding onto each other for dear life as the Queen made her threat. Ah, yes. He'd heard marvelous things about the after-party.

"I never received an invitation," he sighed. Selfish, really, after all he'd done for those two. Just because he gave Snow White a potion that sent her on a murderous rampage and royally handed Charming his own behind on a platter during that swordfight was no reason not to invite him for the festivities. "I planned on crashing it, but there was a beautiful pair of…pants at the market. Fifty percent off—couldn't pass it up."

"Leather pants," Henry filled in the blank. Gold focused on his feet as he hurried along. "_Everyone _wears leather pants in this book. Except Snow and the princesses. And Emma because she was a baby." Oh, how he wished to have made a mini pair of leather pants for Snow's baby shower present.

The Mayor's house loomed into view from the shadows and Henry began dragging his feet. Gold could not blame the child. Anything was more suitable than heading home to Regina's wrath.

"Your third and final question?" Henry avoided his seeking gaze completely. There was a grim seriousness written on his tiny face that made Gold begin to dread the upcoming question. He hadn't yet asked about Belle. Finally, their feet stopped altogether and he waited.

"I remind you of someone," Henry said. It was not a question in the least, but Gold most certainly knew where it was headed. His fingers tightened over his cane, heart thudding painfully as he anticipated Henry coming out with it. "Your son."

Gold's throat tightened and his eyelids fluttered closed. Behind them was the fuzzy mental image of Bae, playing with his battered brown ball in the sunlight. His boy.

"What's your question?"

He didn't mean to snap, but the emotions raging inside him were too much to bear. He'd neglected them for so long, shoved them in a drawer to wither away; it was a powerful waterfall thundering in his ears. He was afraid to meet Henry's curious eyes, afraid of how they would remind him of Bae's. Always bright with innocence.

"What happened to him?" So straightforward, yet so lethal an arrow.

It tore the breath from his lungs, pierced his chest like a shiny silver pin to a balloon. He knew he had to answer and truthfully. But did he dare recount that tale? Not even Belle had had the privilege of learning the truth.

"I lost him," drawled the watered-down excuse he'd offered Belle once upon a time. But Henry was eyeing him so attentively that he felt something crack inside him. Words started to spill out of their own accord. "I…I chose my power over him. Bae; that was his name. All I wanted was to protect my son. The power began to take its toll on my mind. Bae wanted to save me, wanted to bring us to a land without magic where the two of us could live in peace."

The corners of his mind dredged up images that he had witnessed plenty of times during the centuries, even in his dreams whenever he'd slept. Bae's warm hand clasping his own, fortifying their deal; that mystical bean that unleashed a swirling emerald vortex; Bae's disappointed face as he realized his father would not uphold their bargain. _You coward! Don't break our deal!_

"I made a deal with him, promising that I would surrender my power if he found a way. At the last minute, I changed my mind out of fear…and I let him go. Bae fell into a land without magic, alone. It was the only deal I ever broke."

Henry allowed the weight of Gold's answer to sink in. He watched as the boy experimentally mouthed Bae's name. He expected disbelief, fear, distrust on Henry's face, but pity dominated his features.

"You're the one who created the curse," Henry whispered alarmingly. The boy must have known Regina was too dull-witted to create the curse to end all curses. "You just want your son back."

Despite the rocky, cold pavement, Gold knelt down to Henry's level and gently clasped his shoulder.

"I do," he replied softly. "But I am also being given another chance with Emma. Make that two chances." Henry smiled reassuringly and helped Gold to his feet. To his shock, the boy threw his arms around his middle and embraced him. Awkwardly, Gold smoothed his hand over Henry's hair, savoring the show of affection.

"Everything happens for a reason," Henry murmured against Gold's suit. "Nobody can cheat destiny. Maybe your son will return to you through Emma." Henry had no idea how many times Gold prayed for this himself, every time he laid eyes on her belly.

"It's running late," Gold urged the boy. "Let's get you home before Regina huffs enough to blow the house down."

…..

The minute Emma pulled up in the circular driveway, she figured she must have hit Jefferson harder than she thought. He must be brain-damaged somehow because there was _no way _this could be his house. This didn't even qualify as a house; it was a hotel!

She found her nose pressed up against the glass of the window, staring at the mansion in awe.

"_This _is your house?" Jefferson shrugged loosely and stepped out of the car.

She had the sense to close her gaping mouth and follow, but she was still trying to wrap her mind around it. A soft chuckle directed her attention to Jefferson. He didn't seem that proud of it, like it was any other little house on the block. Was he blind, too?

"I take it you're impressed?" Impressed. What an understatement. Shocked. Flabbergasted. Befuddled. You name it.

"Damn, you have a large estate!" Suddenly, she cringed. _And I did not mean to say it that way. If Gold ever heard me marveling over another man's estate, there'd be another missing person in this town. _Inevitably, her eyes traveled to places on Jefferson that they shouldn't. "Sorry…I didn't mean it…like that…"

Jefferson arched an eyebrow at her embarrassment. Maybe he assumed she was actually thinking about his house.

"Why? I take it as a compliment." _I'm sure you do. _And when he kindly invited her inside for a cup of tea to warm her up, she could not find the will to decline.

….

_Okay, Emma. You've been drugged and are being held hostage by a madman. And Mary Margaret is tied up and gagged. No big deal, right? You've ended up in worse situations before. Oh, who am I kidding? I knew I should have tossed him out of my car after that Halloween spiel. _

For the umpteenth time, Jefferson prodded her in the back with her own gun, urging her down the hallway. At first, Emma assumed it was because she was walking too slowly for his taste. She was pretty sure he was just rubbing it in now. Arrogant lunatic.

"Where did you put my leather jacket?" A slight draft skittered across the skin of her arms and she broke out in goosebumps. He was lucky that was the only piece of clothing missing. Otherwise, he'd have a raging pregnant woman on his hands.

"In the closet, of course. Where do you people put it? The freezer? A gentleman always helps a lady with her coat," he boasted in her ear. _Not if the gentleman drugs the lady and ties her up! _"Besides, I happen to think you look much more comfortable in a tank top. Being three months pregnant and all."

Oh, good. That was a relief. So he did take it into account that she had a bun in the oven. _I'd like to claim he wouldn't be crazy enough to shoot a pregnant woman, but he's still waving that gun around like a flag on the 4__th__ of July. _

Wait a minute…_I never told him how far along I was. _

Ignoring the threat of the gun, Emma whirled around.

"Exactly how long have you been watching me?" Jefferson's eyes glinted darkly and he made no attempt to deny the fact he'd been spying through his little telescope. Instead, he played with the gun in his hand.

"Long enough." Emma didn't relent on her pointed stare. "Four months, seven days; 3000 hours; 2, 505, 600 seconds…oh, and there's a partridge in a pear tree."

Crazy had been an understatement.

Emma rolled her eyes with disgust and started walking again. On her right was a closet and she had the urge to shrug on her leather jacket again, if only to escape his wild eyes. Before Jefferson could object, she reached for the doorknob.

"No, not that one! That's my—"

Too late, Emma pulled open the closet door and she was not prepared for the avalanche. Bags of candy, bars of chocolate, even mini Hershey's kisses pooled around her body into the hall. It was practically a nuclear explosion of sweets.

"Sugar closet," Jefferson finished as he began to scoop up the candy.

Emma didn't have the sense of mind to take advantage of Jefferson's busy hands. She merely gawked at the enormous pile of candy at her exposure. There had to be enough to serve every kid in Storybrooke twice over.

"Are you expecting to survive through a zombie apocalypse? Ever heard of Twinkies? This is more candy than the whole state of Maine has for Halloween!"

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration on her part. But it was a good-sized mountain!

"I have been in this house for 28 years, Emma! I needed something to keep me going," he exclaimed, thrusting packets of M&Ms into the closet. _Well, I think I found the next zombie movie. 28 Years Later. 28 years…Oh, no. Not only is he a madman, he's a curse-believing madman. _"Unfortunately, I think I may have an addiction."

"Really? I couldn't tell," she sarcastically retorted.

She gestured to the mound of Crunch bars and Twix at her feet. Next time Gold needed to fill her craving, he should consider breaking into Jefferson's sugar closet.

"Haven't you ever heard of a vending machine?"

"Of course," Jefferson retorted as he stuffed a bag of Smarties under his arm. "I had one, but I ran out of quarters." Emma dropped her head into her hand in exasperation. _I'm surprised he didn't try taking a weapon to it. Or sticking his arm through the slot. _

"Needless to say, my eyes have been opened to the world of chocolate. Take this guy—Wonka. He knows what he's doing. Except the fact that those little orange men look like Munchkins." Jefferson squinted at the purple wrapper and scrunched his nose.

"So now you've been to Oz?" Immediately, Emma wanted to rub those words from her tongue.

_I cannot believe I am having this conversation. There is no such thing as Oz. If ever there was a Wicked Witch, it would be Regina. One morning, she'll wake up green. _Jefferson, however, seemed calm about the issue.

"I've been to plenty of worlds, Emma. If only you believed as you should. I could take you places that limping imp could only dream of. You, me, my hat. And perhaps some of these, if you're lucky." He held up a pack of Starburst. "Sheer brilliance. Solid, yet juicy like a liquid. Quite the contradiction."

This had to be a dream. She must still be asleep. It was the only plausible explanation as to why Emma's mind was fizzling like an egg right now.

"I'm guessing you discovered television, too. There's a commercial for that," she pointed out. For some reason, he became unsettled. For once, the calm, in-control madman was flustered.

"I came up with that logic years ago. No one knew because I was locked away in this prison." _I wouldn't exactly call this a prison. "_If anyone should be promoting Starburst, it should be me."

Hastily, he tossed the remaining packages of candy into the closet and had to force all his weight against the door to make it close again. Then he grabbed her by the arm and steered her away.

_Great—not only am I without my leather jacket, but now I'm craving Starburst. _

….

It was well past midnight. The only sound was the slow ticking of the clock and his shallow breathing. The spot beside him was empty and cold—no one to snuggle with. There hadn't been for near a week. He wondered if this was how Emma felt the night of the election when he decided not to come home.

Emma certainly hadn't come home yet.

She was probably still cruising around in her yellow Bug looking for Mary Margaret. Or, at least that's what he kept telling himself. Of all the nights Emma finally agreed to come home—it had to be the one where Mary Margaret launched her escape.

He could last one night without her. Couldn't he? Of course he could—he wasn't a puppy-eyed weakling like Charming who would fall on his knees in despair.

Gold rolled onto his side, his back facing the spot where Emma usually slept, and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing, trying to slip into a peaceful sleep.

But what if something had gone wrong? What if something had happened to Emma? Gold's eyes shot open, jerked awake by the new realization.

What if her car broke down and she was trekking through the woods? At night, those woods could be a mini Infinite Forest and her Charming genes might work against her. Charming himself simply ran in circles.

No, Emma had a flashlight in her car and no doubt had enough sense of direction to walk back to town after finding Mary Margaret. _It's not like some madman will pop out of a tree and kidnap her. The biggest threat on the street right now is Leroy._ _Last I heard, he was having dinner with his fairy, Twinkle-Toes. _

Gold fluffed up his pillow again and laid his head down. Nothing to worry about.

But what if Emma had been attacked? Really, who could you trust in this town? Well, besides Archie and Mary Margaret. That woman wouldn't swat a fly let alone attack Kathryn, knock her unconscious, and lock her in a basement. Among other things.

No, that would never happen. Emma was armed and had a bat in her trunk, just in case. Amazing what a piece of wood could do. Emma was resourceful.

Nothing to worry about at all.

Gold rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. If Emma was so resourceful—certainly resourceful enough to track down Mary Margaret—then why wasn't the job done yet?

Oh, this was ridiculous.

Perhaps he'd just call Emma and see how she was progressing. Of course she would answer, snap at him that she could handle it and didn't he trust her? Then, when all that was said and done, he could finally go to sleep. Tomorrow morning he'd be making pancakes.

The end.

Gold was already switching the light on and reaching for the phone before that thought was even finished. He swiftly dialed Emma's number and sat upright as the tone buzzed in his ear.

It went directly to voicemail.

Gold pulled back and stared at the phone incredulously. How could that be? Emma never shut her phone off and he knew it would have a fully charged battery.

Maybe he accidentally dialed the wrong number, though he seriously doubted it. He was the type of man who never made mistakes when it came to such fine details. Still, he dialed again.

And again, it went to voicemail.

Something wasn't right. He'd been denying it for the past half hour, but his instincts were demanding to be heard. Surely, Mary Margaret couldn't have run that far? The woman couldn't even leave Storybrooke. Something wasn't right.

Gold pulled himself to his feet and began to dress. It wouldn't hurt to seek Emma out…though he knew his concern would not go unnoticed. Truthfully, he'd never hear the end of it. But was that such a bad thing now?

Of course, if he was going to search the town for Emma with this abysmal leg, he could do with a little help. _My, how the tables have turned. Is this what that feels like?_

…..

_Knock, knock, knock. _

August was ripped from his sleep with the sharp rapping against his door. He rubbed his eyes groggily and stretched leisurely. _Oh, come on! My dream was just getting good! Emma was about to ride off into the sunset with me!_

_Knock, knock, knock. _

The noise was more insistent this time. August groaned and buried his head beneath his pillow. _It couldn't be Ruby, but then who else would it be? Maybe she had a bad break-up with Archie and wishes to cry on my shoulder. Aren't I lucky? _

_Knock, knock, knock, knock…._

This time the knocking didn't stop. Tossing back the covers, August scrambled out of bed. Well, he'd actually forgotten about his wooden leg and _fell_ out of bed._ Stupid wooden leg. It's not as cool as Pirates of the Caribbean makes it look. _

Lifting himself up, he checked the time—it was the earliest hours of the morning. _What, is that girl a werewolf or something? Oh, right. I forgot. Did she eat her Granny? _

"Ruby, how many times do I need to tell you I don't need a snuggle buddy," August started as he pulled open the door, his eyes still sorely closed. No answer. He pried his eyes open to see Gold standing there, smirking. "Don't tell me you're here to give me another Valentine?"

"I need help," Gold all too reluctantly stated in his rich accent. Maybe Emma liked accents. Would she find it odd if he miraculously became British?

Wait. _Gold _needed _his _help? This must be a dream. It'd be even better if that "help" was finding a more reasonable suitor for Emma. Of which he'd only be more than happy to accept.

"Well, if it's help you need, I'd recommend Archie," August quipped. Gold licked his lips and took a step closer. The annoyance in his eyes was pretty clear.

"You're lucky I have other concerns on my mind tonight. Otherwise, I have it on good authority you'd be coughing up splinters," Gold threatened, holding up his cane in emphasis. _Too late, old man._

"Ironic," he muttered, leaning against the doorframe. He desperately wanted to tumble back into bed. Gold's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Why is that, I wonder?"

August matched Gold's cold gaze and shrugged. It was his turn to smirk and it felt good. _Yeah, I'm so getting a wooden arm for this. I suppose it's not so bad. Just for kissing Emma on Christmas, I got a wooden…I don't even want to think about it. It still hurts when I walk!_

"You can wonder all you want. If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you." Gold's lips thinned into an anxious line. The man was obviously trying to decide whether or not to kill him.

After an intense staring contest, Gold's expression softened slightly.

"I need your help…to find my wife," he declared, putting enough possessiveness in there to shove it in August's face. He fought to keep his face neutral.

"_Emma_ is missing? Doesn't sound like her. Are you sure she didn't just…leave?" She'd done it once before, hadn't she? His leg grew stiff and he fought the urge to rub it. Gold folded his hands on top of his cane and smiled.

"Why would she do that? She's carrying my child," Gold calmly replied.

August's mouth dropped open. He could practically hear Gold's points being racked up and the word _"Winner"_ flashing in neon over his head. The victorious smile on Gold's face conveyed it all: _Nothing to say now, hmm? Top that one, I dare you!_

"Where should we start looking?" August glumly acquiesced, if only to make Gold leave faster. He was annoyed as hell and, if he was going to search for Emma, he definitely wasn't going to run around town in his pajamas.

"You can take that piece of metal and scour the streets. I'd say all the way to the border. Perhaps even the outskirts, such as that old house on the hill."

Gold had a general air of power about him. Even though he was soft-spoken, it was in the manner of someone used to being obeyed. August didn't like it. _What does Emma see in this guy? He's not even wearing leather pants! And whoa…piece…of…metal? _

"And what will you be doing while I search for Emma?" August scrutinized Gold doubtfully.

As much as Gold may love Emma, he didn't seem the type to get his hands dirty unless absolutely necessary. No, he had other people do that. Like that big guy with the squeaky voice. Talk about a contradiction.

"What, you honestly believe that I'll make you do all the work?" Gold maintained an innocent expression. August stared hard at him. _Well, now that you mention it…_

"Um, _yeah,"_ he exclaimed. Gold feigned hurt. August rolled his eyes to the ceiling. _And he's dramatic, too. _

"I intend to check the station, Miss Blanchard's apartment, and anywhere else Emma would be…laying low. This leg can only take so much." Gold tapped his leg with his cane. Defiantly, August crossed his arms.

"What's in it for me?" Gold's face grew dark, as if he'd been hoping August wouldn't ask that. Tilting his head inquisitively, August scoffed. "What, you can dish it out, but you can't take it? I find Emma, you two are reunited if not happily, and…what do I get?"

"You get the satisfaction of me not killing you should the circumstance ever arise again," he vowed.

"How do I know you won't decide to kill me anyway?" Gold squared his shoulders and shifted his gaze.

"I'm a man of my word. I never break my deals." August raised a skeptical eyebrow. _Never?_

"Huh," he muttered, earning a sharp glare. "Fine. I'll find Emma. It's not like she'll consider leaving Storybrooke. Not when she has so much here to keep her happy." _Ow, ow, leg cramps._

Gold still didn't seem satisfied. Instead, he stepped even closer until his face was inches from August's.

"If anything happens to Emma or that baby while she's in your care, the splinters will be the least of your problems," he warned, almost through clenched teeth.

It was then, being so close to Gold, that August noticed the troubled lines around the man's eyes and the way his body refused to relax. _If I didn't know any better, I'd say he actually does love Emma. You mean she's not just a snuggle buddy? How sweet, _he thought sarcastically. _Ow, cramps. I take it back! Yep, there goes my stomach. Guess I can skip Granny's pancakes tomorrow morning._

August gritted his teeth and banged his fist against the doorjamb in pain. Gold watched in amusement.

"Something the matter?" August straightened against the torrents of stiffness and forced his face to relax. Not an easy feat when you have wooden pellets for organs.

"Yes. I mean, _nope,_ I'm fine. Stomach bug." _Yeah, I can only wish._ "You said you wouldn't kill me," he reminded Gold, bringing the focus back. Gold's lips curled in a chilling smile, one that made August's body tense up worse than his condition.

"I said I would not kill you. I never said I would not make you suffer." August felt his heart drop. _Oh…crap. Why does he always do that to people? Stupid imp._

Gold sent him an obviously false grin and walked away. "Good luck," he called over his shoulder in a sing-song fashion.

August stared after him and scratched his head. _Really, Emma? What does that imp have that I don't have?_

….

_Bzzzz. Bzzzzzz. _

Emma's cell phone kept vibrating. Every time it rattled across the table, she was distracted and she stuck herself with a pin. Gasping, she stuck her thumb in her mouth, her tongue roving over the small break in her skin. _Stupid hat! I don't even know how to make hats! _

Jefferson punched a button on her phone and it ceased vibrating. His fingers were always tapping over the screen, drumming. A minute later, the vibrating started up again. He raked a hand through his unkempt hair in frustration.

"How are these technological devices attractive to you people in this world? They're annoying," he complained. Any moment, she was afraid he would drop it in a glass of water, just to make it stop buzzing. Ow. Another pin jab.

"For all you know, it could be…the pizza guy," she threw out into the open.

More likely, it was Gold wondering where she was now that it was late at night, but who could say _no _to pizza? On cue, her stomach growled. He leaned back in his chair, gun pointed at her phone.

"Emma, we both know you never ordered pizza," he scoffed. "One, you don't know what kind I like. Two, you don't have any money. I checked in your pockets while you were dozing on the couch. Nothing but an old gum wrapper and a folded up flyer for Archie and the Crickets. Three, you don't know the address."

Emma laid the needle down mid-stitch and frowned.

"I don't need to know the address. It's the only house on the hill!"

Suddenly, there was a rapt knocking somewhere in the house. Had Mary Margaret somehow gotten free? Straining her ears, Emma's heart sank as she realized it was somewhere downstairs, probably the front door.

Jefferson sat straight up in his chair and narrowed his eyes at her in warning. Then he rose swiftly to his feet.

"This one's for me," he announced with anticipation. "You'd be amazed how much of an appetite you work up nearly getting run over, faking a limp, and keeping an attractive female company."

Company. Right. He made it sound like she'd chosen to be here.

Pouting, she picked up the little silver needle and wondered how much damage it would do to a hatter. His feet thudded heavily on the floor as he approached her side of the table and she pretended to be fascinated with the tool and thread. _See how it sparkles…Wait for it…_

Springing up, Emma aimed the needle for his neck, imagining it tearing through his skin and rendering him unconscious. Somehow, he caught her wrist before it even touched that designer scarf of his and he squeezed, sending a shooting, burning pain up her arm. The other hand had the gun trained on her forehead.

"Drop it," he ordered and the doorbell rang.

Inevitably, the ache was too much to bear and her hand snapped open, the needle falling away. In the blink of an eye, Jefferson had her pinned backwards against his body. A cold bracelet circled her wrist with a hollow _click! _ Handcuffs. _I knew I should have left the handcuffs at Gold's shop!_

Before Emma could begin to struggle and squirm, there was a second _click_ and she was restrained to the chair. He smirked down at her as she jiggled her arm, raking the bracelet up and down the length of the chair's arm.

"Be a good girl while I'm gone and maybe I'll share my pizza."

…..

_**What kind of pizza do you think Jefferson would like? **_

_**Also, if you'd like something fun to read for the holidays, I have a new Christmas short story for Golden Swan. It's called "All I Want For Christmas" and it's in the humorous vein of Sunshine. Just a little story, but maybe you'll enjoy it. **_

_**So many wonderful reviewers to thank. Happy holidays to everyone—DaesGatling, Paranormal Moonlight, eklektik, Huntress4455, Tizmine, brontegirl89, discotimelord, JessOvergon, helikesitheymikey, thedoctorsgirl42, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, BlooperLover, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, Sweetangelz18, and beverlie4055. **_


	44. Chapter 44

_**A/N: Here it is—the second half of Hat Trick. What kind of pizza has Jefferson ordered? Such a burning question. I hope everyone had a safe, good New Year's, too. **_

Jefferson whistled as he strolled down the hallway to answer the door. He hoped his pizza wasn't getting cold.

Grasping the doorknob, he paused and remembered to tuck away the gun. It wouldn't be good manners to greet the pizza guy with a gun. Unless the cheese stuck to the lid of the box again. How disappointing was that?

Pasting on a white smile, he flung open the door and came face to face with the oddest delivery guy he ever encountered. For one thing, this guy was wearing a black leather jacket and behind him was a motorcycle. There was also something missing.

Oh, yes. The pizza.

"Did you _eat_ my pizza?"

The guy stroked his stubble-covered chin, his blue-green eyes glinting brilliantly with perplexity. Now, that was just downright rude. What pizza guy chowed a customer's pizza and didn't have the decency to remember doing it? Madness.

"I think you're mistaken. I'm not a pizza guy," he informed Jefferson with an air of casualty. Mr. Suave, was he? Just because he had a motorcycle. _Well…I have an impressive telescope. Beat that. _

Jefferson leaned against the doorframe and glared spitefully.

"Oh," he muttered, not bothering to hide his distaste.

So then what the hell was this guy doing on his property? Unless…._Emma._ Ah, he recognized this guy now. The poor sap that had nothing better to do than chase Emma like a puppy dog. Jefferson always thought he was a bit boring.

"The town's that way." Jefferson pointed to the clock tower in the distance. _Hop on your bike and get lost, hero. _

"Actually—" The stranger blocked Jefferson's attempt to slam the door with his foot. There was a sharp thud and suddenly those blue-green eyes resembled one of those anger-management dolls, popping out of his head. "You just crushed my foot!"

Jefferson banged his forehead anxiously against the door. He didn't have the time, sanity, or the patience to deal with this. Didn't this guy realize that he had a woman waiting upstairs that was as stubborn and resourceful as a rhino? Ooh, that wasn't a pretty description. A bull? No. A turtle?

"This wouldn't have happened if you were the pizza guy!" The stranger grasped the doorframe as he hopped on one foot. Boy, was his face turning red from the effort.

"Guess I'll have to pick up a pizza next time I land on this hill," he shot back, huffing. Jefferson rolled his eyes impatiently. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to answer the door with a gun. He'd bet Flat-Foot would move a whole lot faster toward that bike.

"What do you want?" _Besides the unavailable woman upstairs making me a hat._

"Besides an ambulance?" _Hop, hop, hop_.

At this rate, this guy could fill in for that overgrown rabbit in April. Jefferson would never understand the traditions of this world. It was almost as irritating as the lack of color in Frankie's world.

What child wanted to run around searching for eggs that were left behind by an abnormally sized bunny and put them in a basket? And now parents actually put candy into plastic eggs for the same purpose? What would that achieve? And how exactly was this so-called Easter Bunny any different from the ones chewing carrots at the pet store or Thumper in _Bambi?_

"I'm looking for the Sheriff. Her husband has been trying to contact her and no one knows where she is. She's blonde, green-eyed, pregnant, yay tall, wears a lot of leather, mouths off sarcastically…Have you seen her?"

_Seen her? I've got her handcuffed to a chair, buddy. _

"Nope. Can't say I have. Not many people have reason to come up here on the hill," he lied, shrugging carelessly.

It was a good thing he was familiar in the art of deception, unlike this guy. Jumping into the bushes to avoid Red Riding Hood? A three-legged squirrel could have done it better.

At least, he didn't _seem_ to suspect anything. Granted, Jefferson had never been as good a liar as, say, Rumpelstiltskin. Though, how the Queen had not figured out earlier that he remembered was a mystery. Cunning as he was, the guy walked around with a sign around his neck saying _Hello, my name is Rumpelstiltskin. How may I help you?_

"If you see her, can you tell her that her husband should call off the bounty on my head and give him a call? Just so he knows everything is okay?" Jefferson waved his hand aside.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. The Sheriff's a big girl, isn't she? I expect she can take care of herself."

He deliberately ignored the way the stranger adjusted to his weak foot. He stared down at it and smiled. If Red hadn't moved on to Jiminy, he might have given her an anonymous tip of Mr. Suave's whereabouts. But he was betting on those two lovebirds to marry next.

"Good luck with the foot problem."

"No thanks to you—" Jefferson slammed the door before Flat-Foot could properly finish that sentence. _Now, Emma, where were we?_

…

_Stupid, no-good handcuffs!_ _Why had I opted for the real ones and not the magic trick kind? _

Emma jangled the handcuff on her wrist, tugging against the chair. Jefferson had been gone for over five minutes. How long did it take to pay the guy and accept the pizza? Assuming Jefferson was telling the truth. Maybe her internal lie detector was broken.

At first, she wanted to yell and shout for help, but she feared that Jefferson was mad enough to put a few bullets in the pizza guy. She couldn't live with that on her conscience. She wanted to call Gold, except the hatter had pocketed her cell phone before leaving the room.

The only other reasonable option was to drag the chair behind her. That was it—she needed to move somehow. How far would she get with a chair? She needed to try.

The chair scraped along behind her as she aimed for the door. God, this was humiliating. Here she was, bent oddly and forced to cart a chair like it was her tail. It was a challenge to open the door into the hallway; she had to drag the chair full-circle around her body, her arm positioned uncomfortably, just so she could edge it open.

_And we're walking…and we're walking…_

At last, she made it into the hallway! Dashing down the hall, the chair banging against the wall behind her, she hurried toward Mary Margaret's room.

All she had to do was figure out some way to untie her one-handed and they could get out of here. Granted, she'd be toting a chair around Storybrooke, but at least she would always have a seat to sit in. Then there was the matter of the stairs…

"Going somewhere?" Jefferson stepped into view and she collided into his chest. She didn't miss the way he eyed her luggage with amusement. Even more unsettling…he laughed. "This is what you're resorting to? Running away with my chair?"

_I know how ridiculous it is. You don't have to rub it in. _Emma knew there was no getting past him now. Unless she up and thrashed him over the head with the chair. _Hmm…_

Whirling around, she grabbed ahold of the chair and lifted it above her head. She brought it down toward Jefferson's head, but his arms shot up, stopping it in place. His feet slid across the carpeted floor as he struggled to prevent the blow.

"Emma, you're going mad. Put the chair down," he demanded, looming over her.

"I'm tired, I'm pregnant, my hormones are raging out of whack, my friend is a felon, I've had nothing to eat except an ice-cream, one that my husband stole half of, and I'm being kept prisoner by a crazy guy who thinks he could hop into a hat like a rabbit! Don't tell me I'm going mad!"

Gritting his teeth, she willed the chair to drop a few more inches, but Jefferson was stronger. The chair was tossed aside, her body stumbling with it. In that fleeting moment of advantage, her hands clamped down on her bare shoulders, the nuzzle of the gun poking through her blonde hair.

"Back to work," he whispered in her ear. He nudged her forward with his knee. Much as she hated it, Jefferson herded her back the way she came, the chair dragging the entire way.

….

"I take it there was no pizza?"

Jefferson's hand clamped down on her shoulder and applied enough pressure to shove her down into the chair. He tapped a finger against the needle and spool of thread, silently instructing her to get back to work. She wasn't even getting paid for this.

"False alarm," he muttered unhappily. He circled the table and paused by the telescope.

Emma's brain was on fire, dragging up possibility after possibility at the speed of light. Was someone actually searching for her? Gold? His bodyguard, Danvers? _August? _

"Who was it?" Silence was all she earned. "Jerk," she spat. He chuckled lowly in his throat, decidedly amused by her rash behavior. Only a madman would be so jovial of such bitter name-calling.

"Wait a minute," Jefferson huffed. He bent forward and peered through the telescope. "What is he…?" He cursed under his breath.

_Did Hansel and Gretel rob Mr. Clark's store again? Rumor has it they're the new Bonnie and Clyde. Jefferson should put that telescope to good use. Watching over the town…he could be some kind of superhero. Like Batman. Hatman. There will be an image of a hat in the sky whenever someone calls on him. _

_ Na-na-na-na-na…Hatman! Na-na-na-na-na…Hatman!_

_ God, either I must be incredibly tired or that spiked tea must have gone to my head. _Luckily, Jefferson was oblivious to her momentary giddiness.

"How could he just drive past it? It's the only house on the hill! Ah, there we go. He's making a U-turn…No, don't hit my decorative lawn gnome!"

A knock at the door captured their undivided attention. Carefully, Jefferson switched his gaze to Emma, a warning. Even with her hand still cuffed to the chair, she considered the doorway with speculation. She was getting desperate.

"Emma—" Two syllables were all he managed before she leaped up and dashed for the door. The chair toppled against the ground behind her, but she pulled it along.

Jefferson had obviously been expecting her move and raced to block her path. As he spread his arms wide open to catch her, she instinctively skidded on her heels and backed away, using the table to separate their bodies. Back and forth they swayed, testing their limits.

"Emma, do I need to cuff your leg to the table? Because I will," he threatened. She scoffed at him boldly and tried to edge her way around the table. He mirrored her movements.

"With what? You don't have any more handcuffs to spare," she boasted. He placed his palms flat on the surface of the table and leaned toward her, his lips curving dangerously.

"That's what you think." Another knock came from the front door, this one more insistent than the last. Jefferson spun toward the direction of the door, apparently having a breakdown over his waiting pizza. "Be right with you!"

Emma took advantage of his distraction and ran up the length of the table, aiming for the door. Jefferson gave a surprised _hey! _and lunged onto the chair. He sunk his body into the seat. It stopped Emma in her tracks, what with the additional weight she had to lug.

"Your pizza privileges are slimming," he warned and scooted the chair closer to the table using his feet. Emma ground her teeth as she tried to tug the chair the opposite way, but Jefferson had the upper hand. She stumbled backward.

Reaching the table, he whipped out a second pair of cuffs from his vest and shackled one end to the leg of the table. _Does he have a bunny in that vest, too? 'Cause I'm fairly certain there's nothing coming out of his magical hat. _

"Now…stay…_here,"_ he roughly demanded. Quickly, he stood up and before she knew what was happening, he had encouraged her to sit in the seat.

Twice she tried to get up again only to have his hands restrict her by her shoulders. The second time he was inches away from straddling her body in the chair, just to get her to stay. The cold clink of the handcuffs locked around her ankle. No way was she dragging the table through the door.

"I'll be just a moment, Emma," he promised, his warm lips nuzzling her hair to reach her ear. She craned her neck away, which only made him laugh. She wrestled with the two sets of handcuffs to no avail. She wished her eyes could shoot darts as Jefferson walked away.

"Jerk!"

…..

_This had better be the pizza guy this time. I am starving and this world will not like me when I'm starving, _he thought as he charged down the stairs to answer the door. A young guy in a cheesy yellow pizza outfit stared back at him and, lo and behold, there was a pizza box in his hands.

"Finally! Another minute later and I was ready to—"

He noticed the frightened expression crawling over the guy's face—the way his skin paled until it was milky white and the pizza box trembled in his grip. His eyes kept straying to something in Jefferson's hand and the hatter realized he was still holding the gun. Oops.

"Oh, don't mind that. It's for the skunks." He tucked the gun away and eagerly held out his hands for the pizza.

The pizza guy nervously passed the box over as if it were about to explode. He accepted the money that Jefferson nearly threw at him. The guy honestly looked surprised that Jefferson would actually pay for his food. _What did you expect me to do? Take the pizza, shoot you, and walk off? _

"Keep the change," Jefferson said as he thrust another few dollar bills at the guy's chest. It seemed to relax him a bit as he counted out his tip.

"Dude, you have a large estate," the poor sap exclaimed in awe, tilting his head back to examine the hotel-sized mansion. Jefferson smirked.

"Everyone says that." And he kicked the door closed. He deeply inhaled the fumes rising from the pizza box and smiled peacefully. _One M&M pizza, just for me. _

…..

Emma could smell him before she saw him enter the room. Steaming box of pizza in his hands, he plopped down in his seat and flipped the lid open. Emma took a look inside, mostly to see what kind of taste the madman had acquired, and gave him a look that read _are-you-serious? _

"What?" He scrutinized the perfection of his pizza and grinned like a kid visiting the circus.

"Really? An M&M pizza?" Jefferson feigned hurt and slid the pizza box farther away from her side of the table. God, the smell of it was tempting. Her stomach, besides the baby, felt empty enough to fit a city.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," he scolded. "The pizza guy even used the M&Ms to make a smiley face. If only it had a hat." _It would look just like you, _she thought wryly. She jiggled the handcuff that was locked around her wrist, demanding his attention. He knew what she wanted. "Nope. You had your chance. Two, actually. Guess you'll just have to chew it off."

Jefferson selected a warm piece of pizza from the box. That smiley face shouldn't be so happy when it was missing an eye. He was just going to sit there and ignore her, wasn't he?

Emma breathed out in irritation. She refused to beg him to release her—it would only emphasize the fact that she was his prisoner.

So, she wrestled with the handcuffs. Part of her was logical enough to understand that nothing would come of it. The other half, the desperate half, didn't care anymore. Up and down the metal raked across the arm of the chair. It rattled, screeched, and pierced Emma's ears whenever it dragged.

Then her foot began bobbing, the cuff locked around the leg of the table rising and falling repeatedly. It was a symphony of metal, competing against Jefferson's audible chewing.

"Alright," he finally exclaimed, nerves shot to hell from the disruptive noise. Emma smirked victoriously as he unlocked her cuffs and released her. He slipped the handcuffs back into his vest and trained the gun on her instantly. "Now, may I enjoy my pizza in peace?"

Emma rubbed the soreness from her wrists, which were turning red.

"If I'm such a bother to you, then why not let me go?" _What an idea, huh? Which do you value more? Me or the pizza? _

"You would love that, Emma," he replied, taking up his piece of pizza again. It was true—she would love nothing more than having Jefferson toss her and Mary Margaret out on the streets at this very moment.

Oh, but that pizza did look good. And the last thing she ate was that ice cream cone…

"Stop mouth-watering over the fabric, Emma. It's expensive," he mocked, taking a generous bite of his slice of pizza. He could tell how hungry she was and probably thought she would beg for a piece. "If you insist on drooling, at least stand over the plants."

He pointed to a potted plant in the corner of the room. Its leaves were so brown and withered; it would take magic just to bring it back to life. _Are you trying to tell me I have magic spit, now? _

"I wouldn't be mouth-watering if you were generous enough to share," she shot back hotly. He considered his large pizza for a moment. Then, he shrugged carelessly.

"Sorry. I missed that lesson when I was a boy." And he continued munching away. Emma begrudgingly picked up the tools and returned to the lump of fabric that was supposed to be a hat. Would he accept a magic beanie?

"Clearly, you also missed the course on how to behave around guests, too," she grumbled under her breath. Jefferson was too far gone to hear it. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes in complete bliss. There was even a moan mixed in there.

"It's official. This is the best invention this world has to offer. Why did Wonderland never have this?" Finishing the piece of pizza—crust and all—he wiped the grease on his black jeans. "It might have given me a reason to like it."

Emma paused in cutting and almost sliced her forefinger off. The tone of Jefferson's voice was so miserable that her heartstrings nearly tugged for him. Nearly.

"You didn't like Wonderland? Weren't you supposed to be having a mad tea party with a hare and a mouse? And singing about Un-Birthdays?" Jefferson opened his mouth to shovel in another piece of pizza, only to stare at her in wide-eyed amazement.

"What the hell is an Un-Birthday? Is that another one of your strange, nonsensical holidays?"

Emma dropped the scissors completely. This guy wasn't quite the Mad Hatter if he didn't even know what an Un-Birthday was. Or maybe he was supposed to be the other Mad Hatter, the Mad Hatter's twin. Had Matter.

"Um…according to Alice in Wonderland? A day that's not your birthday. There are 364 of them," she reluctantly explained. _Why am I egging his ego on? There must be something in that pizza. The fumes are doing funny things to me, I know it. _

"And why are those days of any importance?" She shook her head tiredly.

"You tell me! You're the one with the hat and the mushrooms!" Jefferson scrutinized her intently and appeared like he thought_ she_ was the one stark mad. As if this was all a dream and she fell into the rabbit hole.

"See, this is the problem with relying on Grimm fairy tales and stories like those. Always getting the facts wrong." He seemed to lose his appetite as he threw the half-bitten pizza into the box. His gaze was directed at the swell of her belly and she had the urge to pull her tank top more firmly around it.

"You hated it…because of your daughter," she surmised. He snorted, disgruntled.

"I hated Wonderland long before…what happened to separate me from Grace. The mushrooms smell funny, you grow and shrink nonstop, the hedges swallow humans if you get too close, and the Queen of Hearts chops off your head if you steal her tarts. A natural trip to that place of amusement you people enjoy…Seven Flags."

"Six Flags," she corrected him. He must have realized that his voice had raised several notes since he winced at her low tone and settled back uncomfortably in his chair. He anxiously raked a hand through his unkempt hair.

"You're a mother, right? You of all people should know what it's like to be separated from your child."

Abruptly, Jefferson scraped his chair back and went to stand solemnly by the window. In the glass, she could make out his reflection and the way he absently looked out at the sleeping town without really seeing it. Oh, he must be doing this on purpose. He was making her feel sorry for him.

With his back turned the way it was, she had a good chance of reaching the door. But she found her feet disobeying and walking over to his side. He never glanced back at her, but the tensing of his muscles told her he knew she was there.

"Yeah, I know what it's like to be separated from your kid. It can make you feel like…like you're losing your mind," she offered softly and traced a finger along his telescope. It was aimed in the direction of the house where "Grace" lived.

"I am not losing my mind," he roared, whirling around to face her head-on. The gun quivered in his grasp, his free fist curling by his side. "I am not crazy! This is real." She held up her hands in defense and bumped into the telescope.

"Maybe it is," she agreed. Hope flashed faintly across his face. "If what you say is true, then that means the woman in the other room is my mother. And my father is a confused man and a singer in _Archie and the Crickets. _And my husband is Rumpelstiltskin."

Out of nowhere, Jefferson burst into a fit of giggles. Emma eyed him with concern. _It's official—he's lost it. He's having a breakdown. He's jumped off the deep end. _

"What's so funny?" Impatiently, she tapped her foot. He regained his senses, if he ever had any.

"Oh, nothing. It's just…if you think the pawnbroker is a topic for discussion, you should have seen him in the Enchanted Forest. Try waking up to that every morning. I doubt you would have married him then." Emma narrowed her eyes in warning as Jefferson was privy to a private joke.

"And why is that?" He held up two fingers in front of her face.

"Two words: leather pants." Emma's brow furrowed as she tried to picture Gold in leather pants, stalking about the house. _Nope, I don't see it. This guy must have reached his breakdown. It must take one incredible imagination to picture Gold in tight, restricting, all-revealing leather pants. _

"Maybe I'm the kind of girl who likes that sort of thing," she returned boldly. Jefferson stopped to give her an interested once-over. "And…maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to open myself up more. If I want magic, I need to start believing. That's what the Disney commercials say."

Now Jefferson was nodding vigorously and his ebony eyes glinted in the light. He was growing excited.

"You're…you're going to help me? You can get it to work?" She dared to take a step closer, their clothing close to brushing.

"I can try. But…" She purposely shifted her gaze to the open pizza box. Her stomach grumbled demandingly. "Can I have some pizza first?"

Jefferson must have been sucked into her words more than she realized, for he smiled easily. A hand reached out and caressed her blonde hair back from her shoulder. She bit her tongue and forced her eyes to stay locked with his, not swiping that hand away from her skin.

"Of course. You need your energy," he said. He turned toward the pizza box and instantly Emma moved, collapsing the telescope. "Honestly, Emma, those leather pants are nothing special. I guarantee if you met me first, you'd never choose him over me—"

With all the strength she could muster, she drove the telescope into the side of his head. Both he and the pizza tumbled to the floor, lifeless.

"Crazy hat-wearing sugarholic."

…..

Emma's adrenaline was pumping on overload as she raced into the hallway, having just whacked Jefferson clean over the head with his telescope.

She was fairly certain he'd wake up, but she hoped it wouldn't be for long. She doubted he could come out any madder than he already was, but this was a funny world they were living in.

As she passed the Sugar Closet, her hand shot out and tugged on the doorknob, unleashing the avalanche of sweets into the hall behind her. Insurance, in case he somehow did come running after her.

Mary Margaret was right where she'd left her, but then Emma hadn't expected her to go very far. If she had miraculously escaped those tight bonds, Emma would advertise Mary Margaret as the next Houdini. _Ladies and gentleman, neither bonds nor bars can hold this woman! Prepare to be amazed!_

Immediately, Emma wrestled with the cloth securing Mary Margaret's mouth. This was a piece of cake. She would untie Mary Margaret, they would escape this funhouse and Regina wouldn't win. And if Jefferson tried to stop them, she was armed. Pregnant lady with a gun.

"It's alright. We're going to get out of here," Emma murmured reassuring words to Mary Margaret, who was flailing like a fish to be free of the ties that bound her to the chair. There was only so fast her fingers could work out the knots.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a collision in the hallway and a grunt of pain. Jefferson must have tripped over his Skittles.

"Not my Twix! My Starburst! _My Sour Patch Kids!"_ Emma's heart picked up pace as her fingers scrambled over the knots around Mary Margaret's wrist. _One more knot…almost there…the bunny is coming out of its hole…_ "No one wastes my sugar and gets away with it!"

"Emma, look out!" Mary Margaret shrieked and startled Emma, breaking her concentration.

Swiveling around with the gun, Emma prepared to face Jefferson, but it was too late. In a dark blur, his body tackled hers to the ground and she landed sharply on her stomach. An intense jolt of pain shot up from her abdomen to her chest, making her gasp as she lay twisted beneath his body.

Ignoring the discomfort, Emma launched her elbow into his jaw, knocking him off her. Spying the gun a few feet away, she crawled to it. But his hands were fast, locking around her legs and dragging her backward across the carpeted floor. _Ooh, ooh, carpet burn!_

Emma squirmed underneath him, struggling to force the weight of his body off her or at least roll onto her back so as to avoid the increasing discomfort in her belly. This kind of position couldn't be good for her unborn child.

Staring up at him, his hands flying to her throat, she noted the wild rage smoldering in his dark eyes. Something on his neck caught her attention and she saw that a crude scar encircled his neck. _And here I assumed the phrase 'don't lose your head' was a figure of speech. God, I hope that's costume make-up. _

Wresting a handful of her blonde hair, Jefferson dragged Emma roughly to her feet and shoved her away. She crashed into a table, but righted herself quickly, holding the edges of the table for support. Her breath came in quick gasps as her eyes roved the room for the gun.

Except Jefferson was holding the gun and pointing it at her.

Fluidly, he bent to retrieve his fallen hat and placed it atop his head, a dangerous smile creeping along his lips. _His head must be cold. It's drafty in here._

"Off with his head," he muttered, more to himself than to her. Before he could potentially pull the trigger, a small flicker of movement shifted behind Jefferson, followed by a tremendous roar.

"_Not my friend, you lunatic!"_ Mary Margaret shouted at the top of her lungs, careening a cricket bat into Jefferson's ribs.

Emma watched with sheer amazement as Mary Margaret readily defended her, driving the bat into Jefferson's side repeatedly. _Look what you did now, Jefferson. She's unleashed her inner Babe Ruth. You know how much cocoa it's going to take for her to return to normal?_

Jefferson stumbled backward and the falter provided Mary Margaret enough time to raise her foot and kick their attacker straight through the window. Glass shattered as he fell into open air, vanishing from view. Dazed, Mary Margaret dropped the cricket bat as if waking up from sleep-walking.

Together, they rushed to the window and peered out. All that was left of Jefferson was the hat, the silky inside facing the sky as it sat on the ground.

Emma's brow furrowed with puzzlement as she scanned the rest of the yard. _I bet if we take the car and drive down the hill, we'll see him running. There's no way he got sucked into a hat. That story wouldn't even sell at the bar. _

Emma met Mary Margaret's eyes, which were widening in her pale face.

"Since when are you a badass?"

…..

The overcast sky greeted Mary Margaret and Emma as they dashed out of Jefferson's hotel-sized house not five minutes after Mary Margaret round-house kicked him out of a window. The clouds grew brighter as the sun's rays threatened to break through, a warning of the precious time that had slipped away thanks to a hat-loving maniac.

_I just hope Gold managed to survive the night without me after blowing up my phone. Bet he doesn't mind snuggling with the dog now._

Emma herself was on Cloud Nine, her veins pumping with adrenaline as they rounded the corner to the spot where Jefferson's body should have been. All that was left was the hat, nothing else. Her mind raced so fast that her body was numb—there must have been some discomfort from the way Jefferson tackled her to the ground, but she had yet to slow down and feel it.

Mary Margaret seemed as weary as she was, especially after her unexpected takedown. _This is the woman that ventured through a storm to ensure that a dove would not end up a loner the rest of its little life. I was right; she has been watching one too many Karate Kid movies. _

It was only after she convinced Mary Margaret to return to the station with her that she noticed the time. It was almost eight o'clock.

"The arraignment," Emma gasped as she stared into the distance at the town clock.

The black hands were seven minutes away from declaring it eight o'clock and would ultimately seal Mary Margaret's fate. Getting off this hill and reaching the heart of Storybrooke and the station would take up nearly that. Guess it was time to break a few rules of the road. When in doubt, drive like Leroy.

"Get in."

Emma leaped over the hood of the car—she'd always wanted to do that. Or, at least she tried to do it and nearly tumbled to the ground. _Funny. It looks so easy in spy movies. Show-offs._

She wrenched open her door when she realized that Mary Margaret was transfixed in the same spot. How could she just stand there? Or was she still thinking about running? Emma gaped openly at her.

"Mary, come on! We have seven…no, wait. Six. We have six minutes until the arraignment! At this rate, we'll need a flying carpet to get there in time!" Mary's lips parted in horror, but Emma was too flustered to notice. Leaning into the car, she revved up the engine.

"Emma," Mary Margaret breathed, her voice slightly shaky.

Emma turned the key again, but the Bug moaned and stalled_. Come on, work! Now's not the time to be lazy! Stupid Bug. No, wait. I didn't mean that, Sunshine! Work! Please?_

"If you're not there on time, Regina will win and it'll be impossible to prove you're innocent. Hell, you'll be a fugitive in that case. Is that what you want?"

Emma pounded her fist on the wheel. She popped her head back up to check on Mary's progress—still frozen and barely listening. Maybe all that lost energy from kicking Jefferson out a window was catching up to her.

"Emma…" She tried again, her green eyes glistening with…water? Was she crying?

_Oh, please don't tell me she's feeling bad about kicking him out of a window. Next she'll want to hold a memorial service for Jefferson, the hat-wearing maniac that held us hostage. She'll even say a few nice words. He was an eccentric man with a nice collection of hats and a taste for M&M pizza. He will be missed by the Hershey factory. _

_The world could use a few more Mary Margarets; just not right now! _

"And then Gold's chances of a 100% success rate will be ruined. Considering you're his first and only client, you'll either make him or break him. And I don't think he can handle being more broken than he already is. Oh, and I'll never hear the end of it," she continued ranting, ignoring Mary's breakdown.

One last time she tried to start the engine while the town clock warned five minutes—_please work, please work, please work—_and the Bug roared to life. _Yes! And only five minutes to go! At least I managed to use the last of my battery to call Henry and tell him to stall Regina. Last I heard, there was a lizard in her shower. And he dumped all his shoes down the stairs in hopes that she would trip._

"Emma," Mary Margaret murmured a third time. Her face was ashen and her lips were trembling. Irritation overwhelmed Emma's nerves and she jolted up, groaning into the air.

"_What?_ What could possibly be more important than getting to the arraignment on time?"

Mary Margaret sucked in a ragged breath, her face contorted with grief. _Honestly, we can say a prayer for Jefferson on the way there. If his hat survived, I'm sure he's limping somewhere around town. Serves him right for faking one in the first place!_

"You're bleeding."

Instinctively, Emma's hand flew to her face and neck, but she felt no tell-tale warmth of blood. Nothing terribly painful as far as she knew and the adrenaline was slowly decreasing in her system, the discomfort seeping in waves. Mary Margaret shook her head and pointed at something lower on Emma's body.

"No, not there. _There."_ Emma followed the direction of her finger down to her legs.

And there on her inner thigh was a streak of blood staining through her jeans.

…

Even though he was exhausted enough to fall off his bike while driving, August bucked it up and searched around town for Emma one last time. It was either that or knock on Gold's door and sadly inform him that he failed to find his pregnant wife. That would mean the risk of Gold lashing out at the nearest object, which was him.

He could do without the extra splinters.

_Ah, great. I forgot the pizza, _he thought bitterly, winding up the hill. A sound reached his ears, making him slow a bit. Moaning.

When he talked with that man on this hill, he sensed there was something off about his character. Living alone on this hill could be quite lonely. What if he had known where Emma was and lied about it? Lies were spun so easily and always proved to be tricky for him. No doubt his nose would shoot out once this curse broke.

The moaning steadily increased the higher he drove. If it wasn't that creepy guy, then…_Oh, please don't tell me Emma happened to reunite with her husband already. What ever happened to hanging up the stethoscope? _

Rounding the curve, the mansion came into view and he followed the sound of the moaning to the side of the house. The first person he saw, appearing rather frazzled with her hair sticking up, was Mary Margaret. Her hands were pressed to her lips in horror. And…was she crying? Did a pigeon smack into a window or something?

Cutting the engine, his attention was drawn to Emma. As he suspected, she was the one moaning, but there was no male figure in sight. She was leaning heavily on the hood of her yellow Bug with her eyes squeezed shut and a hand rubbing her belly. Stomachache? Or….

No.

No way.

Anything but that.

"August," Mary Margaret breathed, knees weak with relief. The meek schoolteacher rushed over and grabbed ahold of his arm, steering him in Emma's direction. For such a petite woman, she had a lot of inner strength. "Thank God you're here. Emma needs help."

At the mention of her name, Emma's eyelids snapped open. He could read the pain in her eyes—whether it was physical or emotional, he couldn't tell. Stubborn as any bull, she tried to straighten herself up and shake off the vulnerability plaguing her. She shook her head.

"I do not need help. You need to get to the arraignment on time," she insisted, stumbling across the hood of her Bug. August's brain had yet to stop fizzling long enough for him to utter any intelligible word.

"What is going on, Emma?" His tone implied that he wasn't moving until he got his answer. It wouldn't be that much of a challenge since his wooden legs were locking again.

For some reason, his gaze dropped slightly lower on Emma's body and something caught his eye. She was bleeding. There was blood seeping through her jeans. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…_Before Emma could even begin to explain what was becoming dreadfully obvious, his arms flailed in the air and he clutched at his brown hair in bewilderment.

"No! No, no, no! Wait! Just wait a minute! You cannot do this to me now!" Air whistled thinly through his lips and he waved his hands in front of his face. Was it hot out here or was it just him?

"It's not exactly like I can hit the pause button!"

Another moan escaped Emma's throat and her skin paled a few shades. And August was on the verge of freaking out. On the verge? Hell, he was sky-diving over the edge! Pacing back and forth, he could have grinded a trench into the cement.

"No, Emma! You don't seem to get it! My life is hanging in the balance right now! If your husband figures out that I was with you while…this…was happening…" His words trailed off as he weighed the realistic consequences.

_That man will use me for firewood! I can't breathe! What are you supposed to do if you can't breathe? Aren't you supposed to put your head between your knees? I could try that…no, I'll look stupid. But I can't breathe! _

And Emma was the one supposed to be freaking out. Yet, she was watching him with mild concern.

"Then, don't tell him. You had nothing to do with this, anyway," she gasped. To any other person, it might have been a reasonable option. August whirled around, blue-green eyes wide as saucers.

"Easy for you to say! That guy knows everything! He has eyes everywhere! If you buy an Apollo bar from Mr. Clark's, there'll be a note waiting on your car requesting you to split half of it. I'll bet we're being watched right this very second!"

August frantically ducked and studied the bushes and surrounding trees, as though expecting a blinking camera to be hidden there. Maybe that's what Gold did in his basement—replayed the tapes that were recorded of the town's citizens.

"Right now, it's a few minutes until eight and Mary Margaret needs to get back to the station. Take your bike and _get her there,"_ Emma demanded through her clenched teeth.

Mary Margaret immediately whimpered and planted her feet firmly on the ground. A bulldozer would have to come along and move her. Strange, but that fiercely defiant look in her otherwise friendly eyes reminded him sincerely of Snow White.

"No, Emma. I'm not leaving you here alone when—" Emma silenced her friend's worried protests with a thundering fist to the hood of her car.

"Mary, there's no time! I'll be fine, just get to the station! _Please!_ I can't lose you, too._"_

Maybe it was the desperation in Emma's voice or the pleading that would never have been there before, but Mary Margaret's resolve shattered. Warm water welled up in her eyes. Drifting close to Emma, she carefully wrapped her arms around her friend and trapped her in a comforting embrace, whispering _'sorry'_ over and over. Tilting her head back, Emma bit down on her lip and fought to maintain her control as Mary Margaret practically sobbed on her shoulder.

Stepping back, Mary Margaret morosely accepted the helmet from August and buckled it on her head. She wiped the fallen tears from her eyelids and gave a ragged sigh.

"And what are you planning to do? Drive yourself to the hospital?" August stared skeptically at Emma while she circled the Bug to the driver's side, a hand shaking against her abdomen. From the looks of it, that was exactly the idea running through Emma's head.

"Why not? If I can handle people popping up in my backseat while I'm driving, I'm sure this will be a piece of cake," she said, even as she gripped the handle of the door in the onslaught of another moan. Her knees buckled and her head rested against the car.

August rushed over to her and offered to help her to her feet, but she shoved him away. So much for chivalry. Catching her breath, she used the car for support. He kneaded his forehead while struggling to come up with a game plan.

"Emma…just stay here! I'll come back for you," he assured her.

Hastily, he jumped onto his bike with Mary Margaret straddled behind him. Uncertainly, she secured her arms around his waist. Emma eyed the Bug, then Mary Margaret, then him.

"August—"

"I'll come back for you," he repeated strongly before gunning the engine and tearing down the hill at lightning speed.

The last thing he saw of Emma was her body collapsing beside the Bug, that trembling hand caressing her belly in circles. He tried to slow the pounding of his heart, racing with the reminder of the suffering he would inevitably endure.

….

Gold returned from dealing with Regina with a dour scowl on his face.

That woman was enough to make his ears bleed for days on end. But she kept on digging her grave and being indebted to him—predictable as she was—and so he knew it would benefit him in the long run.

_Think positive,_ he encouraged his tired mind. He had been up half the night searching around town and then waiting for Emma to come home before finally falling asleep on that awful couch. His back was tight and stiff, his leg throbbed something fierce and was in desperate need of massaging…

Oh, yes. He was supposed to be thinking positive. _At least Emma has agreed to come back home. And painting the nursery is halfway done. And Mary Margaret hasn't been struck by lightning at the border…_

_And I still have a few aces hiding in my sleeve. Too bad for Regina. _

Mary Margaret timidly glanced up from the newspaper she was pretending to read, the headlines displaying her alarmed mug shot. Both versions looked unhappy. Her green eyes were bloodshot and shifted to the spot over his shoulder.

"She's gone," he assured her, motioning his hand aside to calm her. Mary Margaret still appeared rather frightened and uncertain. A common response to his presence, save for Emma and Henry. Speaking of his darling wife…"Where is Emma?"

Mary Margaret nervously laid the paper down on the mattress and seemed dazed for a minute. He was surprised the Queen made no notice about Emma's absence. Probably dubbed it as a stroke of fortune before realizing Mary Margaret was once more behind bars.

Gold despised the silence that hung between them.

Ignoring the shooting pains in his limp, he strode within inches of the bars. It was then that he registered Mary Margaret's quivering shoulders and the grief stricken across her pale face. She tried to speak, but her voice came out hopelessly raw and so she cleared it before starting again.

"Emma…she had to go to the hospital," Mary Margaret whispered, her words brittle.

Her voice was practically lost in the onslaught of a sob. Gold's lungs squeezed, the word _hospital_ spinning endlessly around his mind. His first concern, apart from Emma herself, was for the welfare of their baby.

Breathing hitched, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the bars until they shone white and glared down at Storybrooke's little felon. In a minute, he was ready to break through these bars himself and shake the information out of her. She turned her dark head away to avoid his searing gaze.

"What has happened to her? _Answer me,"_ he growled when Mary Margaret merely huddled in distraught, a hand pressed to her lips. A tear escaped from underneath her eyelids and slid down her rosy cheek. Gold's throat constricted, every second torturous.

"She…Jefferson, the man who kidnapped us. He tackled Emma to the ground and fought with her. Afterward, she was bleeding…"

Mary Margaret's hands flew to her abdomen as if she were the one carrying a child. No, she was telling him where Emma had been bleeding because she could not find the words to voice it aloud. His eyes locked on her hand, trembling above her abdomen, the blood running ice cold in his veins.

"I'm so sorry…"

Mary Margaret's words were tinged with a heavy, wracking sob. Gold eyed her blankly as she shook on the edge of the mattress, drowning unabashed in her sorrows while he refused to admit the truth.

Perhaps he was still on the couch, sleeping and having a nightmare. Emma would come home, her belly still tender with child, and shake him awake. This could not be real.

Mary Margaret sniffled and tried to gain control of her senses as she understood that it was not computing in his mind. All he could do was stand by the bars and clench his fingers around them for support. Everything was intensely cold and sharp, yet his mind was numb.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated weakly, her green eyes radiating pity for him.

Pity should be the last thing he earned from an innocent schoolteacher accused of murder. He knew the words were coming, spelled out for him, but he did not want to hear it. And yet his ears were perked anyway, anticipating the truth.

"I think…I think she's having a miscarriage."

….

_**Credit for the idea of Hatman goes to DaesGatling. **_

_**Thank you for all those that suggested the M&M/candy pizza in your reviews. I was thinking something along these lines, anyway. Great minds think alike, huh? **_

_**Big thanks go out to all the reviewers—DaesGatling, Musicalfan2012, EToTheSecondPower, nuckythompson, Tizmine, sbcarri, Huntress4455, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, brontegirl89, 33ewdw, JessJess76, Sweetangelz18, pinkcrazyness, RandomWriter101, discotimelord, gopher101, ParanormalMoonlight, Mira Severus-Sirius Black-Snape, helikesitheymikey, and SwanQueen4055. **_

_**Once more, Happy New Year, everyone!**_


	45. Chapter 45

_You're not going to die, you're not going to die, you're not going to die…_

It was nerve-wracking, waiting for news about Emma.

Whale had taken her in immediately from the moment he pulled up with her on the back of his bike, moaning. The doctor started singing a tune from his one-man show to calm her down until she nearly strangled him. August was told that he would not be allowed to see her until further notice. Further notice probably meant "until Whale gets a new fashionable tie."

Back and forth, August paced in the small waiting room. There was nothing entertaining on the old television hanging from the wall—just a re-run of _General Hospital_. August groaned, wishing he could switch the channel. _I've seen this one already. It's the one where Margie miraculously wakes up the coma guy and starts having an affair with him under his wife's nose as he recovers from amnesia. Boring!_

So, he paced and bit his nails.

One of the nurses kept glancing up at him time and again, convincing him to plunk himself down in a plastic chair to wait. Some of the other nurses murmured to one another and snuck him concerned, pitying looks when they thought he wasn't aware. Probably wondering why he was here and Emma's loving husband was noticeably missing.

Except her husband was coming down the hall right now.

August could hear the distinctive sound of that cane hitting the tiled linoleum floor, growing louder as it came closer. Who else in Storybrooke walked with a cane? Apparently, the nurses heard it, too, since they hushed up pretty fast.

Each tap resounded like a hammer against August's heart. He felt like Jack when the giant has appeared on top of the beanstalk. _Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the wood of a puppet being burned! Where's the golden goose when I need it?_

And then the person in question turned the corner and came swiftly into view. From the rage simmering on his face, he'd heard all there was to hear about Emma's current condition. Those piercing eyes landed on August almost immediately and seemed to burn through to his very soul.

"You," he hissed.

As he marched straight toward him, August jumped to his feet and held his hands before him in defense. Maybe it wasn't too late to reason with him, get the word in before he started suffering. He remembered what Gold had told him when enlisting his help to find Emma._ If anything happens to that baby while she is in your care…I said I wouldn't kill you. I never said I wouldn't make you suffer._

Let the suffering begin.

"Now, wait. Before you take things out of hand, I just want to say I am sorry—"

That was all August managed before that cane shot up and knocked against his jaw. There was a sharp crack and his body crashed into the row of seats behind him, toppling the chairs over. The room spun in various colors and he tasted blood on the inside of his cheek.

August only had a moment's reprieve among the plastic chairs before Gold lifted him up and pinned him against the wall of the waiting room, his cane pressed painfully to his throat. For a guy that was significantly older than Emma—and that was counting the 300 years—he sure was strong and fast.

The room stopped spinning long enough for him to register Gold's furious face looming before him, his teeth bared dangerously. The cane dug into his throat, making him gag. _Code Blue! Code Blue! What's the code for a deranged husband trying to murder someone in a waiting room? Code Gold!_

"You're _sorry?"_ Gold spat out, driving the cane harder. August was sure his eyeballs were popping out right about now. "You took my child from me and you have the audacity to say you're sorry? You will be. You have no idea what the word regret means…yet."

August clawed a hand against the cane desperately as he struggled._ Air! Air! My lungs haven't turned wooden yet! _

Suddenly, the pressure of Gold's hold released him and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. He gasped for breaths and peered up to realize that Gold hadn't released him of his own accord. Whale had pulled him off.

"I was going…to say…sorry…for your loss," August choked out. He dizzily climbed to his feet using the wall for support and rubbed the soreness from his neck. Whale kept a firm arm on Gold's elbow and it was a good thing—obviously, he'd go right back to strangling him if there wasn't someone ready to intervene. "It wasn't my fault! I found her on the hill and she was already losing…your mini-Gold. I took her here, to the hospital. I'm sorry. Ask her if you don't believe me!"

August gestured freely to the hallway branching off to the hospital rooms. Emma would be in one of those rooms, dealing with the aftermath of Whale's treatment. Gold never even glanced away from him. The utter bitterness in his eyes claimed he didn't believe a word August said.

"You're expecting her to lie for you?" August had stopped expecting any form of special treatment from Emma after that rude mistletoe kiss at the Mayor's Christmas party. And now he truthfully shook his head.

"Emma doesn't lie for people that have wronged her." Gold's eyes narrowed threateningly, as if trying to detect some hidden meaning or insinuation underneath those words. August kept a plain face on and prayed he would be able to achieve the art of drinking water by this evening.

"I wish to see my wife," Gold demanded of Whale over his shoulder. It was by no means a request, but an order that was to be filled immediately. August surely didn't want to have to sit next to Emma's unpredictable ticking bomb of a husband while watching _General Hospital._ It made him shudder to think about it. _So, what do you think about Rupert's child going missing while he falls for the maid?_

Whale instructed Gold about the location of his wife's room, though he kept a critical observance of Gold all the way to the hallway. August could barely move from his spot, especially when Gold paused right before leaving him in peace.

"If you had any part in this tragedy—" Gold began. August's eyes lowered to that cane, sturdy in his grip. _Maybe that's what he really uses it for. Intimidation. _ He rubbed his aching jaw.

"You'll give me splinters?" The silence was torturous as he awaited the imp's response. Surprisingly, he snickered, though it was without a smidge of warmth. It was dry and cold, sending a menacing chill through August's wooden legs.

"Splinters? How optimistic of you." And then he went to search for his wife.

August waited until the last of the cane's tapping faded from the hallway before he settled weakly in one of the remaining upright chairs. Whale lingered behind, staring at August with something like odd sympathy. He hoped that Gold had praised Whale's one-man show with good ratings. He'd hate to find out what happened if you failed to provide him with entertainment. _You call that a show? I demand my money's worth, dearie!_

"Would a musical number make you feel better?" August deliberately massaged his already bruised throat, just to make the doctor feel worse.

"I seriously doubt it."

…

Emma's hospital room was the last one on the left. It was dim inside, the shades drawn over the windows to block out the sun. She was sitting up in bed, her hands folded limply in her lap. There was a sour expression on her face, the kind she wore when someone else ate the last cookie in the jar. But there was also a dull flatness to her irises, a distant look that did not please him.

She looked up when he entered, but didn't say a word.

"Emma," he breathed with relief.

He rushed over to her bedside and took her chin in his hand, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. He collapsed into the chair next to the bed and couldn't stop looking at her. He searched for signs that she needed comfort, signs that she was hurting as much as he was. But her face maintained that old angular hardness, unable to be chipped.

"The arraignment? How bad was it?" He scoffed audibly. She was ignoring the heart of the matter on purpose.

"Miss Blanchard informed me of the…." He couldn't even bring himself to say the foul word. It left a bad taste on his tongue. "Judging from your attractive hospital attire, I'd say it's true. Tell me, are those the gowns that open in the back?" Those last words were harsher than he meant it. Emma picked at her hospital gown, as if she just realized it wasn't made of leather.

"You didn't answer my question," she argued.

"Right now, you'll be answering mine," he snapped back. He took a sip of the coffee he'd gotten before coming in here. He foolishly thought it would calm his nerves. The minute the fluid touched his lips, he grimaced. "What kind of coffee do they serve here? Sludge?"

"Is that the first question?" Gold dumped the coffee in the trash bin and gave her a dark look in response to her sarcasm. She didn't apologize. Instead, her eyes matched his sternly, ice cold in their solidness. It was a drastic change from the dullness that had been there a moment ago.

"No. My first question is…whose fault was it?"

Emma shook her head miserably. He had wanted to ask how she was first, but somehow his mouth had betrayed him. Half of his brain was concerned for Emma's well-being, the other half wished to mutilate Jefferson. He simply needed confirmation.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she grumbled. They weren't off to a good start. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Emma, it wasn't—"

"It wasn't our fault, I know. I've had it shoved down my throat ever since I strolled through the damn door," she exclaimed, cutting him off. "Or at least August strolled through the door, carrying me. He tried to pass it off to the nurses as some act of heroism, but I don't think they bought it."

Gold's fingers curled into a fist. _That man carried my wife? No one carries my wife around but me! Oh, he'd better be gone from that waiting room when I leave. _

"Emma—"

"Maybe it's a sign, have you thought of that? Fate. Maybe we just…weren't meant to have that baby—" Before he could control his nerves, he rocketed from the chair.

_"Gods, would you stop?" _

He slammed his cane into the bedrail, making Emma jump. His hand trembled as it clutched his cane and he immediately regretted lashing out. It earned him a swift disapproving glare from his wife. Footsteps hurried down the hall and he cursed under his breath. A nurse appeared in the doorway, her lips pinched in a frown.

"Is there a problem in here?" Gold barely glanced at the woman over his shoulder. As far as he was concerned, she was merely intruding.

"Everything is swell," he roughly shot back. _Oh, yes, dearie. I just adore spending my time in a hospital of my own free will, not because there's a slight traumatic medical problem, _he brutally mocked the nurse in his mind. He listened closely, but she wasn't leaving.

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't asking you," she returned coolly. _That's what I'll say when you claim I'm unfairly upping your rent. I don't have to ask you, either. _He could tell she was looking at Emma because Emma wasn't looking at him. She scowled down at the rumpled bed sheets covering her lap.

"I'm fine. I'm more than capable of handling my husband's PMS moments," she barked. The nurse lingered in the doorway for another minute and then her heavy footsteps bounded down the hallway. Exhaling heavily, he forced his body to fold into the chair again.

"PMS moments? You're comparing me…to Regina?" Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. How could she be so…cruel? No one had PMS moments like Regina—every time she experienced a PMS moment, something dropped dead. Oh, there went another tree and no one was around to hear it over Regina's rage.

"You have a better name for it?" He hung his head and rolled his cane between his palms. Being here, acknowledging this unfortunate turn of events, was grating on his nerves. Bloody raw, they were.

"Why must you be so…damn stubborn? You are in denial, Emma," he stressed.

She played with a loose piece of thread on the sheets, curling it around her finger tightly. She released it only to repeat the process all over again. Perhaps she was imagining that it was Jefferson's scarf. Gold knew he wore them to hide that ghastly scar on his neck, but he always claimed Jefferson tried too hard to resemble a male model. Vain idiot.

"I am not in denial," she replied, tugging the thread. "I know exactly what happened. I just…"

She stopped and that dull look returned to her eyes. She couldn't find the appropriate words for her condition. He understood it, that denial. He wondered how long it took her to realize their baby was in critical danger on that hill.

"You won't let yourself feel it," he filled in the blank for her. Denial in its plainest form. The absence or neglect of feeling, numbness. He felt the very same after losing Bae in that vortex. "Emma, you can't pretend it doesn't hurt. The more you put it off, the worse it will be when you face it. Losing a child—"

"Sucks, I know," she intercepted.

"Yes, it does," he agreed sharply. She had given Henry up by choice and it did hurt her now to some degree, but she never bore the agony of losing a child forever despite her wishes. It wasn't the same. "You are afraid to hurt." Emma must have heard his words, but she didn't offer an answer. He willed his blood to stop roaring in his ears. "Was it the hatter?"

Emma's brow furrowed. She lifted her head to glance at him questioningly.

"How do you know about him? A friend of yours?" Acid dripped from her voice and she was inches away from sneering. His fingers tightened around his cane until the knuckles turned white in their effort. His hair cascaded across his face, shielding his eyes from her view.

"An acquaintance. Unlike the six year olds in our town, I'm not afraid to scope out the house on the hill. In any case, I know August found you there. I enlisted his help to find you when you failed to come home. _Well?" _He demanded an answer to his question. The wince under Emma's eye and the way she grasped the sheets roughly gave him his answer. "I'll kill him," he whispered the deadly promise.

"And end up in jail for murder? What the hell is that going to solve for either of us? It's bad enough Mary Margaret was framed for Kathryn's murder. You two might as well do the Cell Block Tango together." Gold never particularly learned that dance. And it wouldn't be fun with Mary Margaret always bouncing around.

"It's better than pretending it never happened," he retorted. He waited for the whiplash of Emma's anger, but she merely waves it off with a flourish of her hand.

"Doesn't matter. There's nothing you can do. He's gone."

Gold seriously doubted that. There was no magic available in this world…yet. The hatter couldn't have possibly hopped into his hat and gone off flying in Neverland or skipping down the Yellow Brick Road. There was only so far in Storybrooke he could run and only so places he could hide. The only thing to do was take Emma home safely and lie in wait for the mole to pop his head back up.

"He'll be back," he muttered confidently. There was no telling of the sorry state Jefferson would be in when he returned.

…

The drive home from the hospital mirrored the day that Emma had officially moved into his house. They had to stop at Mary Margaret's apartment so that Emma could collect her things. On the way home, she was solemn and distant, staring out the window at the passing houses. There was nothing they wanted to say since neither of them was ready to talk about it.

Too bad he wasn't the _it'll be alright_ type. But if he was, Emma would probably gouge out his eyes.

In awkward silence, they lumbered into the house. The minute they opened the door, a familiar furry face bounded out of the kitchen and raced toward them. Emma bent and caught the puppy in her arms. Goldie's pink tongue shot out and smothered her faces with kisses. Lucky rascal.

"She missed you," he murmured. He averted his gaze from their happy moment. Emma nearly fell back from her haunches as the dog tackled her. Goldie even sniffed her belly, as if the thing somehow sensed that something was missing from her womb.

"I missed you," Emma said as he passed by her kneeling form. It made his heart skip a beat, until he realized she was talking to the dog. Of course. The anger, pain, and ache brewed deeply within him like a thick black poison and all the dog had to do to earn her attention was lick her face off.

He didn't even excuse himself, really—he started up the stairs. He heard Emma wrestle the dog off her body and he noticed her straighten up from the corner of his eye. For a fraction of a second, he paused to shift his head but she was concentrating on the white wardrobe in the living room. She was obviously distracted—as well she should after such a tragedy—so he continued on his way.

At first, he wasn't sure where his feet were carrying him until he turned the corner in the hallway and stopped outside the nursery's door. He pressed a palm against it, right above the doorknob. Dare he go inside, submerge himself in the loneliness and broken promise?

It was too tempting to ignore; he was turning the handle.

The room was regrettably a mess. Paint cans scattered the floor. The tarp was crumpled and splotched with drops of blue. Packages that contained the new curtains had yet to be thrown away. The room was below freezing since the balcony door was wide open, but he invited the chill. A rocking crib had been fashioned together in the center of the room, a white one like the crib Snow had kept in anticipation for baby Emma.

Slowly, he edged into the room—a second layer of paint is needed on those walls—and walked toward the crib. Dropping his cane with a clatter, his hands gripped the edges of the crib and he began to rock it. His muscles burned from the pressure his fists applied to it. His veins were thick ropes under his skin. His head bent forward until it hung and he tried to breathe. Breathe through the rage that was poisoning his mind.

_Damn him,_ he growled inside his mind. _Damn Jefferson. Damn that lowly, miserable, hat-jumping cravat-wearing imbecile! When I find him…that scar around his neck will seem like a paper-cut._

He didn't know how long he'd stood there plotting Jefferson's execution. He considered setting fire to his mansion, punching holes in his hats, throwing his telescope out a window. In the end, he scratched those ideas off the list.

Perhaps he would set him up as a little bowling pin and send a bowling ball his way. He would even invite Archie. Or he could turn him into a disco ball that would hang over their heads while he danced with Emma.

He never heard her follow him upstairs. He wasn't even aware of her presence until she made a low _hmm_ noise. When he stiffly glanced her way, she was standing in the doorway and examining the room.

"So, this is the nursery," she said flatly. He didn't bother answering her. What could he possibly say now? Turn around and yell _surprise?_ She took a few steps into the room. "I see what you're…were planning to do. Strange. The colors, balcony, and crib…kind of feel familiar."

His eyes closed as he waited patiently, barely breathing in through his lips. Was the end to come this abruptly? Was this a cruel trick of fate? Or a way to make amends for their tragedy? Lose a baby, get a believer?

Emma snapped her fingers, as if remembering something that had stubbornly eluded her.

"It's because of Henry's book. There's a picture that looks a bit similar. How typical of him. In that case, the unicorn mobile in your shop would have been a nice touch for the crib," she concluded.

Typical, indeed. He didn't have the fortune of the curse being broken because Emma refused to believe. Just like she refused to acknowledge that tragedy that currently burdened her. It could have been the light, the shining beacon in an otherwise dismal place. But, no.

Of course not.

That would be ridiculous. Somehow, it was another thing that made his blood boil. His anger was a volcano waiting to explode…and finally it did.

The crib continued rocking under his fingers. His hands clenched the bars of the crib so tightly that they shook. The frame rattled as his teeth ground together. In one violent move, he shoved the crib away. It toppled onto its side, but that was not enough.

Striding to the windows, he tore the flowing white curtains down and ripped them apart. Useless now. Retrieving his cane, he drove it into the side of the crib repeatedly, yelling something even his ears could not catch. Once he got going, he couldn't stop, even when a tell-tale cracking sound erupted from his cane.

"Stop," Emma shouted, but he ignored her. This felt….so…._good._ To release the anger, to feel it drain from his body. "Gold, _stop!"_

This time, Emma caught his cane as he prepared to drive it into the crib again. He wrestled for it, but was faced with Emma's surprising strength.

Tugging his cane back, they fell together to the floor, rolling about the tarp and knocking over the paint cans. First he was full-on straddling Emma and then she was the one straddling him, trying to grab the cane from his hands. His legs wrapped around her waist and urged her over onto her back. He pinned the cane down, her arms stretched above her head. _Checkmate._

For a long time, they just looked at each other, their bodies flush against one another. Breathing heavily, he drowned in her green eyes and realized just how much of a precarious situation she was in. His grip loosened on the cane, his hands sliding down her arms as something hard inside him broke.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. All he could do was sink his head onto her shoulder and breathe in her scent as the pain wracked his muscles. She released the cane and threaded her fingers through his hair as his body shuddered. His eyes were moist with water. It took him a moment to understand that he was crying.

"I know," she said into his ear. Emma continued to comfort him through his breakdown, her fingers massaging his back. Her lips brushed his cheek with a small kiss. "I miss her, too."

…..

Dinner was awkwardly quiet that night between them. Both of them stared down at their plates, lost in their thoughts.

Gold silently seethed as his fork scraped along the edge of his plate, missing the lumps of food. He was making a mental list of how best to kill Jefferson. _Booby-trap his car with firecrackers…chain him down and dangle a Snickers bar just out of reach…sic Red on him during a full moon when the curse breaks…_

Tentatively, he lifted his eyes and observed Emma from across the table. Like him, she had her head bent, her golden hair shielding her cheeks. Even so, he could sense the hurt and fury channeling through her veins. That fork clenched in her fist could be used as a weapon just as easily as it could stab through a piece of meat.

He knew she was hurting deeply inside, no matter how much she tried to ignore it or deny it. Emma had been independent in the world for so long that she had come to assume she needed to stay on guard and strong, tough as nails. Really, she was unsure how to be vulnerable—she was probably curled up in a ball inside her mind, begging for a shoulder to cry on.

If anyone reserved the right to plant firecrackers in Jefferson's car, it would be her.

"Emma—" All he had time for was her name.

Abruptly, her fork clattered on her plate. Scraping back her chair, she stood up and brought her dishes to the sink. They were dumped violently and then she started what she liked to call 'angry dishwashing.' _Time to buy a new supply of plates,_ he mused as he rose to join her at the sink.

He debated on touching her, but he was afraid that would only earn him a fork where a fork did not belong.

"Emma, dear, I know you're hurting. Trust me, I would enjoy nothing more than to hunt Jefferson down and string him up by his fancy scarf. You don't have to take it out on the dishes. Mr. Clark has been asking what we do with them."

The sink started overflowing with foamy white suds, but she paid no mind to it. She furiously scrubbed a plate that was chipped on the corner. He reached around her to shut the water off before they got involved in a game of _Where's Emma?_ She huffed and dropped the broken plate in the sink.

"I told you I'm fine," she snapped over her shoulder. She turned around in the perimeter of his arms and pouted. He tapped a finger on her nose.

"Oh, no…are my eyes deceiving me? Or did your nose grow an inch? Quick, find the measuring tape." Emma was in no mood for quips. She slapped his hand away. Something loosened in her fierce expression, though. To his relief, she did not seem as quick to deny her distress.

Fuming, she raked a hand through her messy hair and he took the chance to step closer. His hands gripped the sink on either side of her waist, effectively trapping her. And then she broke.

"I know I'm supposed to be the Sheriff and therefore uphold the well-being of every citizen no matter how crazy, but is it such a terrible thing if I hope that he gets struck by lightning or run over by a car while crossing the road?"

Considering the fact that he just made plans to rig Jefferson's car for the 4th of July, he hardly saw a problem with that. However, he didn't like the dark fire smoldering in her eyes. He sincerely hoped Emma would not make the mistake of resorting to drastic measures to ease the anger or ensure revenge. And he couldn't very well advise her otherwise because that would be hypocrisy in its worst. He beat a man for a chipped cup, after all.

"He'll get his comeuppance, I assure you," he vowed, though vaguely. Alarm spiraled across her face and she studied him suspiciously. He didn't bother informing her of what was already going through her mind: that it was likely he would be the one to locate Jefferson and settle the score.

"Gold…" There was a warning note in her voice. It only sparked up his anger in return. He pointed a finger accusingly at her.

"No. Don't you dare. Why should I be berated when that man took our child away? It's only fair. Are you telling me you'd pardon him if he dared to show his face again?" Granted, he didn't want her jabbing Jefferson in the eye, but the last thing he wanted was for her to forgive and forget.

Emma stared down at his finger defiantly.

"Look, I want to take a metal bat to his head, too! Doesn't mean I'm actually planning on staking out his house and rampaging through the town like Godzilla. I have too much to lose yet. The fact is, I have to protect Mary Margaret and Henry. If I get fired because I happened to knock his head off his shoulders in a fit of rage, then Mary Margaret goes down, too. I don't have time to wallow in my grief."

Emma forced her body through the barrier of his arms. Spinning, he caught her by the elbow, refusing to let her storm off.

"If it was Henry—" For once, sheer vulnerability dominated Emma's features as he played the son card.

"Don't," she lashed back at him. She tried to pull away, but he maintained his solid grip.

"If it was…would you kill him?" Emma's lips flattened in a thin line and she didn't answer right away. It was a difficult answer for her to give.

On the one hand, Emma was so much different than the reclusive woman Henry had first brought to Storybrooke in the dead of the night. She had earnestly grown to cherish Henry as her very own, even fighting back hard against Regina in concern for his safety. The answer, then, should have been _yes._

On the other hand, despite the hard-edged rollercoaster quality of her life that seemed stuck on dropping down a winding fall and the grisly misfortunes she had to endure, Emma had emerged as a good soul. Not as pure as her mother, but still cut from the same cloth. She was the product of true love, after all. Emma battled on the side of good, protected those that were far weaker.

As Henry often put it, good must always play by the rules. Evil never did. Emma should not mingle in dark deeds.

The turmoil reflected sharply on her face, knitting her brows in grim understanding of this double-edged sword.

"I would do anything for the sake of my son's happiness," she vowed. Even those were dangerous words; they resembled the promise he'd made for Bae's well-being once upon a time. She took her arm back. "I think…I want to sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight."

His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he registered what she was telling him. This was a defense mechanism—this was Emma distancing herself from anything that would invite that wretched ache. Even him.

"Emma, please. Don't do this." He didn't want to risk losing her now, not when he had just gotten her back. She was standing in front of him before he realized she moved and she traced her fingers along his jaw, forcing him to look at her. Regret plagued her eyes.

"I just want a night to sleep on it and I can't do that if I know you're lying wide awake next to me, planning Jefferson's demise. Plus, if I wake up in the middle of the night, chances are I'll be sleepwalking and mistake you for Jefferson. And then I'll attack you with the pillow yelling '_Die, die, die!'"_

The corners of his lips teased upward and he fought to control it. Emma was asking for space, that was all. A way to ease her mind.

"I do value my pillow," he gruffly admitted.

Gently, he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. She sank into his arms and he buried his lips in her the curtain of her hair as he held her close. Over her shoulder, his palm was trembling and he clenched it into a tight fist. _I swear, when I find that hatter, I will kill him. I will do it for both of us. _

…..

He couldn't sleep.

The clock ticked frustratingly on the bedside table. All he did was toss and turn and glare relentlessly at the wall in the darkness until his eyelids hurt from staying open for so long. Brooding over the thoughts that charged through his mind, that's what he was reduced to doing.

It was freezing in the bedroom, but he had the urge to kick the blankets off. Goldie's nails clicked in the kitchen downstairs. The faucet in the bathroom was dripping—he could hear it: _drip-drip-drip._ It was bothering him like the tiny pea that bothered the princess from the tale _Princess and the Pea. _

And he was hopelessly wide awake.

A footfall in the hallway garnered his attention. He strained his ears to listen as he stared blankly at the wall. The bedroom door creaked open slowly and the footsteps padded into the room. It had taken her until nearly midnight.

Her weight made the mattress groan as she slipped quietly into bed beside him. The covers were pulled over her body, the cloth of her tank top rubbing against his back. He counted to ten in his head, letting her get comfortable. Rolling over, he gradually fit his body against her warmth. His hand swept the hair away from her face before caressing her shoulder and then down to her hip.

"Get lonely, darling?" He laid his head on her shoulder and listened to her breathing. It had been awhile since he'd last heard that peaceful lullaby.

"I got cold," she said. He responded with a low _mhm_, calling her bluff. In any case, she lounged back in the comfort of his arms until the back of her head nestled against his chest. "Gold?" He stroked her hip, waiting. "That girl you used to know, the child…" He knew she was purposely skirting around saying the name. "What happened to her?"

He closed his eyes and wished she had not asked. Not tonight. It would not be pleasant for her or nurse her wounds. Suddenly, he was transported back 300 years and was almost convinced he could hear her father's anguished cries all over again in the wake of that red sunset.

"She….died at a young age," he stated unemotionally, brutally honest because Emma would accept no less. And before she could ask about the circumstances, he rushed forward with: "Pneumonia. It took a turn for the worse. She was 15." He slid his arm under her shirt and rubbed her back to soothe her as she drew in a shaky breath.

It was tragic, indeed. The youthful, spirited child had safely returned home from the Ogre Wars and had befriended Bae only to waste away not two years later. And he'd been so cruel and depressed about losing his son that he hadn't tried all that hard to change her fate.

"Give your love to Henry," he whispered in her ear. "He deserves it." And she nodded with a silent promise. Her hand dipped beneath the sheets to clasp the hand that was rubbing her back. She brought it to her stomach.

"My stomach feels so empty now," she whispered.

"It will take some adjusting. We can…always try for another one." Emma shifted her head to gaze up at him, her lips parted in astonishment. Was that the wrong thing to say?

"Our baby was never planned, even for you. Are you saying…you would agree to try?" She searched his face with something close to hope. Underneath the sheets, his fingers threaded through hers.

"As I once told you, the two of us will endure this together. If you wish to try, then we shall try," he promised. She opened her mouth to say something, but he touched a finger to her lips to silence it. "Soon. For now, you need your sleep."

Emma looked about to protest, but she settled in his arms. Cradling her, they both fell into an uneasy sleep.

…

_**Poor Emma and Gold…but I have some things planned that might cheer everyone up! My only hint is that it involves Archie. **_

_**For now, I must thank my reviewers. You guys are wonderful. Here's to DaesGatling, The Hatter Theory, 33ewdw, JessOvergon, nuckythompson, Little Red, C. , Paranormal Moonlight, Sweetangelz18, helikesitheymikey, gopher101, russianeyes718ouat7ncis (love the new pic, by the way), Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, brontegirl89, Kerry Potter1995, SwanQueen4055, Tizmine, Huntress4455, and sbcarri. **_

_**And I already have the next chapter nearly done. Maybe if you guys are good, you'll have two chapters in one week! (-; **_


	46. Chapter 46

_**A/N: Two chapters in the span of a week. You guys are lucky, huh? Enjoy. Warning: teddy bear torture may be involved. **_

It took all of her strength to stumble out of bed. Gold's side was already empty, the sheets twisted over and wrinkled. Checking the time, she realized she slept in later than usual. He mustn't have wanted to wake her if she was still sleeping.

It would be charming…if he didn't have a nasty habit of using up all the hot water in the shower in the morning. He occupied the bathroom like a teenage girl. _At least he doesn't wear guyliner, _she tried to think positively.

Emma stretched her arms high above her head as she perched on the edge of the mattress. She rubbed her stomach gently only to remember there was nothing inside there anymore. It hit her like a tidal wave, the blessed few seconds of peace ending and reality creeping up on her.

No, she had to be strong for Henry and Mary Margaret. And if she wasn't here for to handle Gold, there was a good chance he would resort to driving around town multiple times in his car while on the lookout for Jefferson. She was still the Sheriff, so it meant she would still have to stick him in a jail cell if he became violent. The justice system wasn't as justified as it liked to pretend.

Moving at the pace of an elderly woman, she grumbled all the way to the bathroom. She decided she would have to explain the situation to Henry today. She couldn't keep putting it off. There was a chance Regina could inform him first and forget to be sincere about it.

She trudged through showering and brushing her teeth. Downstairs, it was terribly quiet with only the ticking of a clock dogging her heels. Goldie's head shot up from the living room floor—she was chewing rapidly on one of Gold's silk ties.

"Fair warning: I wouldn't do that if I were you," she called out as she passed by. Of course the dog didn't heed her words. That's what Gold got for tossing his ties wherever he pleased. Waving it off, she wandered into the kitchen and couldn't get much farther than that.

The table was covered with gift baskets and sincere notes of apology for their loss. There were vases of flowers grouped together in the corner, giving the kitchen a pungent sweet aroma. There had to be more bread than they could ever eat. And when Gold had run out of room on the table, he had placed the rest of the cellophane-wrapped baskets on the floor.

She took the notes with a grain of salt. Half these people were probably hoping that if they expressed their sympathy to Gold, he would return the favor by going easy on them during rent week. It would never work. If anything, this latest tragedy would make him harder, crueler, lacking in any sympathy for any other soul in town besides her.

Emma poked a hole through the green cellophane of one basket with a pair of scissors and helped herself to a chocolate-dipped strawberry. This person—Marco, as per the little tag—had good taste. Taking another one, she tilted her head back against the wall and thought about her options for the day.

Part of her wanted to stay home, but there was still Mary Margaret to consider. It might do well to distract her mind, at least. Plus, if she stayed home all day, she'd end up finding consolation with the dog and lounge about eating chocolate covered fruit and bread. Gold would complain if she didn't save him some.

In the living room, Goldie had happily moved on to one of Gold's expensive shoes that had been left lying near the door. The dog didn't even acknowledge her when she opened the front door with the intention of leaving. _Probably living in her own little cheerful dog-world where the only goal is to find something good to chew, have her belly rubbed, and beg for food at dinnertime. _

But she paused on the doorstep.

There, lying in the center of the porch, was one more gift basket. It must have been delivered after Gold left. Bending, she lifted it into her arms and feasted her eyes on the various selections of candy beyond the wrapping. Skittles, Snickers, Hershey's, M&Ms…

A note was attached to the basket and she tore it off. Setting the basket inside the door, she opened the plain white folded piece of paper to scan the obviously rushed words. There were only three. _I'm so sorry. _

It could have been another short card with someone's condolences, but a shiver skated down her back. She read the brief note again, just to be sure it wasn't her tired mind playing tricks on her. She turned it over in her hands, but there was no other writing on it, no name.

The contents of the basket were the biggest clue to her. They made horrifying sense. Skittles, Hershey's, _M&Ms…._It was a calling card, a marker of identification that no one else might understand. Most people sent flowers and fruit baskets, not…candy baskets. Or was she simply paranoid?

Sticking her head out the door, she scanned the street up and down, but saw no sign of a crazy man in a top hat. To think Jefferson might have had the nerve to come by here when she was alone in the house and try to apologize. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and she was paranoid that he might be watching her, right this instant.

The paper crumpled under her fingers and she ripped it to shreds before her husband could ever hope to read it.

….

Emma briskly strode into the station prepared to greet her current occupant, only to find that there were two this morning.

Mary Margaret was still safely, if not comfortably, behind bars and offered her a sad smile when Emma walked in. She tried to ignore the sympathy etched in those green gems. But Henry was also here, sitting with his feet propped up on the desk in front of him. His back was facing her and he was talking on the phone.

"You got it, Granny. And one chocolate chip cookie, and a…Of course it's for later. Do you think a ten year old like me would skip out on a healthy, nutritious breakfast? And add a vanilla cupcake…with extra frosting. And sprinkles! Don't forget the sprinkles! Rainbow. And…yes, I shall be paying with a credit card today."

Emma watched him in amazement. Was this what he did whenever she left him alone in the station? Three times this month she had to turn away pizza guys at the door. Henry always said they must be confused because of the curse.

"Credit card?" Henry whipped around in his seat and he realized he was caught red-handed. He smiled sheepishly and waved. She waved back. _Busted. _ She glanced at their jailbird questioningly, crossing her arms.

"It's not mine!" Her head switched between Henry and Emma. Henry was holding his hands under his chin and pleading with her not to tell. Emma tapped her foot and used her serious look.

"Mary, if you don't tell me what you know, you'll be doing the Potty Dance again," she threatened. Mary Margaret bit her lip, looking from Henry to Emma to Henry again. Her cheeks turned red in distress.

"I think…it's Regina's." Henry's shoulders sagged. Emma sank her head into her palm. _Wonderful. First, I have to deal with….it. Then, I get a candy gift basket from a madman. And now my son is going on a shopping spree with Regina's credit card. The sad thing is, she'll demand I return the lost money. _

"And you're expecting Ruby to come strolling in here with a cart of goodies?" Henry returned the phone to its cradle slowly. What else did he buy? An in-ground pool, perhaps? A lifetime supply of Apollo bars? A pony?

"Granny could do it," he replied innocently, shrugging. "You should have seen me prank-calling David. I sent him on a fake treasure hunt. He thinks he's on a quest to dig up the Holy Grail. Even Mary Margaret was laughing." Emma eyed Mary Margaret, silently asking for her input.

"I was not…laughing. I had a…a tickle in my throat," she claimed. She coughed into her hand for emphasis. "It's gone. It only sounded like _hee-hah-hah_ because I was trying to breathe."

Emma dismissed the whole matter entirely. She knelt beside Henry and held him by the shoulders.

"Henry, we need to have a talk. Privately," she said, trying not to meet Mary Margaret's disheartened gaze. Emma simply couldn't have this stressful talk in front of her because then Mary Margaret would start crying. And then she would need tissues. And then Emma would start crying and…and she just couldn't handle that right now.

"I'm sorry I took her credit card. I was going to return it," he mumbled. Emma wished that was all it was.

"It's not about the credit card, kid. Come on, let's talk in the hall."

She stood up and led him out by the shoulders. There was a sordid sigh beckoning them to turn. Mary Margaret's watery eyes burned into Emma's neck all the way out. She whistled out a stream of air, mentally prepping herself for the challenge ahead.

She made sure they were a good distance away from the holding cells before she slowed her steps. Guiding him by the shoulders, she encouraged him to sit in one of the hallway chairs. Kneeling in front of him, she wrung her hands together and struggled for proper words.

"Henry, something terrible happened recently," she gradually began, choosing her words carefully. Those innocent, answer-seeking eyes of Henry's bore into her skin like small needles, seemingly flailing it to expose her cracked heart. She gasped in a raspy breath.

"Right. Mary Margaret escaped and you brought her back," he said, nodding. He looked ready to congratulate her. "But, why were you in the hospital? Regina said there was a delay in the production of mini-Golds. I usually tune her out."

He looked to her expectantly, as if hoping she would tell him something different. Oh, how she wished she could.

Emma could perfectly picture the smug, condescending expression on Regina's prim face in her little mirrors. If the Mayor dared to mock her with false condolences, she couldn't promise not to give Regina a reason to hate her reflection. She clenched her fists on her knees. _I don't see her popping any out anytime soon, either. Nor do I ever want to. _

"Henry…when I was searching for Mary Margaret last night, I ran into some trouble and I…the baby…"

She flattened a hand to her stomach, trying so desperately to find the words to convey to him the weight of the matter. The words stuck to the inside of her throat, refusing to be released. Henry's lips dipped into a dreaded frown.

"You lost the baby. No," he whispered in dawning realization as she lowered her head in shame and ache. The hall was crackling with the thick silence—apparently, Henry was just as speechless. And then the tumultuous emotions exploded from him, his hands holding her shoulders. "No! That can't be true! This is all her fault, I know it!"

Immediately, Emma's head snapped up and she witnessed the pure anguish written in her boy's eyes. He really believed Regina was the evil that brought on this tragic incident, and she might have gone along with it if the image of a crude scar didn't float to the surface of her mind.

"Henry, I'm sorry. But Regina didn't cause it this time," she tried to reason, but he insistently shook his head.

"Not directly, but it's always her! All she does is ruin everyone's happiness," he cried out. He flung himself onto her and wrapped his arms around her neck. He buried his face into her shoulder as she nearly tumbled backward from the impact. All she could do was hold him and stroke his hair to soothe him down.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated into his ear. In her mind, she pictured the mysterious note attached to the candy basket that brandished the same exact words.

…..

Even though he was in an extraordinarily bad mood, he had decided to venture to his shop that morning.

It was the only place he could possibly find solace, away from the sorrowful looks from passersby on the street. Whenever someone stopped to give him their condolences, the brutal blackness of his glare sent them running. And Mary Margaret was wasting away in her cell. He couldn't very well offer someone else comfort or peace of mind when both evaded him, could he?

Every muscle—including ones he hardly knew existed—screamed in protest as he made the brisk walk to his shop. Much as he would prefer it, he couldn't stay in the house all day. If he did, he would likely never move from the bed, resort to eating ice cream out of the carton for lunch, and throwing pillows at Goldie if she dared hop on top of him for a walk.

If he was lucky, there would be something in his shop to distract him.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Not five minutes after stepping into the confines of his shop, he was antsy and bored. The troubling thoughts in his head raced on at full-speed, ensnaring him in a sticky web. Laying his cane on the display case, he needed to do something, anything, to stop about thinking about _it._

For the first time in a long time, he willingly dusted the antiques in his shop just to give his hands something to do. He removed the daggers from their glass case on the counter and practiced throwing them at a teddy bear. It was a stuffed animal with a decorative hat, meant to be Jefferson. Twice he got him in the nose, once in the arm. Too bad it wasn't a voodoo doll.

He even made himself a cup of tea to soothe his nerves, using the china tea set stored in one of the display cases. And he didn't offer any to Teddy Jefferson.

It was ridiculous, but he even found a small roll of Smarties in his desk and he tied it to a fishing pole so that he could bob it in front of Teddy Jefferson. He liked to imagine that it was actually Jefferson sitting on that chair and that he was slowly torturing him with the false promise of sugar. It felt deliciously, evilly…good.

_Oh, what's that, Jefferson? You're hungry and you want the Smarties? I'm a reasonable man. Here you go…whoops, too slow! Better luck next time, hatter! _

The bell above the shop's door rang out and he grumbled under his breath. One of these days, he would simply fashion a hat out of that Closed sign and place it on Charming's egg-shaped head.

His irritation dissipated when Henry strolled—or rather, trudged—into his shop alone. The boy was about to say something even as his eyes stayed glued on his feet, but he stopped when he looked up to see the fishing pole with the Smarties attached to the hook.

"Rumpelstiltskin…what are you doing?"

The teddy bear, riddled with knives, caught his attention. Henry eyed the end of the fishing pole strangely. He followed it with his eyes until he made contact with Gold, propped in a chair. Gold purposely dangled the candy until it bopped Teddy Jefferson in the head, knocking off his hat.

"Fishing," he muttered tersely, hitting the bear in the head three more times. "I'm going to need a bigger piece of candy." Reeling in the line, he detached the roll of Smarties. They weren't too old, give or take a couple of weeks. "Here, Henry. Care for some Smarties?"

He held the roll of candy out to the boy, but he didn't step forward to take it. Instead, he ignored it and wandered to the display case that hosted the glass unicorn mobile. Forlornly, he flicked the glass figurines to make them swing.

"No, thanks." Gold's lips drooped in puzzlement, his arm left awkwardly extended. It dropped back to his side as he scrutinized the back of Henry's head with mild concern.

The boy never turned down candy, not when Regina was such a health nut with her apples. She was practically the Jenny Craig of this town, if Jenny Craig were an evil tyrant. But he also realized that Henry wasn't declining the candy because of mistrust, but purely because of…disinterest.

Sullen and dejected—the vibes radiated off the child.

Stuffing the candy into his pocket for later, he begrudgingly rose from his chair and limped over to Henry's side. He grasped his shoulder, but the boy didn't look up. Just kept tapping the unicorns, as if they held the key to his misery.

"Why the long face?" Henry stopped flicking the figurines and they stilled. His face twisted up shrewdly as the sadness reigned.

Gold hoped there would be no tears—he had never been that well-off with crying children. When Bae would cry as a young boy, he calmed him by rocking him on his knee and offering up a present like that battered ball. The presents he could still do, but he certainly couldn't bounce Henry on his knee. Lullabies wouldn't work, either.

"Emma told me about the baby," he said softly, almost inaudibly.

Gold trained his gaze on the unicorn mobile instead of Henry—those wide eyes would gut him like a fish. His throat tightened uncomfortably and he struggled for a quick solution, the right thing to say. Charming made it look so easy, but he was probably the type that studied parent manuals, too. Shipping your child to Maine must be included in the latest edition.

He ended up urging Henry to turn around and face him.

"Henry, you must listen to me. Despite this…unfortunate tragedy, Emma still has you." He tapped the spot over Henry's heart. "You are her light, her hope. You need to keep her strong. Keep her grounded and remind her of her purpose here."

Henry threaded his fingers along his striped scarf, tugging on the tassels.

"I know. I'm sad for her because she doesn't deserve this. But I'm not as sad for her as I am for you," he admitted.

Bravely, he locked eyes with Gold, straightforward and determined. It whipped the air from his lungs. Henry was sad…for him?

"All I could think about was how you already lost your son. And now this one, too. I'm sorry."

Water welled up in Henry's eyes and overflowed, falling across his cheeks in a thin crystal river. Here came the waterworks. Henry anxiously wiped the wetness from his eyelashes with the back of his hand. Gold's tongue wasn't working—he had no clue how to respond to Henry's sincerity. It was choking him, digging up emotions he hadn't felt in so long.

"Emma may have me," Henry continued with a sniffle. "But what about you?" _What about you? _The innocent question echoed in his head, spurring on a cold, unwelcome discomfort in his chest.

He had Emma; together, they were two heart-broken people thirsty for comfort. And no matter the thickness of his outer shell, he could not deny the scorching ache from losing another child. It made him want to thrash out, to drown his sorrows with a drink, and to fall on his knees in vulnerability all at once.

Suddenly, Henry dared to step forward and embrace him comfortingly. Gold sucked in a harsh, surprised breath. His hands wavered in the air before he settled them on Henry's back.

"You'll have me. I'll be strong for you, too," Henry whispered into his charcoal suit. He pulled back a little to gauge Gold's reaction to his heartfelt promise. Gold battled off his ache and forced a smile for Henry. It broke easily, chipping away and crumbling.

_You're so much like him, _he thought as he peered into Henry's eyes. Henry and Bae had the same spirit, the same drive to aid those who were weaker and fight when they were needed. Hesitantly, he reached out and stroked a hand across Henry's hair. Two words teased his lips.

"My boy." And Henry graced him with a smile.

When had he become so fond of Emma's son? So much that he could accept him as his own? It snuck up on him from the shadows, just as Belle had snuck up on him in his castle months after she'd initially arrived. A tiny candle of light amongst the ebony, swirling darkness. _My boy, _he repeated to himself.

The moment passed and he found he could breathe a bit easier. Henry loosened his grip and allowed him space. Gathering his composure, Gold removed the Smarties from his pocket and offered them up again.

"Must I eat this myself?" He raised an eyebrow to Henry as he swung the candy back and forth between his fingers. Now that the sadness was mostly vanquished, Henry's eyes returned to their old hue and brightened with child-like desire.

"We could share them," he suggested.

If it were any other person, he might have dismissed that idea and purposely eaten the candy in front of them to gloat. Even Emma was occasionally amusing to sit back and tease. She would have had to earn them, pay a significantly high price. Gold started to unwrap the candy, but Henry took them.

"But I'm counting them out. Emma says whenever you agree to split Oreos with her after dinner, you always add one extra to your pile." _Guilty as charged, _he thought smugly.

Henry poured the Smarties on the display case and rationed them out evenly. He dropped half in Gold's waiting palm and emptied his half immediately in his mouth. Gold was the opposite, savoring them one by one and sucking on them with his tongue. Henry would regret eating them so fast.

"Now, how about your three questions of the day? You must be dying to ask," he hinted.

It had become as much a game for him as it had for Henry—always wondering which questions Henry would ask that day. Some of them were fun, others turned out to be unexpected and personal. Henry licked his lips free of sugar and nodded eagerly. He took a moment to think about it.

"How many pairs of leather pants did you own in the Enchanted Forest?"

That was an easy one. He had counted them at least once a day, if only to make sure the Queen didn't rob him. He had caught her more than once trying to climb his towers because there was a rumor the castle doors had been rigged for intruders at night. A rumor spread by him, as fate would have it. Otherwise, every village idiot in the realm would stop by for a visit and he just didn't have that much tea or biscuits to spare.

"Twenty-eight," he instantly announced, if not proudly. One pair for every occasion, emotion, color, hour, day of the week, and day of the month of February excluding Leap Year. "How do you think I came up with 28 years for the curse?"

"The Queen would be jealous," Henry pointed out. Gold held up a hand in argument.

"Oh, no, my boy. She wouldn't be jealous. She _was _jealous. You see, Regina is the reason why the term 'mad cow' exists." Henry couldn't help but giggle at that admission. He fired up his second question.

And they were back in business.

…

_Walk in a circle three times…_He'd gotten dizzy in the town square. _Follow the Yellow Brick Road…_Archie had been singing Elton John while walking Pongo this morning. And he seemed concerned to have David following him. _Drink two cups of apple juice with extra sugar…_

David sat at the bar in the diner, poring over the list of instructions that would supposedly lead him to the Holy Grail. Someone had called him early this morning and given him the mission, "should he choose to accept it." And he did. Once or twice he had his doubts, but he had easily found every clue that brought him closer.

What if it was really a trove of hidden gold? Buried treasure? Or…what if the Holy Grail was a code name for…Kathryn? What if she was alive somewhere? Emma would be impressed and Mary Margaret would be free of that jail cell, smothering him with kisses and calling him a hero.

Or Kathryn was really dead and this was a prank.

He sipped down his sugary apple juice and nearly hopped up and down on his stool. Boy, he was hyper. He forgot what sugar did to him. People were sneaking him odd looks. _Up, down, up, down, up, down…_

"Are you alright?"

He looked up to see Ruby looming over the bar and giving him a concerned stare. Was his hyper-activity obvious? Maybe he shouldn't have dumped so much sugar in his drink. He quickly swept the mountain of torn sugar packets into his palm and stuffed them in his pocket.

"The bathroom is over there." Ruby pointed to a marked restroom. She thought he was bouncing because….it looked like he was…oh.

"I don't need to use the bathroom," he reassured her confidently. Now she was giving him a darker look, probably interpreting something else in his strange behavior. "I'm not on drugs, either." Her lips rounded in a small 'O', but it didn't appear she believed him.

"Good to know," she murmured half-heartedly. She reached for his cup, but he covered the top with his hand. If Ruby offered him a third glass, it could curse this whole mission.

"It's okay. I already had two and according to this list, I'm not allowed to drink more than two. Though, I do love apple juice. Only I don't like drinking it in the hospital because the nurses always give me funny looks and I realize what it looks like, but it's apple juice, I swear! But it is fun to shoot the apple juice out of your mouth like a fountain around the nurses—one of them even passed out when I did it. Do you do that?"

This is what happened when David took too much sugar. The words usually exploded from his throat like word vomit, never stopping. He didn't know where it came from, almost like his tongue had a mind of its own. Ruby was almost as pale as the nurses.

"Not that I can recall. I don't like hospitals," Ruby replied, trying not to look directly at him. She looked ready to call the loony bin on him. Her nose scrunched with distaste at the empty cup of apple juice. "I'm…glad you like it," she mumbled.

"Oh, I do," he answered happily. "I can understand why kids love this stuff. It's almost as amazing as those little toddler food holders that the commercials claim never drops food. You can roll it around and around, but the food always stays inside."

David made a rolling gesture with his fingers. His smile startled Ruby a bit and she slid a few inches away. Her wide eyes scanned the diner for someone else to serve besides him.

"I tried it once in Mr. Clark's store, you know. I found one of those food holders and I rolled it around and kept tossing it to Mr. Clark, but the food never fell out. Brilliant! It must be magic," he exclaimed. Ruby debated asking Granny for a pay raise. These kinds of idiot customers were too common these days.

"And why do you need to drink exactly two cups of apple juice chock full of sugar?" The hesitancy suggested she was afraid to ask. Maybe he was planning an all-nighter and needed the kick-start. David smiled charmingly.

"Oh, I'm on a valiant quest for the Holy Grail," he announced. He waved the list of instructions in the air for emphasis. Ruby gawked openly at him, as though waiting for the punch-line of the joke. Not even Leroy spouted this nonsense.

"Okay, I'm cutting you off for the week. Good luck with your…quest," she said before scurrying off. He didn't even get a chance to say thank you.

David left a bill on the counter and read the next instruction on the list._ Find someone with an extra-large sweet tooth or your fate is sealed….hitch a ride…_

Out of the corner of his eye, Granny was packing a silver cart with all kinds of treats: tins of cookies, cups of sundaes, boxes of donuts. She was shaking her gray head as if wondering what she would even do with it all, but she rolled it toward the diner's door.

_Wow, I never knew Granny had such a sweet tooth. Must be why she's lived so long—she's a kid at heart,_ David mused. Then he checked the list again. _Sweet tooth. Someone with a large sweet tooth…_

"Hey, Granny," he called out, waving madly. "Wait! I need to hitch a ride on that cart!"

…

It was only one night after Emma was discharged from the hospital. Gold slept exceptionally horrible. Tossing and turning, he suffered a nightmare about losing Bae in that emerald vortex again, a dream that only surfaced whenever he was particularly distraught or guilty over something.

Except this time, the dream had been significantly altered. It was not only Bae that vanished into that swirling, menacing vortex, but a little girl as well. She teetered on the edge, clawing out for help, her long hair whipping around her neck in a flurry. It was only when she turned her head pleadingly that he glimpsed her face. Morraine.

Morraine, the name of his unborn child. And Bae's voice pierced his eardrums, scolding him over the roar of the vortex: _You broke our deal…You broke our deal…_He knew what it meant and the message scared him. He had failed his child again.

He jolted upright in bed in a cold sweat, panting for air. His heart thundered like horse's hooves against the skin of his chest. Blindly, he sought out Emma's warmth, but was rewarded with the flat, cold mattress. His eyes snapped open wide and he peered across to her side of the bed, just to confirm her absence.

Where had she gone? He hadn't imagined her coming home, he knew that. He wasn't that delusional, no matter his grief. Besides, if he had imagined her agreement to come home, then it could mean the…incident was only a terrible nightmare. A dream in a dream, perhaps.

But that was too good to be true. And he'd learned long ago not to put stock in far-fetched fantasies.

Pushing back the sheets, he wrapped a robe around his body and absconded through the dark house in search of his wife. Through the window, he could see her Bug sitting in the driveway. Unless she had taken a walk, she was still here. She would never use his decrepit vehicle. _A rusty combustion waiting to happen, _she had said once.

She wasn't in the nursery—it was the first place he looked. The gloomy shadows clung to the crib, still overturned. She wasn't in the bathroom or anywhere upstairs, for that matter. Nearly taking the stairs two at a time, he halted on the threshold of the living room. His dread ceased to a dull throb.

There she was.

Huddled in a ball at the base of the white wardrobe. Golden head balanced stiffly on her knee, she was uneasily asleep and moaning. The sight of their savior, so small and fragile in her slumber, irked him to no end. She was meant to patch up everyone's happy endings…but what about her own? Must that be the price for her heroism?

Something else was off about this scene. It tickled his brain, weaving in and out when he tried to capture it. His eyes scanned the room around her, lingering over the piles of useless antiques and cluttered junk until it reached the curtained windows. Then it hit him.

Cocking his head to one side, he patiently listened to the sounds of the night. All that reached his ears was the pulsing silence. His breath beat down hard and heavy, the occasional creaks of the house were deafening. No storm, not even a rumble on the horizon. And yet Emma had been unable to sleep, had wandered down here to curl up in front of that wretched wardrobe…

The notion was a seed that bloomed into a flower, the petals blossoming with ease. It occurred to him, plain and simple.

Not many things in life scared Emma Swan. Bravery could have been her middle name. But this incident—the _miscarriage, _he forced himself to acknowledge it instead of cowering about—had done the trick. It had shaken her to the bone, just as any thunderstorm would. The arrest of Mary Margaret, the loss of her child…it was a brutal storm in its own right, one he was not entirely sure she had weathered yet.

When would the rain stop?

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured as he bent to lift her precariously into his arms.

The weight of her head lolled against his chest. He gritted his teeth against the shooting pains in his knee, but cradled her nonetheless. She shivered in his arms and her face contorted in anguish. The trauma Emma battled was worse than any sleeping curse.

Angling her head to rest comfortably on his shoulder, he kissed her forehead and willed away the burden. He made his way into the hallway, intent on carrying her to bed. If he had to, he would watch over her the rest of the night. It's what Charming would do.

Tomorrow, he would be calling Archie.

His foot had just settled on the first stair when a small groan interrupted the silence. It came from the direction of the kitchen. With Emma still in his arms, he padded to the kitchen and found Goldie lying on her side on the floor. She blinked up innocently at him, her belly bloated.

And the tin that held Ashley's pumpkin bread was empty, discarded on the floor beside her.

The dog treated itself to a royal midnight feast. It was a good thing he had put the fruit baskets and candy basket away. Goldie gave another low growl of discomfort, brought on by a stomachache.

He had no sympathy for her. He certainly wasn't picking it up when that bread made its full cycle and came back out.

"That's what you get for stuffing your nose in other people's bread."

…..

"Here is your payment, in full," Mary Margaret announced to her lawyer.

"Why, thank you, dearie," Gold commended as he dared to stick his arm through the bars of the jail cell and accept the delicious donut from Mary Margaret.

Emma eyed the two of them in muted astonishment. She'd just handed Mary Margaret that donut a moment ago! If she intended it to be shoved down Gold's throat, she would have offered him the bag instead._ There's no way he's compensating me for that dollar I spent. _

"And it has extra crème. Consider it my condolences for…the baby," she told him, her breath hitching over that last word. Gold licked the dripping crème from the area he had bitten off and leisurely rolled his tongue over his upper lip. He was doing it on purpose. Gloating over his treat and sneaking glances at her.

"You know me too well, Miss Blanchard." And he helped himself to a bigger bite. Emma gaped obnoxiously as he chewed in bliss.

"Your form of payment…is Boston crème donuts?"

Gold shifted his body away slightly, hiding his donut from view. Apparently, he was paranoid she would steal his donut. _Right, except I don't typically act like a child around things like donuts, ice cream, and pushing all the buttons on the elevator just because someone I don't like gets on with me._

"You have a taste for bear claws, Emma. I happen to have a taste for Boston crème donuts. To each his own," he retorted around his shoulder.

Emma tossed Mary Margaret a stern, reproving look for submitting to Gold's whims but her prisoner merely shrugged from where she sat on the edge of the rickety bed._ Thanks, Mary Margaret. Now I'll probably have to fetch him donuts along with ice cream. Why don't I just wear a maid's outfit, hand-feed him crème donuts in bed, and call him Master while I'm at it?_

There was a timid knock at the entrance. Emma broke out of her suggestive reverie and turned to see Archie. She groaned.

"Is Miss Ginger stuck in her tree again because of Pongo? One of these days, the neighborhood kids are going to accidentally mistake her for a piñata," she said as shrugged on her leather jacket.

"Yes…_accidentally_," Gold piped up around his half-eaten donut. Emma shot him a warning look, but he played the innocent card. _I'd better hide the blindfolds and change the locks on the cane closet,_ she thought. Archie held up his hand.

"No, there's nothing wrong with Miss Ginger," he assured everyone. He set his umbrella by one of the desks. Emma had a theory that he was just waiting for a flood to hit the town.

"Not in my diagnosis," Gold muttered. "Cynophobia. Chronic fear of dogs. Right, Hopper?" Emma snapped her blonde head in his direction. Oh, he was so smug, wasn't he?

"Can't you eat that somewhere else?"

She pointed to the troublesome donut in his hand, practically seething in her frustration. And he looked as professional as someone on the cover of a magazine. The only thing betraying his grief was his cold aura and the tired lines around his eyes.

"I could," he agreed.

"Good," she sighed, gesturing to the door. _Hell, take my office and kick your feet up like you usually do._ But he made no effort to move.

"But I won't," he abruptly added. Stubborn, no-good…

Emma had no energy for it. She blatantly ignored his childish attitude and returned her attention to Archie. Was he here to give Mary Margaret comfort? Or…oh, no…Archie was giving that sheepish, encouraging smile to _her_.

"Actually, Emma, I'm here to speak with you. The wardrobe again?"

Her brows knitted together as he nodded knowingly to her and pulled a chair over with the intention of taking a seat for a moment. Flashes of memory invaded her mind—lying awake in the middle of the night, venturing down to the wardrobe that had made her feel safe during storms.

"How did you know…?" And then the obvious answer struck her like lightning. She turned accusingly to her husband, who was noticeably avoiding her gaze. Guilty as charged. "You called the shrink on me?"

Gold finished the last of his donut and took his time licking his fingers. He still wasn't looking at her.

"I found you sleeping next to the wardrobe last night. What else was I supposed to do, darling? Pretend you're not suffering?"

"Emma, it's okay to have side-effects after such a traumatic experience," Archie consoled her in that soft, soothing therapeutic voice of his. "Perhaps you just need someone to talk to about it. Someone other than your husband. But hiding the pain and pretending you're not hurting…"

Emma anxiously brushed a hand through her hair. She didn't want to talk about this at all. She didn't want to sit on that black couch and relive the time she spent with Jefferson. This was why she was here, at the station, helping Mary Margaret. To keep her mind busy, keep her body moving, and keep her sanity intact.

"I don't need therapy," she argued roughly. She threw mental daggers at Gold. "I thought you agreed we would try."

Indifference marked his face, but she sensed there was a volcano of turmoil and concern brewing underneath the surface. If anyone should be in therapy, it should be him. He was the one with the cane! Every day he was walking around town armed!

"I did and we shall. But that does not mean the loss of one child will go unnoticed nor can it be replaced with another so easily," he replied, his patience wearing thin. She could tell by the way he grit his teeth and hung his head so that his hair shielded his angular face.

Archie held up his hands again to signal for Emma to calm down. He exchanged a worried glance with Gold, silently asking what he should do. Gold gripped the head of his cane and burned a hole through the floor with his eyes.

"She could always talk to me," Mary Margaret suggested from the bars. Oh, great. Now she was getting involved. They were surrounding her, ganging up on her in a little circle. "Emma, you said you and I were….family. You can tell me anything."

_How motherly of you,_ she bitterly mused. It was unfair for Mary Margaret, but she was hot and bothered.

"Maybe…you just need something to cheer you up," Archie said, folding his hands in his lap. He started to blush a bit. "It's actually my birthday this weekend. Ruby's planning a huge surprise party, but you know how hard it is for Ruby to keep a secret. If you want, you're welcome to come. It might be good for you."

"Are you sure you're not just saying that so I have to spend my money on you?" Gold inquired over his shoulder, locking eyes with the therapist. Archie fidgeted in his seat.

"No, of course not! I would never…that would be rude to…I mean, if you want to get me a gift, Mr. Gold, all you have to do is say so. It'd be rather…generous of you," he sputtered.

Gold's face hardened and Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. If Gold had any intentions of getting Archie a gift, those plans were dashed now.

Emma rolled it over in her mind. Something to distract her, where she could be surrounded by other people and possibly have a reason to think about something other than the miserable turn of events this week. There'd be cake, at least.

"Why don't you think it over? The party's tonight at five," Archie informed her. He stood up and gathered his umbrella. He offered both of them one last sympathetic stare before making his leave. Emma could feel Gold's eyes on her skin and somehow she already knew his vote.

"So, Emma…what do you say to a rousing game of Monopoly tonight? Say, around five o' clock?" Oh, yes, he was absolutely thrilled about this party. "Goldie can even monitor the jail. Fail to go straight to jail, you lose a shoe. Or any other clothing deemed fit."

Considering how many lost pairs of shoes and ties Gold had and the fact that he often tried to cheat his way out of jail, she knew he was bluffing. But Mary Margaret certainly blushed fiercely.

"I'll bet Archie will have Twister at his party," Emma taunted.

Just as she expected, he grimaced unpleasantly. The last thing he desired was to be any closer to the people of Storybrooke than necessary. Bodily contact was a nightmare for him. Especially if Archie invited David Nolan._ Right hand blue…oh, sorry, Mr. Gold, I just need to reach over here…or maybe I'll just climb over you…_

Emma considered going, but she remembered she promised Mary Margaret she would visit with a real dinner tonight and stay with her a little while. She often remarked how lonely she was without company, even though Emma thought it might be a guilt trip. She met her friend's eyes through the bars and frowned.

"Go ahead, Emma. You need it," Mary Margaret encouraged with a reassuring smile. "I'll just…be there in spirit. Perhaps I'll play my own game of Twister right here. Or I would if Leroy were here."

Emma really didn't want to imagine Leroy playing Twister with anyone. She suppressed a shudder.

"I'll still bring you some dinner. Maybe I'll sneak a piece of cake for you," she promised. And then she looked to Gold and ignored the slow pout crawling across his lips. Oh, if she was enduring this party, then he was being dragged down with her. "Guess we'll have to go shopping, huh?"

He smirked down at her.

"Henry has my credit card."

…..

_**What would you get Archie for his birthday? (-;**_

_**I want to thank all those that reviewed recently—you guys definitely give me a reason to smile! Candy basket deliveries for DaesGatling, louisethelibrarian, discotimelord, eklektik, nuckythompson, sbcarri, Guest, Sweetangelz18, helikesitheymikey, Huntress4455, JessOvergon, Tizmine, BlooperLover, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Lila Nightengale, The Hatter Theory, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	47. Chapter 47

_**A/N: Hey, everyone! Sorry this took longer than a week to get out. But I think it's a much lighter chapter than the one before it. Lots of Golden Swan goodness here, but don't let me ruin it for you. Enjoy! By the way, anyone watching the re-run on Sunday?**_

"How about this? Or this? Or—"

"Henry, are you shopping for Archie or for you?"

Henry longingly devoured the handheld video game he'd picked out a moment ago. Before that, there was a waterbed, a chocolate fountain, and a Star Wars lightsaber toy. That was just from walking down Storybrooke's main street.

"…Archie," he said unconvincingly. He still hadn't let go of the video game and Mr. Clark was glancing over at the kid suspiciously as he cradled it in the crook of his arm. The allergy-infested man had it in his mind that Henry, Ava, and Nicholas were the Thieving Trio. "Please, can I have it? I won't ask for a single thing after this!"

Henry pleadingly batted his eyelids—at Gold, not Emma. She hadn't realized it much before, but those two had become close. Ever since meeting up with the kid after leaving the station, the two had been side by side. There was even a moment earlier when Gold had playfully ruffled Henry's hair.

And now, under the pressure of Henry's puppy eyes, Gold's resolve was cracking. Any other circumstance, the answer would have been a sharp no. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, debating.

"It'll have to be an early birthday present—" Gold warned with a strict pointing of his finger, but that was more than enough for Henry. His little face shined with happiness as he thanked Gold enthusiastically. All the while, Emma looked on in wonder.

"You like him," she teased her husband in a sing-song voice once Henry ran off ahead of them to search for Archie's present—literally this time. He licked his lips slowly, a sign that he was thinking hard for a good response. Either that, or it was true that he really liked her in leather.

"I don't _not _like him," he admitted tentatively. It was his obnoxious way of suggesting he had a soft spot for the kid. Emma cast him a knowing smile as Gold eyed Henry with fondness. "Let's just say, I've grown used to his company."

Emma experienced a warm feeling in her chest as she imagined Henry and Gold getting along, almost like…a family. It lightened her mood considerably. Perhaps he would be their saving grace, their beam of light in a dismal time. The softness of Gold's lips brushed her cheek and she instinctively leaned into him, seeking them out.

"Ah, ah, ah. Wouldn't want Mr. Clark to throw us on the curb, would we?"

He breathed into her ear just as her lips brushed the corner of his. Still, his arm snaked around her waist and held her form against him. She buried her face into his shoulder and inhaled his familiar scent at the collar of his suit. She had missed it when they had been apart, especially since that scent had once rocked her to sleep at night.

Her lips hovered at the base of his neck, tempting his skin with a kiss.

But was it worth Mr. Clark's attention?

Of course, they would also have to explain to Henry why they were being kicked out of the store. And it wasn't like she could necessarily fake giving birth to a baby to downplay the situation. The thought of it made her cringe.

"Hey, what's taking you two so long?" Henry appeared at the end of the aisle, waving for them to hurry along. The two of them exchanged furtive glances and decidedly quickened their pace, if only to satisfy the boy.

"I'm not as young as I used to be, Henry," Gold called out. He even offered the kid a small wink, which Henry seemed to understand. Emma wondered what that was all about. Some kind of secret? "There seems to be a kink in my leg. Perhaps your mother will be kind enough to rub it for me."

And now he was winking at Emma.

Henry made a disgusted face while Emma resolved to dig her elbow into Gold's side. Graceful as he was, he easily dodged her attack and pulled her up into his arms as she faltered. A couple of boxes toppled from the shelf behind them.

"I take it that's a no on the rubbing?" Emma tried not to notice how Gold's lips curved suggestively and how he deliberately guided Emma's hand to his leg. She looked around for Henry, but he had hurried off again. Good. Playing along, Emma squeezed his thigh until he was on the verge of moaning.

"Later," she whispered in the shell of his ear, a tempting promise. If anything, it might be a step in the right direction. Henry called out for them again and they hastened to his side in the next aisle. Gold was limping rather profusely.

"I think I found Archie's present," he exclaimed. He stepped aside to reveal a gigantic box on the shelf. Emma's eyes widened at the sight of it. Skeptically, she tilted her head.

"A…karaoke machine? Are you sure?" Henry did not allow for argument. He nodded his head frantically and placed his hands over the top of the box in the typical childish _mine _gesture.

"It's the newest version. He'll love it. Plus, it might give us something to do in therapy. Annoying him with opening his umbrella indoors got old when I was six," he said, trying to hoist the box off the shelf. There was no question whose credit card was being used to purchase it. The thing wasn't even on sale.

"Allow me, Henry," Gold offered when Henry grew terribly red in the face from his efforts. Gliding past Emma, he paused only to dip his head low and extend his cane to her. "Hold my cane, dear."

Begrudgingly, she accepted it. _I am not picking him up and dragging him out when he collapses. I'll give him a Snuggie and he can sleep it off right here. _

Henry stepped aside to allow Gold to draw near the box. Sucking in a breath, he bent at the knees and lifted the box off the shelf, nestling it against his chest. Immediately, Emma heard his hiss of discomfort and placed a supportive hand on his back. _Probably not the best idea for a cripple to be carrying such a heavy box, _she silently observed.

"So, if you fall and the box crushes you, should Henry take your magical shoes?" She whispered over his shoulder. He whipped his hair out of his face and did not even crack a smile at her quip.

"Make me look good in front of our boy," he murmured back.

If he could have nudged her with his elbow, he would have. Instead, he focused on the task of making it down the aisle. It was a moment before his words sank into Emma's brain and she realized he'd said _our _boy. When did the possessiveness happen?

He glanced expectantly over his shoulder as Henry's face twisted with concern. Oh, he was being serious about the devotion. She sighed. _Time to stroke his ego. _

"Oh, Gold, you are so incredibly strong! Where ever did you get those muscles?" Emma feigned a breathy, girly voice. She even went as far as feeling up the strained muscles of Gold's forearms while Henry giggled. "Didn't know I married The Situation."

"What situation?" Emma waved off his confusion. Was the man living under a rock before she arrived here? Oh, right…the hazy memories at work. She urged him forward, only stopping when he grunted.

"So, whose rent are you increasing to make up for the money for this karaoke machine?" As if she didn't know how his mind worked. It had just better not be Archie. He didn't bother playing the innocent card, either. It would get him nowhere.

"Would you scold me if I raised Regina's rent?" He shifted the box in his arms as they stumbled around the corner of the aisle. His face was turning beet red, but the impressed expression on Henry's face encouraged his stubbornness. "Emma, I'm thinking of writing a book. _How to Burn Through $100 in Thirty Seconds."_

Emma grasped his elbow as his balance waned for a minute. _This is bound to end horribly, and yet he doesn't listen to his wife, does he? Death by karaoke. _

"Like Mary Margaret says: look on the bright side. You'll be doing something to make Archie happy. This karaoke machine will keep Henry busy in therapy. And while he's busy in therapy…" Emma traced her hand along the curve of his back. "I'll be busy handling my caretaking duties. Right?"

Emma longed to fill that empty space inside of her, somehow. Gold grunted deeply, except this time it had nothing to do with the box.

"It'd make it a whole lot easier to walk here without the reminder of your extreme caretaking duties," he hinted over his shoulder. Oops. Did she push it a little too hard? He was practically sweating bullets in his discomfort. "Give it time, Emma. Good things come to those who wait."

Too bad she was never really good at waiting.

She pursed her lips, but knew deep down that he was right. She knew her intentions stemmed from wanting to quell that burning ache, to stitch up the wounds with his comfort. But would time be able to heal her wounds?

Gold took her silence as acknowledgment of his spoken truth and continued on his way toward the direction of the counter. Past the entrance they went—or would have if someone didn't step through the doors and slam into Gold. The crash was a loud one, the person stumbling back as the karaoke machine thundered on the floor.

Instantly, Gold rolled his head and freed shoulders. Emma thrust his cane into his hands and scooped up the box.

"Sorry," she uttered in apology. God knew Gold wouldn't have offered any such remorse. It wasn't until she straightened that she recognized their victim. She suppressed a groan.

"You should be," Regina spat, brushing off her body with a gloved hand. She pulled something invisible off her coat and rubbed her fingers together to dispose of it. The friendliness fled out of Emma. "My, that's a rather large package you're toting around, Mr. Gold. How is it that you can even walk?"

Emma's lip curled upward in disgust as Regina's eyes purposefully roved over Gold's body.

"So wonderful of you to notice, Madame Mayor," he returned without missing a beat.

And damn him, Gold had the nerve to adjust his stance so that his feet were more aptly spread apart and Regina's attention was directed to one specific portion of his frame. He was actually reveling in his…his…package!

"But Emma's the one handling it now," Henry pointed out, knocking his knuckles against the karaoke machine's box. A wave of heat scorched Emma's neck and cheeks. Gold's amusement was not very well hidden by that slippery smile on his lips.

Regina spun, noticing her son's presence for the first time. She bent down to his level.

"Henry, where have you been all day? You know I don't like not knowing where you'll be," she chided.

It never ceased to amaze Emma that Regina knew so little about Henry's whereabouts. But she also sensed that Regina was just jealous that he was choosing to spend time with Emma and his stepfather.

"No worries. He was in good hands," Gold assured her. "Henry, Emma, and I were about to have lunch at Granny's."

Most people would attach an invitation to the end of that sentence. Gold deliberately neglected it, spiting Regina all the more. _We're having lunch with Henry and you're not, _he might as well have stuck a finger in her face and gleefully taunted.

Regina exhaled impatiently through her nose, but ignored Gold's barbs. Her attention dropped to the video game clutched in Henry's hands. Quickly, she snatched it up, much to his obvious dismay.

"Henry, what did I tell you about video games? You'll hurt your eyes. And do not make me repeat the part about what it will do to your fingers. I'm starting to think you don't listen to anything I say," she berated.

Emma swallowed her dry chuckle—_where have you been, Regina?—_and awkwardly readjusted the box on her hip. Regina's reign of power over her son only made her want to buy the video game for Henry herself. The kid was positively crestfallen.

"Actually," Gold intercepted, stepping forward to claim the video game. "It's mine. I need something to preoccupy me in my shop, don't I? Now, what were you saying about my fingers?"

Gold wiggled the digits of his free hand loosely, just to mock Regina. The mayor glanced sideways at Emma, inquiring her opinion on the capability of Gold's fingers. She shrugged.

"Oh, oh, oh, it's magic?" Emma half-sang the old tune. It made Regina's powdered eyelids lower half an inch. She looked ready to take Henry and storm away. But Emma shook her head. "We're going to lunch and the kid wants to attend Archie's birthday party. After that, he's all yours."

Unless the kid snuck out using his makeshift rope and joined them for a late night video game and Oreos extravaganza. Regina registered the defiance in Henry's eyes and raked a strand of raven hair from her eyes.

"Eight o'clock. Not a minute later," she snapped crisply. Henry clung to Emma's side, beaming up at her now that they had Regina's permission. Her sharp heels click-clacked across the pale floor, followed untrustingly by Emma and Gold's eyes.

Only a few feet away, she suddenly whirled around, a finger raised to signal a recovered thought.

"By the way, Sheriff…I'm sorry for your loss." It would have been sincere and heartfelt…if Emma hadn't glimpsed the forming cruel grin on Regina's ruby lips as she turned away.

Emma's blood boiled until she saw red. How _dare _Regina even think to mock her about such a tragedy? Something inside her snapped.

Tossing the box aside, Emma lunged for Regina's retreating back, fingers curled into hooks. She was going to tackle her, she was going to kill her, she was going to—

A barrier intercepted Emma and pulled her backwards.

Gold's cane dug into her stomach and squeezed her against his body, just as Regina gasped and jumped back from the realization of having Emma nearly pounce on her from behind. Emma clawed at the cane, but Gold held steady. There was a rapid buzzing in her ear and it was a moment before it translated into Gold's silky voice.

"Stop, Emma. She's not worth it. Getting a rise out of you is her only goal. Think of Mary Margaret," he reasoned with her while he struggled to keep her in place. Slowly, the fight drained out of Emma's body as his words clamped down onto her brain, echoing.

_Think of Mary Margaret. _

She was doing it on purpose. It wasn't simply about flaunting the fact that Henry was in Regina's possession still and Emma's unborn child was lost to her forever. If Emma assaulted Regina, everything would fall apart; Mary Margaret's chances would be ruined. That was what she wanted as she stood there, completely smug.

"That's my girl," Gold murmured against the lobe of her ear as her breathing slowed and she stopped rocking into the cane. It was another minute before he trusted her control enough to lower it. Emma aimed darts from her eyes into Regina's face.

"Seems you're under a great deal of stress, Sheriff. Might I suggest therapy?"

Regina could smirk all she wanted, but Emma would not let her have the satisfaction of getting the best of her. Huffing, Emma grabbed up the karaoke machine and strode off for the checkout line.

_Enjoy that spot on your throne, Madame Mayor. Because soon I plan to knock you off of it._

….

Emma's nerves were still rattling when their trio entered the diner for lunch. It was a good thing they had brought Emma's Bug today—otherwise, she and Henry would probably be stuck pushing the karaoke machine down the street while Gold sat on top playing Henry's video game. They chose a booth by a window and Henry willingly slid in beside Gold.

There was that tricky gleam reflected in their eyes again. One of these days, she was going to figure out what those two were up to.

"Kid, no video games at the table," Emma said as he hunched over his video game avidly. Reluctantly, he turned it off and started to put it away. Gold's eyes followed the little toy and it caught Henry's attention.

"Oh, do you—" Henry was ready to hand the video game out to Gold, but he silenced Henry's question with a raised palm.

"Henry, what did we say about our little game? You're not a rule breaker, are you?" Henry frowned a little—it seemed whatever he remembered was not exactly exciting.

"But I asked you two extra questions in the pawnshop yesterday and you didn't say anything then," he objected. Gold inclined his head agreeably.

"That's because you were squeezing me to death and…I wasn't exactly myself. But now I am. Oh, and asking me for that early birthday present makes it three. You know what that means."

Henry moaned in defeat while Emma's eyes switched hopelessly back and forth between them. They may as well have been speaking Martian.

"What game?"

She rested her elbows on the table and locked eyes with Gold's brown ones. Silently, she demanded answers. He waved his hand in dismissal and pored over the menu. As if he hadn't already decided what he was in the mood for.

"I'm trying to teach Henry not to ask so many questions. He's allowed three from me per day," he explained without revealing the true heart of their secret. Henry's lips threatened a knowing smile as his thumbs pounded again over the buttons. Emma shot him a warning look and the video game slid out of view.

"Good luck. Henry's curiosity never runs out, trust me." She was speaking purely from experience. That kid would be useful in the interrogation room. Once again, he tried handing the video game off to Gold.

"I could teach you," he suggested, the screen glowing with pixels.

The minute it was in Gold's hands, he handled it like some strange foreign object. He twisted it this way and that, turned it upside down, tested out the buttons. It was like he had never played a video game before. Emma had to hide her smile behind her hand.

"See this little round yellow guy? His name is Pac-Man. You go around this little maze and you have to eat all those little dots. And you can devour these ghosts, but only when they turn blue. Otherwise, they'll hit you and it's game over."

Gold's eyes sparkled like a child's on Christmas Eve as he settled back in his seat to launch himself into the video game. For the next few moments, the only sound from his side of the table was _beep, beep, beep, beep. _Emma waved her hand in front of his face, but he was gone.

"I thought I said—" His hearing was still in order. He held up a finger without glancing up.

"Technically, you said that _Henry_ could not play his video game at the table. You never said anything about your dear husband. I'm afraid you'll have to wrestle it from me, Emma," he said as his fingers sped up over the buttons. He was a fast learner.

Emma gave in to his whims. Plus, she didn't think it'd be proper to tackle her husband over the table for a video game.

Granny swept across the diner to their table. She laid down the napkins and their drinks. Granny's memory of orders was just as sharp as Ruby's, if not sharper. Emma gratefully gulped half of her drink, even though it was scorching hot.

"The usual?" Granny inquired with Emma and Henry, who both nodded hungrily. Gold's gaze flickered up toward Granny and just as swiftly dropped to the screen again. "Alright, so that's…a grilled cheese and fries for the Sheriff, a hot dog and curly fries for the boy, and a medium-rare steak—"

_"No!" _

Gold growled and banged his fist on the table. The silverware clanged together and the drinks nearly toppled over. Emma and Granny offered him wary looks as he cursed under his breath at the game. The quiet must have alarmed him, for he lifted his head to grin at Granny. She didn't grin back.

"Ah, I mean…yes, I shall have the steak. Thank you, dearie." Granny blinked in response, not amused by his antics.

"It's too bad Storybrooke's daycare doesn't take full responsibility for unruly toddlers," she muttered, hitching her chin high. The comment earned Gold's undivided attention, even as the Game Over music warbled on his screen. It was meant to be intimidating, but Granny didn't flinch. "Oh, and I had Ruby send over some of my prize-winning meatloaf. Sorry for your loss, Sheriff. LMFAO."

Emma nearly snorted out her cocoa through her nose. It burned the back of her throat and she sputtered, water flooding her eyes.

"Excuse…me?" The diner's bell chimed, but Emma hardly heard it. She was too busy trying to understand Granny's meaning. Surely, she didn't mean…But Granny fixed her glasses and impressed steely eyes over Emma.

"You know. LMFAO. Let's move forward as optimistic. My piece of advice." Granny planted her hands on her hips, but Emma paled in bewilderment. Gold appeared ready to climb over Henry and confront Granny face-to-face. Cane vs. intense grandmotherly style.

A flash of red saved them.

"Granny, how many times did I tell you? You can't create your own meanings for these acronyms! It's not what you think it means!"

Even though Red's hands were full of bags, she tried to nudge Granny away from their table. She must have bought out Mr. Clark's store in preparation for Archie's birthday. Granny remained still as a statue.

"Why can't I? Some fool came up with YOLO, didn't he? If people can go around shouting YOLO all day, then I have as much freedom to go around shouting my advice in the form of acronyms. LMFAO!"

Ruby swung her hip against Granny's but it didn't do anything to help.

"Yesterday, you thought it meant Let's Make Fun of Annoying Ogres," she pointed out.

Their table seemed to disappear under their radar. Granny pivoted toward her granddaughter and marched into a heated battle with her. Emma dug into her pocket and slid her iPod over to Henry so that he wouldn't have to listen to this. She murmured a request for him to never repeat anything Granny said.

"Yes, so? They're all over the Inter-web," Granny protested, tossing her hands into the air. Ruby flicked a long strand of her dyed hair over her shoulder and blew out an exasperated breath.

"The _Internet_, Granny. And they're not ogres. They're trolls! Let's go." Ruby thrust the bags under the bar and dragged Granny away by the arm. It was like trying to move a bull. "I'm so sorry," she called out to them as she subdued Granny.

Emma was starting to hate those words. And technology. But apparently, her two lunch dates enjoyed it immensely. Henry was bobbing his head wildly as music poured into his ears and Gold had returned to his game once the bickering duo was gone.

"Any chance you'll be putting that game down?" She stared hard at Gold, but he did not answer. Lines of concentration marked his forehead and that was the fastest she had ever seen his fingers move. Maybe he was tuning her out. "Good news: David Nolan's running for Mayor this year!"

"_Yes!"_

Yeah, he was gone.

…..

"You know, if you hadn't taken so much time getting dressed, we wouldn't be so late," Emma chided her husband as they arrived outside Archie's door and knocked.

The party started an hour ago. They would've made it sooner if Gold hadn't kept changing his mind on his tie. Emma had the sneaking suspicion he was stalling on purpose. _Nope, not this one—it's too bright. Nope, not this one—it's too dark. Nope, not this one—it's not silky enough. _

"Dear, haven't I stressed my rule of being fashionably late enough?" He smoothed a hand along his suit and checked his breath. Henry leaned against the present, practically bouncing with excitement. He was the only who was, really.

"Six o'clock is not fashionably late. That's just late," she argued.

Emma started to become a little nervous and irritable within the last half hour. Archie had invited her as a way to cheer her up, but she was pessimistic enough to have her doubts that it would work. And Gold had tried any excuse he could not to attend, short of cutting his own hand off.

"Who holds a birthday party in a therapist's office?" Gold grumbled beside her, fixing the lapels of his suit for the thirteenth time. Emma swatted his hands away to make him stop.

"Archie. He _is _a therapist. Where did you expect him to have it? Chuck E. Cheese?" The diner would have been a good choice, until Granny learned that Leroy would be attending the party. She claimed she didn't want him passing out on the bar like he usually did. "Besides, Ruby said there would be other special plans this evening besides having cake in his office."

Emma impatiently scuffed her shoe on the carpeted floor. Gold shook his head wistfully.

"I'm sure she meant that for them, dear," he spoke with his lips barely moving.

Emma brewed up a dark look especially for his dirty imagination. Was it her imagination or had he slid a foot closer to her? There was a delicious gleam in his brown eyes: _they're doing it, why shouldn't we?_

"They've only been together a short while. Ruby hasn't even alerted Granny yet or she might have shot Archie already. For all you know, they agreed to wait," she harshly whispered.

Swiftly, Gold dipped his head down and his arm encircled her waist, drawing her toward his body. She knew that sly look—he was hungry and it wasn't simply for cake.

"That reminds me…do _we_ have any special plans tonight?" She rolled her eyes. _So, I take it this is later. _Now _he's in the mood. _

His lips buried into her blonde hair, his breath warming the skin of her neck. Instinctively she began to incline her head to allow him access, until she remembered that her kid had arrived with them. Reluctantly, she pulled back from his mouth.

"Not when the children are awake," she whispered and pointed a finger above Henry's head. The kid tilted his head back and gazed pointedly at her finger.

"Guys, just because you whisper doesn't mean I can't hear you." Emma's back grew stiff and her cheeks became a tell-tale rosy shade. She dropped her hand from above Henry's head. "Hey, maybe you two can go on a double date with Ruby and Archie. You can go karaoke singing, bowling—"

Gold rushed forward and rapped his knuckles demandingly on the door. Apparently, he wasn't very hopeful about enduring a bowling competition with Ruby and Archie.

The door swung open to reveal Ruby with her arm draped around the birthday boy's shoulders. In her hand was a shot, which she happily upended. Archie greeted them with a bright smile and then caught sight of the enormous present at Henry's feet.

"Emma, Mr. Gold, I'm glad you could make it," he welcomed them kindly, stepping aside to let them in. Henry shoved the present inside and slid it across the floor to join the others. Their present was the biggest one. It made Archie's eyes boggle.

Archie's office was filled with guests, most of which were getting cozy on his couch like they never would in therapy. The room had been transformed for the party by Ruby's hand—silver streamers drifted down from the ceiling, colorful balloons crowded the corners, and music played in the background.

"Hey, Emma," Ruby greeted with a sympathetic smile. She was practically blinding in a glittering red dress. There was a quick nod to Gold, probably to spare his jealousy and their rent. "You'll never guess what I got Archie. A waterbed! He's always wanted one."

Emma feigned interest and found it odd that Archie would ask for a waterbed. Here she figured it would be sweater vests and crickets.

"I do hope you have enough left over for rent," Gold callously interrupted Ruby's glee.

It was the equivalent of taking a sharp needle and popping a bubble. Her smile instantly diminished and she crossed her arms as though protecting herself against Storybrooke's beast. _Is it just me or did the temperature just drop ten degrees?_

"You'll get your rent. I've been saving up that money for a while. I just didn't have anything meaningful to spend it on until now," she retorted. Emma had a strange feeling that Ruby was inches away from sticking out her tongue at her husband. "I don't even know why you complain so much. With all the money you have, you could buy an indoor Jacuzzi!"

_Please don't get him started, _Emma silently begged the waitress. _His Christmas list for next year is already long enough!_ It was too late; she could tell by the way Gold deliberately reeled Emma into his body and smirked deviously at Ruby.

"Emma, be a dear and get a Jacuzzi for my birthday. I have a feeling you and I will enjoy it."

Purposely, his eyes made a show of roving over Emma's body, undressing her. A pinched look of disgust spread over Ruby's face and she shuddered. It seemed no one in Storybrooke cared to picture Gold lounging in a Jacuzzi. Perhaps they could put one in the back of his shop.

As Ruby drifted away to rejoin Archie's side in the bustling crowd, Emma spotted a table of food that had been set up in the corner. Lightly, Gold touched her elbow.

"Care for a drink?"

Judging from his tone, he didn't mean kiddie punch. It was the first time that Emma realized she was allowed to drink something stronger than water, juice, or cocoa. Not that she was going to go crazy on the stuff tonight, but a little to calm her nerves wouldn't hurt.

"Oh, hell yes."

…

Half an hour later, after most of the appetizers and finger sandwiches had disappeared from the buffet table, a firm knock came at the door. It was nearly six-thirty and Gold and Emma had been the last guests to arrive. Immediately, Ruby jumped up from where she was sitting beside Archie on the black couch.

"Ooh, that must be Granny with the cake," she exclaimed and hurried to answer the door.

Granny rolled the cake in on a rickety silver cart. It was a towering wonder; on the floor, Emma guessed it would almost be Archie's height. The candles were already lit and glowing as Granny guided the cart right before Archie. At Ruby's urging, an uneasy chorus of 'Happy Birthday to You' began.

"You're not singing," Emma hissed between her teeth, nudging Gold's side. Henry practically out-sang them all. But Gold remained stubbornly silent.

"I _am_ singing…inside my head," he replied curtly. Emma had serious doubts about that and knowing his way with words, it was a song other than the one currently unfolding. _Probably singing the version where he calls Archie a monkey. _

The singing ended on a jovial note and Archie closed his eyes to make his wish. Gold was obnoxious enough to check his watch. Archie sucked in a deep breath to blow out the candles…

And the cake exploded.

Chunks of frosting showered the people standing closest to Archie while Archie himself became unrecognizable in a layer of white icing. A piece of cake even fell in Emma's hair, but Gold was considerate enough to pluck it out and stuff it in his own mouth. He licked his fingers generously, a smirk of amusement sliding across his face.

From the ruined cake rose a figure: David Nolan.

Behind the thick white frosting, Archie gasped in shock and clutched at his chest as though having a heart attack. Ruby hastily gathered napkins and tried wiping away the patches of cake from his skin. She scowled down at her own stained red dress.

"I found it," David exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in his hand. _For all his excitement, I thought it would have been a golden ticket, _Emma thought wryly. _Except those are found in candy bars…not birthday cake. _David scanned the gawking faces of the crowd. "Alright, which one of you has the Holy Grail? Cough it up."

"When I said the quest was a piece of cake, that's not what I meant." Beside her, Henry smacked his hand to his forehead and he hurried to David to explain the prank. David's face crumbled in disarray. He stumbled off the cart and tracked extra frosting all over Archie's carpet.

"Archie…what exactly did you wish for?" Ruby grasped his shoulder to bring him back to life. He began to breathe normally and hopelessly scrubbed his glasses on his shirt to clean the lenses. If anything, it made it worse and he resolved to be blind.

"I never wished for a man to pop out of my cake, if that's what you're asking!" He fumbled for Ruby blindly and caught her by the arm. She led him off to the couch so that he could relax for a moment. And not break anything in his office. "I wished for another date with you."

Instantly, Ruby's eyes melted with warmth. She practically hopped on his lap in her amazement.

"Oh, that's so sweet," she gushed. She checked over her shoulder to make sure Granny wasn't nearby. "Of course you can have another date. Tomorrow isn't a full moon, but we can always make the best of it." Archie smiled and nodded in agreement.

Ruby felt her chest swell with hope and joy. Now to handle the bigger fish. She stalked over to Granny and planted her hands sternly on her hips. If Granny sensed her anger, the old woman didn't reveal any hint of it.

"Granny, did you know about this?" Ruby gestured to the destroyed remains of the cake and to David Nolan, who was in the process of scraping cake off his face. Granny's steely eyes flickered to David and then back to her granddaughter.

"You think he snuck in there while I wasn't looking? The boy was raving mad! Insisted that he had to be inside the cake, so I put him in there. The simplest rule of dealing with fools, Ruby: sometimes it's better to just give them what they want."

Ruby stared open-mouthed at Granny as she swiped up a line of frosting from the cart and tasted it. From her expression, it was rather good. Ruby noticed Leroy helping himself to a pound of ruined cake, plopping it on a plate. One by one, people shrugged and followed his lead. The town must have had an acquired taste for David-flavored cake.

Granny chuckled.

"You know what they say: let them eat cake."

….

It was time for the presents.

Archie was itching to know what was inside that huge present from the Golds, but he chose to save that one for last. Perhaps it would turn out to be the best, apart from Ruby's waterbed. Cautiously, he approached the pile of presents like a burglar sneaking through a house. After the cake incident, he wasn't willing to take chances.

"None of these presents will explode, right?"

He lightly poked one of the nearest gifts. Everyone studied the pile in slight apprehension as they tried to ignore the splatters of cake among the room. It would take a lot of cleaning to scrub the frosting from the floor.

"Okay, if your present is likely to explode, I suggest you take it," Ruby announced with her hands cupped around her mouth. The crowd was still, no one isolated to claim a gift. Grumbling, Leroy marched forward and snatched up a lumpy package. "Leroy!"

"I got him a rocket," he shot over his shoulder. Murmurs of surprise floated around the room. "I was going to light it after he opened it. You know…fireworks."

Thankfully, no one else came forward, including Gold. He matched the curious, pointed stares of every guest.

"Oh, right. I see. There's a chance of an explosive present and everyone looks at Mr. Gold," he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. The stares dropped quickly enough.

One by one, Archie tore into his presents eagerly—most of them being sweater vests and crickets.

"Crickets…sweater vests…crickets…" His enthusiasm waned the longer he strove on with the presents. The pile quickly diminished. Some of the guests shifted uncomfortably in their spots as they realized half the group bought the same thing.

"Does anyone have a gift that _isn't_ crickets or sweater vests?" Ruby huffed impatiently, earning a solid glare from Granny. Emma deliberately thrust her elbow into Gold's ribs, but he ignored her hinting. He'd put off Archie's excitement as long as he could—there was no telling what the cricket would do.

"Open mine," David suggested, handing a square present to Archie. He had dropped it off earlier when he thought he wouldn't be able to make it to the party due to his quest.

Archie acquiesced, ripping apart the thin paper. A scream erupted from his throat and the box went flying into David's hands. He leaped up from his seat, scurrying from the present.

"Yeah…the pet shop was all out of crickets," David admitted sheepishly.

"A…_tarantula?_ I've hated spiders ever since we watched that movie…" Archie shuddered violently. Ruby's brow furrowed with concern.

"Which one? _Eight Legged Freaks? Arachnophobia? Spider-man?"_ Archie gulped nervously and shook his head. His eyes never strayed from the hairy creature David had no problem holding. As long as he didn't take it out from the cage...he could tolerate it.

"_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," _Archie revealed. Ruby eyed him oddly, as did half the crowd. It was a sad thing to see their town therapist succumbing to his own phobia. "Why couldn't they just follow the butterflies?"

David set the tarantula cage on the table while Henry volunteered to push the last present in front of Archie.

"You'll like this one. I picked it out," he assured Archie, winking.

Hearing that from Henry seemed to calm Archie's nerves, even if he purposely sat as far away from the spider as possible. Henry's eyes were full of anticipation as Archie's fingers scrabbled across the wrapping.

"Oh….my…" Archie breathed in wonder once he figured out what it was. The rest of the wrapping was quickly shed and Archie loomed over it with his mouth hanging open. "A karaoke machine? But…but…Mr. Gold, you shouldn't have…"

Emma scrutinized Gold's face, daring him to agree with that sentiment. He pouted, but didn't say a word. Archie turned the box over this way and that to marvel over it. Grinning foolishly, he strode up to Gold, whose eyes were becoming wary the closer the man came. Emma shoved him forward toward Archie.

"Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate it," Archie said before capturing Gold in a warm hug. As Gold's face hardened, Emma trapped his hand down over the head of his cane so that he would not raise it threateningly.

Torturously, he endured it, though he made no move to return the hug. _I'll pretend he's hugging Archie in his mind, just like his singing, _Emma thought with a small smile. _Something tells me Gold will be spending the night in the shower. _

Archie patted Gold's back once more before releasing him. It was a full minute until Gold remembered how to breathe. His brown eyes darted to Emma with a warning: _if you say anything about this, there shall be consequences. _She simply returned the bold stare: _do your worst. _

"Guys?" Henry's small voice piped up from the crowd. He was kneeling by the table and peering into the tarantula cage. The empty tarantula cage. "The spider's gone." Archie fainted.

…

"I can't believe the spider crawled up Mr. Clark's pants," Emma recanted. Her cheeks were rosy from laughter and one too many drinks. "I couldn't tell if he was sneezing or screaming. Maybe both."

They walked side by side along the quiet street. They had already brought Henry home—a minute before eight just to tick Regina off—and were now venturing home themselves. Gold wore a grim expression—he sure didn't share Emma's enthusiasm.

"I can't believe Dr. Hopper actually hugged me," he protested, brushing off his impeccable suit. It wasn't exactly mentioned in the tone of Archie's biggest fan. Next time, he was following his instincts and buying that man a vest. Perhaps a bone for his dog. He liked Pongo well enough.

Emma entwined her arm through his and savored the warmth of his body against the chill of the night air.

"It doesn't make you feel good that you made someone happy? Even if it's with a karaoke machine?"

Her green eyes searched his lined face inquiringly. It was one of those times that he could easily depict the traits she shared with Snow. No matter how dreary the situation, a tiny flicker of hope refused to burn out.

Too bad he wasn't as optimistic.

"No. Should it?" She knew he was being cold on purpose, as a way to distance himself greatly from anything that threatened his little comfort zone. She frowned and sighed deeply. "What about you? Are you happy?" He sneered the word, only because it was unlikely.

Just as he anticipated, her hand brushed down along her belly. He wondered if she was aware she had done it. Into the distance of the darkened street she stared, avoiding his probing gaze.

"Obviously, I'm not as happy as I can be. But I'm not as miserable as I was this morning. It was…fun," she hesitantly admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. As if entertainment was a crime when you were suffering. "So, when's your birthday?"

He nearly tripped over his cane.

He had never shared his birthday with Emma—or rather, Mr. Gold's birthday. The last time he had celebrated his true one had been with Bae, centuries ago. Every year simply became a reminder of the time he spent separated from his boy.

Who in the Enchanted Forest would even wish him a happy birthday? The cricket? Charming?

But Emma's intense focus drilled holes into his body and he sensed this was one question she would not allow to go unanswered.

"You wish to throw me a surprise party when it comes?" Those emeralds shined mischievously. More often than not, he could read her like an open book. She would find it amusing. "If I walk into my shop and someone jumps up yelling 'Surprise', you can't blame me for the hospital bill. I don't take well to surprises."

Emma scoffed as if that was the understatement of the year.

"Henry might get you a present," she tried dangling in front of him like meat for a wolf. It wouldn't work. Although, his mind was undeniably awakened with curiosity. What would Henry possibly get him with the short allowance Regina offered? "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

They came to a sudden stop on the corner of their street, directly under the streetlamp. Gold absently looked out toward the slithering shadows. He debated whether to tell Emma or not. What was the harm? Surely, he could endure one measly birthday party…right? It would mean Emma would treat him especially well that day—it was almost too tempting to pass up.

And he enjoyed cake as much as ice cream…Ooh, ice cream cake! Now _that_ sounded fabulous.

"April 1st," he drawled. Mr. Gold's birthday. The corners of Emma's lips tightened. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. Did she think he was choosing one at random?

"You were born…on April Fools' Day?"

Oh, yes, that silly holiday. No one had ever dared attempt to prank Gold on that day. Nor did anyone wish him a happy birthday—it wasn't an event he broadcasted to the town's people at the town meetings. He wondered if even Regina acknowledged her own handiwork. He had no memory of it. Or maybe Mr. Gold blocked it out.

For all intents and purposes, it was simply another day for him.

But he could visualize the wheels spinning rapidly in Emma's mind. Not as quick as his own, but enough to make her intentions suspect. Was she planning his birthday bash or the best way to prank him? Set the alarm for 3 a.m. and hide it? Pie in the face? Switch his shampoo for honey?

"I'll keep that in mind," she said with a secretive smile. Oh, she thought she was a clever one.

In one swift gesture, his cane barred her path, creating a barrier against her back. As it pushed against her back, he urged her body against his own. Not too roughly, but just enough to trap her where he wanted her. Emma's hands pressed against his back as she tumbled into the circle of his arms, the distance between them vanishing in one fell swoop.

"That's valuable information, dearie," he hinted, sliding the cane along the length of her spine. It only encouraged Emma to press closer to his chest. Despite the precarious situation, she smirked. They were playing their old game again. It had been a while.

"What do you want?" Her breath tickled his jaw as she leaned toward his right side, her head inches from his. As if she really needed to ask that question. He wanted…comfort. To forget. Her, above all else.

"I'll settle for a birthday preview." That was his one and only offer. He thought he heard Emma whisper 'deal' as her lips met his in the dark.

The kiss was warm and soft at first and then grew increasingly demanding. The raging emotions that had plagued them this week suddenly rushed forth, consuming them until they clung to each other desperately. His cane clattered to the ground as his hands moved to the small of her back, holding her hard against him. Emma's teeth nipped his lower lip and he moaned. She allowed him access to her mouth while her hands worked their way along the arch of his back, lower and lower…

His head thrust back and he groaned in aggravated bliss as her touch teased his thigh. His toes nearly curled with the coils of pleasure spiraling through his body. A mixture of hot and cold sensations prickled along his neck. A soft snicker brushed against his ear as he became helpless to her whims.

It was a moment before he could rightly breathe through the mind-numbing ecstasy. By then, Emma's hands drifted away, her body not as close as it was before.

"How's that for a sneak peek?"

She patted his chest before diving to retrieve his cane from the cement. Shakily, he accepted it. This woman had the power to drive him to the brink of insanity and back. Perhaps this was what happened when she had him for a husband—she learned the ways of satisfaction.

"Let's get home before someone catches us making out on the corner of the street," she firmly suggested. Her eyes darted suspiciously across the road, as if she expected someone to be watching them from the bushes.

Grasping his cane for support—oh, how he needed it—he followed his wife as she started off for their house. For once, he was secretly looking forward to the day of April 1st.

"You _are _still buying the Jacuzzi, right? That one was not a quip!"

…

_**And now to thank all those that have given me such incredible reviews—I can never thank you guys enough for giving me so much support for this story. It's up to 900 reviews now! **_

_**So, here's to DaesGatling, megumisakura, ParanormalMoonlight, DragonRose4, discotimelord, Musicalfan2012, Emperor's Sister, Huntress4455, Sweetangelz18, nuckythompson, louisethelibrarian, JessOvergon, helikesitheymikey, BlooperLover, Tizmine, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, sbcarri, RainMirror, SwanQueen4055, and The Auburn Girl. **_


	48. Chapter 48

_**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I think you'll really enjoy this next chapter. It has a lot of good stuff for Emma and Gold, but don't let me ruin it for you. By the way, don't you love it when Gold trolls Regina? **_

"Any particular reason why you're following me?"

Emma tossed over her shoulder as she entered the observation room behind the two-way mirror. Regina's heels were riding on top of hers and she'd be lying if she insisted she wasn't annoyed. Did Regina seriously have to watch every second of her circus show?

"I only want to ensure all goes well with Ms. Blanchard. If she is innocent as you claim—unlikely—then she'll have nothing to worry about, will she?" _You only want to watch the DA rip her to shreds, _Emma thought bitterly.

Letting Mary Margaret go through with this was a bad idea, she sensed it. She clenched her fists and ignored Regina's feigned innocence. The last thing she wanted was to be in a room alone with Regina, especially if she made a snide remark about the miscarriage.

Through the two-way mirror, the interrogation room door opened.

In strolled Gold with his sullen client in tow and handcuffed. Emma wished she didn't have to use them, but it was a precaution since Mary Margaret was being held accountable for murder. It was bad enough she was walking on egg-shells around Regina as it was. One missed standard of protocol and she would be thrown into the fire.

Tiredly, Mary Margaret sank into a chair facing the two-way mirror. By the slump of her shoulders and flat distance embedded in her eyes, she'd all but given up hope. Gold, however, was naturally calm and controlled. He whipped out a cell phone from his pocket, his pianist fingers moving seamlessly over the buttons.

All of a sudden, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out under Regina's displeased stare and saw that Gold had sent her a text message. _Do me a favor. Tell me when I'm standing in front of Regina. _Then another message came right after it. _Before you ask, no, this does not count as your favor. _

What was he up to now? A chance to screw with Regina? Maybe it was his form of payback for Regina's disparaging smirk and false condolences.

Nevertheless, she eyed him through the mirror and sent a message back. _A little to your right. _Gold shifted along the length of the mirror. Regina's head spun back and forth between them, probably wondering what was going on. _A foot more. There! _

Gold stopped directly before Regina, though he could not possibly see her through the glass. Emma had a feeling Regina was in for quite a different circus show tonight.

The first thing Gold did was smooth his hands along the lapels of his suit, as though pampering himself. He weaved his fingers through his hair, pushing it back this way and that to reveal the gray streaks underneath. He patted it down even though every strand was perfectly set in place.

Regina grimaced as Gold more or less checked himself out. Oh, but he wasn't finished yet. Far from it.

Gold stepped within an inch of the glass. He bared his teeth, his gold one glinting in the light of the interrogation room. His nail traced it as he pretended to pick out a piece of leftover food. Emma had to cover her mouth to hide her amusement. Regina was startled into speechlessness, especially when Gold began rotating to view every angle of himself admiringly.

"Is it warm in here Ms. Blanchard or is it just me?" Mary Margaret was tilting her head to the side and observing Gold with puzzlement as he conducted his little show.

His brown eyes flickered to Emma even though it was impossible for him to see her standing there and the corners of his lips quirked in a smile. To her disbelief, he lifted his gloved hand to his mouth and used his teeth to strip it off. He let it dangle for a moment before plucking it out of his mouth. And then he did the same with the other one; leisurely peeling it off and flexing his bare fingers.

"Sheriff, are you going to put a stop to your husband's strip-show before or after I lose my lunch?"

Regina's head snapped in her direction and she glowered fiercely. It was a good thing Gold didn't move on to the tie next. Too bad—Emma's answer would have been _after. _

Opening his mouth, Gold's breath created a cloud on the glass. He used his finger to write a message—it was backwards so that they would be able to read it. Or, at least, Regina would. _Hiii, Regina. _

Even in a cloud of breath on the glass, his handwriting was something to be envied. Regina crossed her arms and did not look the least bit impressed with his acknowledgment of her presence. Then he was writing again, blowing a new cloud of breath onto the glass every time it dissipated.

_Fetch me…my donut…dearie. _There was a cloud of fog devoted to his term of endearment. Emma switched her eyes to Regina to see what he would do. Her ruby lips pouted in distaste.

"Food is not allowed in the interrogation room," she complained, as though Gold could easily hear her. Emma rolled her eyes. _If he goes back out there to get his payment, you'll just have to wrestle it from him, _she mentally retorted and then smiled because she would love to see Gold pin Regina down.

As if Gold picked up Regina's defiance, he added one more word to the glass. _Please. _

Regina glared openly at the simple word as it faded from the glass. She tapped her foot a couple of times on the gray linoleum floor. Whirling on her heel, she charged through the door of the observation room, her black hair nearly fizzling in her irritation.

A minute later, the door of the interrogation room burst open and Regina strode in with a Boston crème donut in hand. She nearly flung it at his chest in cold fury, but he caught it expertly. He took a generous bite of it just to spite Regina further.

Emma watched the scene in amazement. _One of these nights, he seriously has to tell me how he does that. _

Regina stormed back into the observation room, but she didn't bother to say a word to Emma. She merely crossed her arms and glared at Gold with all the hatred she could muster. Emma smirked in amusement just as the DA entered the room with files in hand, prepared to grill Mary Margaret like a steak at a barbecue.

She hoped Gold could save her.

"Alright, Miss Blanchard, since you so kindly agreed to this meeting—"

The DA started with an arrogant air, but paused to stare across the table at Gold. He was seated directly opposite the DA and treating himself to his donut. The DA was still for a moment and then spun around in his chair to accuse them through the two-way mirror.

"Why does _he_ get to eat in the interrogation room? Why am I not allowed to have one myself?" Someone was jealous.

"Because no one likes you," Gold retorted cruelly.

He chomped down into his donut, licking the crème off his long fingers. The DA straightened in his chair and Emma suspected that he wasn't too fond of Gold. At least Gold had the sense to finish his donut before the DA began chewing out Mary Margaret.

Because it went downhill from there.

…..

Whale checked his watch and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was his lunch break. Usually, when he was exceptionally hungry, he would jip a patient out of their Jell-O. It wasn't like he stole it from children or anything—just patients who had no desperate need of it. Who really ate hospital Jell-O anyway?

Whistling, he made his way outside with the intent of heading straight to Granny's for a big, juicy hamburger…

"Whale," the demanding voice arose from behind him and he froze in his steps.

The chipper note in his footing drained away. Turning slowly, he recognized the Sheriff and winced under the spectacularly grim expression lining her face today. Someone definitely needed a lollipop.

"Whatever the nurses said about me and the Jell-O is not true. It was only a couple of times this week," he blurted out before she had a chance to question him. He only made sure to take Jell-O from patients who were screaming too much to eat.

Emma frowned and crossed her arms.

"What about you and the Jell-O?" Whale scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk. He avoided her unsettling stare.

"Nothing," he quickly mumbled.

If the Sheriff didn't have a clue about the Jell-O…then what exactly was she here for? As far as he knew, she and her husband were fiercely holding onto their marriage after that awful incident. He still didn't buy August's story that Emma had nearly tumbled off a cliff and he saved her from almost certain doom in heroic fervor, either.

"Is there something else I can help you with? Flu? Food poisoning? Heart transplant? Somebody else…die?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow warily. If she noticed how he was silently inching away, she didn't make a move to halt him. He was hungry.

"E: none of the above. Although, most of the guests at Archie's party didn't seem to take too well to David-flavored birthday cake," she said forlornly. He grumbled in response. No wonder every vomiting person in that ER kept blaming David Nolan. One guy wouldn't stop screaming that he ate David whenever a nurse asked about his diet.

It was quite disturbing.

It seemed the David Virus was the world's latest epidemic. He could only hope the citizens of Storybrooke wouldn't turn into zombies next. He'd never been so happy _not_ to attend a party before. _I will never complain about being stuck in surgery ever again, _he vowed in his mind.

Something in Emma's face shifted, vying for his undivided attention. Tired circles hung under her eyes and she appeared more solemn than she had a moment ago. Or perhaps she was simply showing more of it. She almost looked…needy. Seeking comfort.

Whale licked his upper lip and, in an instant in which his mind hit the gutter, wondered how high Emma Swan-Gold would rank on Ruby's specially-crafted intimate scale. He would smolder and ask, but that would surely earn him a slap to the face. And a cane.

"I just have one question," she started, tilting her head slightly so that the sunshine's rays radiated through her golden waves. _Why, yes, Sheriff, I agree. I do hold a candle to George Clooney. I would love to have my own medical show. _"How long must Gold and I wait to…try again?"

Oh. His expectations crashed to the ground faster than a plane spiraling out of the air.

Then he grimaced as he translated the underlying meaning of her curious question. Ugh…ew! She was technically asking him whether it was okay for her and Gold to…get it on. _Bad mental image! Bad mental image! Now I remember why I like visiting the coma patients. They never bother me with awkward questions!_

He registered the flicker of hope in her green eyes and the way in which she seemed ready to devour any answer he saw fit to offer. Somehow, he pushed aside the arrogant flirtation and the fact that this was the Sheriff as well as the wife of the most powerful man in town. And what he saw underneath those layers shook him.

What he saw was an unsure woman who was sincerely hurting from the unforgivable loss of a child. A woman who chose to hide behind thick steel walls to avoid garnering pity from the townsfolk she was meant to protect. He saw someone who was desperate to gain that which she had lost, to fill a terrible void deep inside.

He sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair as he debated the right words to use. He was never good at this consoling type of thing. That was what Archie was for.

"Sheriff…it's only been a couple of days. You need to let your body and your mind heal from this trauma. It's…great that you want to try with your husband, but your reasoning should be because you really want to nurture a new child between you. Not because you wish to replace the one you lost. I know you must want to ease the pain, but give it time," he advised. _I have to stop having drinks with Archie at Granny's. _

Now Emma was the one avoiding his gaze, her teeth gnawing the inside of her cheek. He suspected that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"How long?" She stressed in a whisper.

His stomach growled, reminding him of where he should be right now. Swallowing down a delicious burger with pickles, pretending not to notice the curve of Ruby's legs as she bent over a customer's table to serve food, catching up on the latest town gossip…

"Honestly, Mrs. Gold, I don't really—" She charged toward him furiously.

"_How long?"_ He held up his palms in defense. Touchy little thing, wasn't she? There was a distinct hardness in her attitude that made ice look soft as the cuddly teddy bear on the bottle of Snuggle laundry detergent.

"I'd say…a couple of weeks. Just to be on the safe side," he relented. _But you don't usually play on the safe side, do you, Sheriff? _Just as he expected, her focus dropped to a vague point across the street, unseeing. "I'd strongly advise you to wait until then to…have…um, do…_it._ Do you hear me, Sheriff?"

Annoyed, she jerked her head sharply in his direction and glared. Her hair practically stood on end and sparked with electricity.

"Yeah, I heard you," she snapped and briskly turned on her heel.

He watched her stride away with a tiny tendril of foreboding nudging his brain. He could not forget that she was Gold's wife and words meant a great deal. The question, he realized, should not have been whether she heard his words, but whether she would heed them.

And now he only had a little over ten minutes for lunch. _Hide your Jell-O, folks. _

…

Emma needed dating advice.

Well, she was technically past the dating stage if the diamond on her finger was anything to go by. In that case, she needed a little….seduction advice. Despite her reputation, Regina was out of the question. There was no way Emma would ever live it down if she rang Regina's doorbell and asked her how to seduce her husband.

There was only one person in this town she could turn to for help. It was why she was currently pulling open the diner's door. The bell rang to announce her presence and Ruby met her eyes from the bar.

"Oh, hey, Emma," the waitress instantly brightened up from her usual bored attitude on the job. She pointed a long nail in her direction, her face scrunching in concentration. "One grilled cheese, side of fries, extra ketchup, and a hot cocoa with cinnamon and extra whipped cream?"

Emma's stomach grumbled as she strolled up to the bar. Too bad she wasn't here for lunch.

"Actually, no. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Ruby nodded vigorously and started off for the laundry room. She closed the door behind them to ensure their privacy. Not that this would stay in Ruby's mind very long. Emma leaned against the humming washing machine as Ruby scrutinized her. _Here goes nothing. _

But the question stuck to the roof of Emma's mouth like the world's thickest peanut butter. The words refused to be formed. Every time she tried, it sounded wrong. She knew she had to come out with it when Ruby started giving her odd looks.

"How do I….seduce Gold?"

The question seemed to echo inside the laundry room. For nearly a minute, Ruby stared incredulously at Emma. She wondered if she should repeat the question, except her tongue did not want to obey a second time.

And then Ruby burst out laughing.

"Emma, I have been trying to figure out the answer to that question for years!" She exclaimed through a gale of euphoria. Emma gave the waitress a bemused look. Ruby shrugged. "What? I figured if he and I…if I could get him to…then of course our rent….oh, don't judge me! Anyway, you can have him all you want. I'm perfectly happy with Archie."

Well, wasn't it a relief to know that Gold wouldn't be having an affair with Ruby anytime soon?

"Thanks for your…blessing," Emma awkwardly stumbled. "Now how do I seduce him?"

Ruby tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. She offered Emma a strict once-over.

"Hmm…what usually turns him on?" Emma's mouth gaped open. Heat gathered around her neck as a list of several things popped up in her head. Ruby planted her hands on her hips and waited. "Well? Something's gotta get him going, right?"

"Uh….well…leather and ice cream…and the way I argue with him…" It wasn't exactly an ordinary list that any wife would give. Ruby arched an eyebrow speculatively. Then she nearly jumped up in her spot with the stroke of an idea.

"Ooh, I've got it! Wear some sexy leather pants, surprise him in bed with a bottle of chocolate sauce, and start a heated debate about who should run for Mayor against Regina. The town would have to wear ear-muffs to block out the sound of your intense 'arguing.'" Ruby looked much too gleeful about that prospect. "Whatever you do, don't nominate Gold."

Just for added measure, Ruby crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut to pray. Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation. The advice didn't do much for her—she never owned a pair of leather pants before and Gold used up all the chocolate sauce last time he made himself a sundae.

"Ruby, if Gold ran for Mayor, I'm sure this place would be a ghost town in the span of five minutes," she retorted flatly. "Thanks for the advice."

Emma swept past her to the laundry room door while forming her own mental list of ideas as to persuade Gold tonight. The leather could stay.

"Oh, and when you two are…arguing…could you maybe convince him to lower our rent a couple hundred dollars?" Emma turned to witness Ruby smiling encouragingly. "You never know. It could lead to extra arguing." And so help her, she winked.

"And if that doesn't work, try the cane," Ruby called after her. Emma nearly slammed into Mother Superior on her way out the door.

….

Whale's words had echoed inside her head for most of the day, like a miserable fly that wouldn't quit buzzing in her ear. He told her it wasn't a good idea to try so soon….oh, but she wanted to try again so much. The urge burned through her body like an excessive thirst.

Besides, she always assumed guys who swiped Jell-O couldn't be trusted.

Emma usually never wore her leather jacket further than the door let alone the table, but tonight she kept it on—mainly because she knew Gold secretly admired her in leather. All throughout dinner, with their forks scraping across their plates, she debated on what to say to stir up their wild passion. It was a much harder task when she was actually _trying. _

She had made the dinner special for him: a generous helping of steak using Mary Margaret's instructions just to make sure she didn't mess it up. A bottle of wine had been set in the middle of the table beside two glasses. Maybe she went a little too far with the candles and the dim lighting.

Gold had examined the table with mild amusement—a good start. He humored her by immediately pouring out a glass of wine for each of them.

"What's the occasion? It's not yet my birthday," he had pointed out in an attempt to wheedle the truth from her. His curiosity didn't stop him from taking his seat at the head of the table.

Emma chose to sit beside him tonight, barely an arm's length away. It would look weird if she were bending over the table to show her cleavage through the low-cut tank top she wore under the jacket. Red made it look so easy. Or maybe that was precisely why Gold never turned his eyes on her.

Right, better to listen to her instincts and act natural.

"There has to be a special occasion for us to enjoy each other's company tonight?"

At that point, she had cleverly reached over and clasped his hand, squeezing it gently. When she tried to pull back, he refused to release it. Instead, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and pressed a long, sensual kiss to her skin. Turning it over, his mouth slid across her palm. Her legs twitched on her seat as she tried to manage the pool of warmth in her belly.

His dark eyes flashed upwards, the candlelight making his irises shine like diamonds.

"If I didn't know any better, Emma, I'd say you were trying to seduce me," he drawled knowingly. A pink blush rushed to her cheeks as her hand slid from his grasp. _And if I am? Don't pretend you're not enjoying it, _she longed to say. His teeth glinted through the wicked smile plastered on his face. "Don't you know me by now, dearie? I prefer to do the seducing."

And he had playfully tugged one of her blonde curls.

Now she sat, struggling to be desirable without coming off as tacky as Ruby. The question of Mary Margaret's case surfaced to her mind, but she shoved it back down. The last thing she wanted was to lead him in that direction—talking about the jail sentence of her supposed mother didn't quite scream romance.

Movement from the corner of her eye broke through her concentration. Gold nudged his plate away with the steak half-eaten and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Then he lounged back in his chair, folded his hands under his chin, and studied her. It was that seeking gaze that seemed to be waiting for something, his eyelids almost unblinking.

"They say if you take a picture, it'll last longer," she quipped dryly. He disregarded her bristled tone and dared to chuckle deep in his throat.

"I disagree. I don't think a photo would do you any justice, Emma," he complimented. His fingers curled as if he itched to reach out and touch her. "I received an interesting phone call from Dr. Whale at the shop today. Did you know that man steals Jell-O from his patients?"

If Whale ever tried that with Gold, he'd be walking funny for a week. Emma felt a cold sensation trickle across the back of her neck as she waited for the inevitable. Gold had yet to tear his eyes away from her face.

"He seemed rather concerned about our lovemaking tendencies, darling. Afraid that we were breaking the bed a bit too soon, though not in those exact words. And then I arrive home to a lovely candlelight dinner with my leather-clad wife. What are the odds?"

She didn't offer up an explanation; he was capable of reading her like an old favorite book, anyway. All she did was chase the food on her plate. It suddenly wasn't that appetizing, what with the subject of Whale. The seconds ticked by on the clock in the hall. She was not about to apologize for trying to have a roll in the bed with her husband.

With a groan of his chair, he leaned forward and deftly caught her chin. He guided it in his direction until she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. The impish behavior had vanished and left a pitying husband in its place. She didn't know which shade she'd rather deal with.

"Emma, you of all people should be aware that I never break my word. I told you we would try for a child…and we will," he promised.

His hand gradually released her chin, but she already missed his touch. Yearning, she scooted forward on her seat until all that separated them was the corner of the table.

"Why not tonight?"

She placed a hand on the crook of his arm, testing him. When he didn't draw away, she gathered up the will to lean forward over the corner of the table, her lips seeking out his. His fingertips brushed the curve of her jaw, inviting her in. Emma was nearly ready to bound out of her chair and into his lap, his warm breath tickling her skin….

At the last moment, her elbow knocked against his wineglass and it toppled over the table. Wine spilled across the tabletop in a red river, dripping down onto Gold's lap. Immediately, he jumped up from his seat and hissed as he dabbed at the damp patches on his suit. _Good going, Emma, _she berated herself.

He sighed and threw the napkin down over the puddle of wine.

"Emma? Mind if I ask you a question? What did my suits ever do to offend you?"

It would have made her smile on any other occasion to see her husband so frantic and drama-queen-ish about his style, but tonight it only made her feel worse that her attempts had been a failure. He must have sensed her distress, for he moved around to the back of her chair and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Never mind it. I have a closetful of suits yet to be worn…or not worn, whichever you prefer," he taunted for a chance to cheer her up.

Without scraping back her chair, Emma stumbled to her feet and turned to meet him face-first. He did not touch her, but waited to see what her next move would be. He should have known she would not give in so easily.

Teasingly, her fingers climbed up along his shirt to his tie. Deliberately holding his gaze, she undid it and allowed it to slip through her hands. A patch of skin was revealed—she dipped her head forward and kissed the base of his neck. A low moan escaped his throat as he inclined his head back.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Emma," he warned. His hand must have disagreed with him since it rose to cup the back of her head. Not like she was going anywhere fast. Her lips trailed along his neck, to the lobe of his ear.

"Luckily, I'm not one for playing on the safe side," she whispered and grazed her teeth across the skin underneath his ear.

She could hear the hum of his heartbeat pulsing against his throat; she could sense the struggle waging inside him as he debated whether to let her continue what she was doing. Her arms encircled his neck and held on as a trail of kisses massaged his neck.

"Emma," he groaned. His hands suddenly gripped her forearms and thrust her back. His irises were cloudy with need, yet he was fighting the impulses. Their breathing was heavy, his tongue licking his lips as though imagining the taste of her already.

"Please," she pleaded.

The turmoil ran rapid over his face, lining it with uncertainty. She broke a hand from his grasp to smooth out the worry in his brow. His defenses were crumbling, she could tell. She had plenty of time to learn that one of Gold's favorite words was just that: please. It was his choice.

_How much does a doctor really know when he earns his degree from a curse? _He thought rashly as his other hand made its way to Emma's chin. The cradle of his hand there was tender, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

"How could I say no to one so desperate?"

And then his mouth captured hers once and for all.

His arms crushed her against his body to bring her as close as humanly possible for the moment. She eagerly returned his kiss, even sucking sweetly on his bottom lip just to hear him moan. The impact of his body against hers made her retreat backwards until her hip banged into the table.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, Gold abruptly swept a hand across the table, ridding it of all glasses and plates. Someone would have to sweep up the broken mess later, but Emma was too preoccupied with the way Gold was instructing her body to lean back across the surface of the table. His mouth tended to her neck as he climbed atop her, his legs straddling either side of her body.

"The bed," she murmured into his hair. He quickly shook his head.

"You've never had a problem with hard spaces before," he reminded her of all their previous excursions.

There was a tell-tale creak and she rolled her head to the side to study the end of the table. This would not end well. It was bad enough they would once again need to buy new plates from Mr. Clark. Gold's excuse last time was that Henry kept losing the Frisbee.

"True, but do you want to break the table like you broke the bed in Louisiana?" He picked his head up from the hem of her leather jacket.

"_I _broke the bed? It takes two to tango, dearie," he retorted hotly. She gave him a serious stare as another creak sounded from their end of the table. He looked suspiciously to the corner of it. "Decidedly not."

Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and helped Emma up from the table. She tumbled into his chest and he held her for a minute before they swayed in the direction of the hall and the stairs. Emma's mind was racing too fast to notice the way they practically tripped up the stairs in a race to the bedroom. Once inside it, Gold's hands encircled Emma's waist and guided her into his arms.

"As you were saying?" Emma cracked a smile an instant before stoking the fire again.

Her hands feverishly worked at parting him from his shirt. A couple of the buttons popped off and rolled across the floor. The leather jacket was flung to the side, followed by his cane. Gold and Emma lost themselves in each other's touch as they fell together atop the mattress. Emma gasped underneath his body and his mouth moved away from her chin.

"Are you alright?" He scanned her body to see if he'd hurt her by accident. Emma merely pressed her palms to his bare back to prevent him from retreating. Her golden waves fanned out on the pillows and he longed to delve into it.

"Don't stop," she said softly, urging him down to her again.

He peppered her jaw, her neck, her shoulder with nips. He shoved the strap of her tank top down and freed her arm. He was in the process of doing the same with the other one, about to rid her of the tank top completely, when suddenly he paused. Placing his hands on either side of her head, he gazed down into her eyes with perplexity.

"Emma…How…how are you doing that?" Her brow furrowed with confusion. The only thing she'd been doing was lolling her head against the pillow and savoring every pleasurable sensation he was arousing inside her.

"Doing…what?" He reeled his head back.

"Humping my leg," he clarified. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She couldn't very well see her legs under his body, but she was fairly certain they weren't doing anything. She liked to think she had more control over her limbs than that.

"Gold, I am lying underneath you. How exactly would I be humping your leg?"

The reasoning seemed to resonate inside his mind. He craned his neck to view their entangled legs and cursed. She rose up on her elbows and choked back a surprised snicker. Somehow, Goldie had managed to sneak in with them. Apparently, the fur-ball was just as attracted to Gold as she was.

"Hey! Mangy fur-ball. Get…off…my…leg!" Gold shook his leg side to side to try and wrangle it away from Goldie, but the dog held on fiercely. Climbing off Emma, he rolled over.

The dog bounded up the bed while Gold furiously rubbed his violated pant leg. Goldie seemed to realize Emma was there since the tail was waving rapidly and the little pink tongue licked Emma's face.

"Hold it there! You're not supposed to be the one licking her face!"

Gold lifted the dog up into his arms and carried her off to the hallway. He deposited her outside the bedroom and closed the door completely. Emma raked a hand through her hair and curled up on the bed. The mood was ruined. Gold miserably limped back to the bed and slipped under the blankets with her.

"And now…my estate is on fire," he grumbled.

Emma glanced down at the sheets where she imagined his estate to be. She frowned sympathetically and brushed her knee against it lightly. A low moan escaped his throat. The desire to try slowly seeped from her veins.

"Maybe Whale is right," she muttered, and suddenly wanted to stick a bar of soap in her mouth like an apple. "Maybe it's not the right time, after all." A terrible scowl marred his face as the air cooled around them.

"And when shall that be? Before or after our own Mother Theresa is incarcerated?"

Emma despised the sour note in his voice. It didn't help that Mary Margaret's future was just as unclear to her. But the only ace they had to play in her case was Gold—if he couldn't figure out a way to undo everything Regina had done, no one could.

She placed a kiss on his cheek, but he remained glaring at the ceiling.

"I trust you," she whispered and laid her head on his chest. After a while, his hand stroked her hair and she fell into a dreamless sleep with the lullaby of his heartbeat.

…..

_**As always, I must thank all of those that have reviewed recently. Here's to DaesGatling, Deathbringer88, Guest, CookieSpells4, discotimelord, isara-love, sexysashaas, Petrie, megumisakura, nuckythompson, sbcarri, Sweetangelz18, helikesitheymikey, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Huntress4455, The Auburn Girl, SwanQueen4055, BlooperLover, and Tizmine. **_

_**Thanks, everyone! Hope you all enjoy the new ep returning this week. (-; **_


	49. Chapter 49

_**A/N: Sorry this took a bit long to get out. I have been nothing but busy these past few weeks! But, to make up for it, here is a long chapter for you guys. I hope you like it. **_

"Ah, peace and quiet at last."

Gold propped his feet up on his desk. Now that the drama of Mary Margaret's incarceration was no longer an issue, he could use a nice, long, much-deserved nap…

There was a loud noise from the front of his store—someone charging through his front door. His eyes shot open.

"Or not."

"Gold," Emma called out urgently as she stormed to the register. She paced in front of it a few times. Then she abused the service bell on the counter. _Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring—_

A low grumble rose from the back of the shop and the black curtain was raked aside to reveal her husband. He limped to the counter and grabbed up the service bell. That was the last time he invested in such a headache-inducing item. It was like buying a set of drums for a toddler.

"I heard you the first thirty times, darling," he said as he tossed the service bell into a drawer where it would be forgotten.

"Just wanted to be sure. You know how much of a deep sleeper you are with your naps. I could probably tie your chair to the back of a truck and have it drag you out of your shop and you wouldn't notice," she taunted.

Gold scoffed at her ridiculous barbs. That would never happen. His chair would obviously get stuck on something in this shop before he made it through the door.

"What is so terribly important that I had to stop counting sheep?"

A change came over Emma then. The light humor faded, leaving only uncertainty and grimness in its place. The corners of her lips pinched, her palms gripped the edges of the counter as if she required support.

"Kathryn is alive," she pronounced slowly, almost inaudibly. It must have been foreign to her tongue still. "Kathryn is alive. In the hospital. She was found outside the diner. No gaping hole in her chest, so her heart's exactly where it should be."

If only that logic worked against magic.

He fought to keep the victorious smile from sliding across his face. His "magic" never failed him. Danvers took his _Mission: Impossible _role seriously. Instead, he feigned surprise, his eyebrows arching up incredulously.

"How very fortunate for Miss Blanchard," he commented. Emma continued to stare at him closely, searching for answers that he was reluctant to give otherwise. After a moment of her sharp speculation, he drew a hand across his jaw. "Did I forget to shave?"

Emma immediately lowered her eyes from his face—not out of embarrassment over being caught staring, but because she was struggling on how best to pose her next few words. There was something else she wanted to say. He could tell by the way she chewed the inside of her cheek.

He had a funny feeling he knew what that question might be.

"You said you were going to work some magic," she hinted, begrudgingly drawing her focus upwards to his face once more. She observed every line, every crease, every twitch for some sign of a truth he was trying to cover up. It was a good thing his poker face was near unbreakable.

"I'll have to check on our reservations for the special bed in the back," he quipped.

Emma's jaw clenched and she lost the hesitance that had been holding her back. Her muscles tensed as she leaned farther over the counter, her face coming within inches of his.

"Enough with the evasions," she demanded. Her brow furrowed unpleasantly as she waited for his answer. He couldn't help the small upturn of his lips as he watched her bristle. He longed to kiss the anxiety from her face.

"Just what are you asking me, dear?" Emma huffed. A piece of her hair fluttered up.

"I think you know," she returned flatly.

She began to tap her boot on the floorboards impatiently. His tongue traced the upper curve of his lip as he debated on which answer to give. He'd prefer the one that didn't result in his wife storming from his shop. It was too soon for such hurt after Jefferson's knife in the back.

"I had nothing to do with Kathryn's mysterious reappearance, I assure you. Quite frankly, I am astounded that I am your first suspect. I'm sure plenty of people were secretly shipping Mary Margaret and David." Emma still wasn't convinced.

"Do any of them have a record for beating people to death with canes, delivering explosive chocolates, and purposely driving through puddles to splash people walking in the rain? David Nolan's complained about that more than once."

Gold started to chuckle at the memory, until Emma's expression darkened. He quickly turned it into a fake cough. Nailed it.

"I only did it the one time. Everyone else just followed suit. It's not my fault if I'm nominated as the town trendsetter," he remarked.

Emma always assumed Regina was the town trendsetter along with everything else. It bode the question about which one started wearing suits first.

She'd place her money on Gold.

"I suppose I should just be happy that Mary Margaret will be released," Emma finally loosened up, though her evil eye was slow in diminishing. "But if you had anything to do with this—" She pointed a finger threateningly. He ignored it as if it were invisible.

"You'll ban me from the cookie jar?" Her eyelids narrowed. He was pushing his limits on her trust again. Gently he captured her hand and kissed her accusing finger. "Come now, darling. What's done is done. Be happy for Mary Margaret."

Emma frowned uncertainly and squirmed her finger away from his lips. She gave him one last long look of suspicion before showing off her backside as she left his shop. He sighed and dug out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and found the right one.

"Danvers. Do me a favor. Stop in at Clark's and buy out his shelf of double-stuffed Oreos. I have a feeling I'm banned from the cookie jar."

…..

The only good thing about having Miss Ginger as a teacher was that she frequently took cigarette breaks every hour.

The minute she was gone, Henry jumped up from his seat and made sure the door was closed all the way. Pig-Tails got out the massive card that they were working on for Ms. Blanchard. It was to celebrate the fact that she would be out of jail soon.

The last time they tried making a card with Ms. Ginger in the room, she had been sneaking a cigarette through the window of the classroom. She came over to inspect the card and some of the ash had flittered onto the paper. The entire thing burst into flames and the sprinklers inside the classroom had gone off.

It was funny to watch Ms. Ginger stamp out the flames in her high heels, though—if someone looked through the classroom door's window, it would have looked like Ms. Ginger was teaching them all how to do the Chicken Dance.

"Okay, all we need is a message," Henry said as he scanned over the glittery, pink card.

It was almost as big as him and just as wide. Too bad it wasn't one of those musical ones. But they did glue some of those candy hearts on the cover that bore sayings like '_U R Awesome' _and '_I love you.' _

It wasn't enough, though.

"What have we got?"

The classroom was quiet even though they were all huddled around a clump of desks that they shoved together. The kids blinked awkwardly at one another. _Crickets, crickets, as Archie would say, _Henry mentally moaned. _I can't wait until I move into the next grade._

"How about…_Welcome back, Miss Blanchard. We missed you?"_ Grace a.k.a Paige suggested. Henry smiled at her brightly. He would miss having class with Grace if Emma didn't break this curse soon.

"No. That's too boring," Golem protested. He was scribbling furiously on a scrap piece of paper. That vein popping out of his forehead reminded Henry of the one Regina usually got whenever she was having mood swings. "_This _is what we should use. _Roses are red, violets are blue, Mrs. Nolan's not dead, and we don't hate you!" _

Every pair of eyes gaped alarmingly at Golem. Henry shook his head mournfully. That kind of message would only make Mary Margaret sad, knowing that there was a time not too long ago that people in this town hated her. Like, yesterday, for example.

What would his stepdad say if he were crafting a card like this?

Henry snapped his fingers as the perfect message hit him.

"How about: _we're so glad you didn't kill Mrs. Nolan?" _It was perfect. Even better, it was the truth.

The group exchanged trivial glances and a murmur of agreement quickly passed among them. Since Grace had the best handwriting, she was the one who printed the message in big, bubbly letters. She even dotted her eyes with little pink hearts.

Henry was glad Mary Margaret knew what his handwriting looked like after helping him with his homework so many times. Then again, no one complained about the way Gold wrote, even when he added in all those squiggles.

They all signed their names as clearly as possible around the message and tucked the card away for safe-keeping. Henry would give it to Mary Margaret during her welcome home party. It was just in time that they hid it, too, since Ms. Ginger burst through the classroom door. She still smelled of cigarette smoke.

Henry realized too late that they forgot to rearrange the desks again. Ms. Ginger noticed the clustered circle and glanced at each of them questionably.

"What were you children up to while I was gone?"

"Nothing," they chanted together in sing-song innocence. Henry caught Grace's bright eyes across the room and she winked. He couldn't help hopelessly smiling for the rest of the day.

….

"It's all going to point back to me…isn't it?"

Gold watched the dawning awareness spread across Regina's pinched face with utmost glee. He devoured the tremble in her hand as it flew to the tacky piece of metal that qualified as an engagement ring hanging around her neck. He savored the way her skin paled three degrees, that horrid vein in her forehead throbbing as she came to terms with his latest betrayal.

He'd screwed her over one too many times. You would think the woman would learn by now.

Oh, how he wished the phrase _throwing her under the bus_ was literal. This was exactly what she deserved. But the fear quickly changed to bitter resentment and she pummeled forward, baring her pointy teeth. An inch longer and people would mistake her for a vampire.

"Why? Why should it be me that gets tossed into the frying pan? Is this some sick agenda of revenge for your child? Because I had nothing to do with that tragedy."

She used the same excuse she had upon delivering the news of Belle's death. This time, she was lying through her ironically white teeth. He whirled on her with such ferocity that she jumped back.

"No, you had _everything _to do with it! You took my child just as much as Jefferson did, in spirit if not by hand. It was your blackmail, your plan to seek Snow White's suffering. If you had not impeded in our lives, my child would still be growing in Emma's belly," he fired back.

With every syllable, he took one step toward her. It was a cruel dance, what with Regina retreating just as swiftly. Her back slammed into one of the opposite display cases, halting her progress. She raised her chin defiantly.

The Queen never did appreciate shouldering the blame.

"Let's not forget, _Rumpel," _she blatantly mocked. "Who was it that put the key in her cell? Not me. Think—if that miserable key hadn't been there, if you had not slipped it into the bed-sheets, she would not have had the option to run off. She and your dear darling wife would not have been held captive by Jefferson. You and the Sheriff could have ventured home that night, safe and sound in each other's arms. Perhaps you should point the finger at your own chest."

The woman was incorrigible. His lip curled in a deadly sneer as he envisioned shaking the life out of her wickedly black eyes.

"You are a hypocrite," he spat in her face. She pretended to wipe a drop of spittle from her skin. "Impugning me for your reckless decisions. What choice did I have under your blackmail? In case you've forgotten, Your Majesty, I have the power to make your life a living hell. Take the boy, for example. He's quite fond of me."

He expected some harsh comeback about the sort of people that would ever remotely be fond of him—coma patients, no doubt—but Regina's immediate attention was hooked by the very mention of her adopted son. Rage made her hair stand on end.

"Stay away from my son," she snapped. He scoffed at her empty threats.

"Or what? What will you do? You took away my child. Why should I have any consideration for your desperation to keep yours?" Judging from the stiffness in Regina's muscles, she had no extra darts to throw. He tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, he's not truly your son. There was nothing legal in that adoption, was there? Every passing day, little Henry is growing closer to the woman who birthed him in the first place."

"The woman who gave him up for adoption," she objected. He held up a hand to silence it.

"Oh, yes. I remember. Something about….giving him his best chance. You and I both know you never fit in that category. Every second spent with her, he's growing closer to her, learning to love her….leaving you behind."

Anguish rushed hot over Regina's cheeks. Her lip quivered and water pooled under her eyelids. He loved it.

"And when the day comes—and it shall come—that Emma asks me to defend her in a custody battle, I will only be too happy to agree. I will only be too happy to give that boy a proper home, a proper mother, a proper _father. _That will be my final revenge, Your Majesty."

Regina whipped her head back as if she'd been slapped. As well she should. Words were forever his weapon of choice.

"You wouldn't," she hissed. He lowered his neck until his breath warmed her skin. She winced.

"Try me," he challenged back.

He was too unpredictable for her taste. This recent betrayal proved that easily. Hiking her purse strap over her arm, Regina strode past him to the door. He didn't turn to watch her leave, but savored that last memory of seeing her defenses crumble.

"We shall see," the final word sliced through the air.

The bell chimed, but it was difficult to hear over the intense banging of the door. _That we shall, _he vowed inside his mind. When he was certain she was gone, he removed the drawing of Bae from inside his suit.

He had memorized every detail in the sketch. He could recall every line he had dragged across the parchment, every light stroke of detail in the dead of the night. And yet…he found it bewildering that Henry's face eclipsed Bae's every now and then.

_My boy…_

….

Henry was on a mission the next morning. It just wasn't the one August W. Booth, stubble extraordinaire, expected him to carry out. He didn't buy that sneaking into Rumpel's shop was 'for a good cause.'

No one snuck into his stepdad's shop and got away with it. At least not while he was patrolling Storybrooke during school hours. He always told Emma he could be her partner in crime. No suspicious figure in Storybrooke would stand a chance.

The thought of skipping school for the tenth time reminded him…maybe he would go across the street to the ice cream shop sometime today and grab a cone with Grace. She'd been saying hi to him a lot lately. It did funny things to his stomach.

"Hello, Henry," Gold greeted him without looking up from the paper he was studying.

He once told Henry that not only was he observant, he had memorized the pattern of every person's footsteps inside his shop. Whenever someone entered, all he had to do was listen and he would know exactly who it was. Henry kept trying to get the jump on him, but Gold always knew when he was there.

With a remorseful sigh, Gold carefully tucked the paper in his suit before Henry could aptly see what it was. He was obviously hiding it. Gold's body stiffened as he scrutinized Henry fully, inspecting head to toe. Then a sly smile slithered across his lips.

"Ah, do my eyes deceive me? Or is that the look of a boy in _love?"_ He stretched the word out infinitely, his accent adding a bit of a silky roll to the term.

The fact that Gold was prodding him about his potential crush only made him think about Grace even more. He always liked the way she smiled at him in the morning on the playground. But it was embarrassing to admit that to adults, so he just clutched at his backpack strap and pretended everything was normal.

Nothing was ever normal in Storybrooke.

"I don't know what you mean," he denied innocently. He strolled over to one of the cases and feigned insane interest in that china tea set. He bet Grace would have been happy with it.

A soft chuckle rose from Gold's side of the room. He spread his palms on the counter and clucked his tongue reprovingly. _Tsk-tsk-tsk. _

"Come now, Henry. I've invested myself in the business of twoo wuv for three centuries. I can recognize it a mile away. Blindfolded. Well, who is the lucky lady?"

Henry had the odd feeling that Gold would be the type of parent that would insist on evaluating his child's dates. Maybe even run a background check. Henry was certain Grace was clean. He wanted to pass it off again, but he knew Gold wouldn't quit asking until he got answers.

"She's…Grace. Paige, in this world," Henry hesitantly revealed.

Gold made a small 'O' with his mouth, a beam of recognition enlightening his features. He looked ready to jump up and down with excitement. In the next moment, he went to work dusting the counter, but Henry knew his attention was prominently snagged.

Contrary to everyone else's belief, it really didn't take much to spark Gold's interest. You just had to know which buttons to push. Henry prided himself with getting good at it. _Two words. Ice. Cream. _

"Oh…the Mad Hatter's daughter, hm? Lovely choice of first girlfriend," he lilted. The phrase _hidden agenda _dripped off him in layers. "I should warn you, though—never play hide-and-seek with her. That child must be part bloodhound. Even I played a game with her back home. I hid in the bushes—she found me in under three minutes. Behind a boulder? Done in _two_ minutes. Up a tree? Nope, she found that one, too. Popped up on the branch next to me yelling _boo_ and made me fall out of it. Who does that?"

Henry giggled at the thought of Grace beating Rumpelstiltskin in a game of hide-and-seek. Rumpel hated to lose. According to the Queen, his temper tantrums were the nastiest.

"I like her," Henry shrugged modestly. That mischievous air cloaked Gold's shoulders like a second skin. Time to get off this subject before Gold insisted on inviting Grace to dinner and drilling her on her life aspirations. If she wasn't aiming for Harvard, she'd be out the door before dessert. "That paper you were just looking at…I'm curious about it."

He was mastering the art of limiting his questions around Gold. Another reason he could be Emma's partner in crime—he asked _a lot _of questions. Stick him in an interrogation room with their guy and he was good to go.

"I'm sure you are," Gold agreed in his quiet way.

A few seconds ticked by and Henry wondered if he was testing his patience, waiting for him to waste a question in his desire for knowledge. Peeling back the top layer of his suit, Gold decidedly retrieved the mysterious paper. He stared down at it longingly before sliding it across the counter.

"This is a drawing of my son. Bae."

Henry carefully lifted the piece of paper to study it. The paper was rough and old—it was amazing that it didn't immediately crack or crumble under his fingertips. The drawing itself was done in some kind of charcoal, the lighter details faded with time.

His son couldn't be more than fifteen in the picture, with youthful eyes that also held a shred of sad wisdom. Henry bet his eyes were the same shade as Gold's, a rich earthy brown. A shawl loosely draped the boy's shoulders, his hair ruffled from an invisible wind. An unspoken question lingered on his lips, frozen and lost among the sketched lines.

This must be the way his father chose to remember him.

"You drew this picture of your son," Henry surmised, gently handing it back.

Gold took great care to slip it away in his suit once more, cradling it as delicately as a newborn child. It occurred to Henry that it was quite possibly one of the only things he had to remember his son by. Even the strongest memory could not stand the test of time.

"I did…once upon a time." Gold's voice was sore with misery in those few uttered words. He suddenly seemed every bit his age, tired and drifting the earth like a lost soul.

For the first time that Henry knew, Gold became visibly distracted. His eyes glazed over with a far-off look, seemingly staring right through the spot where Henry stood. Henry dared to stretch out his hand and wave it in front of Gold's face, but the man didn't even blink. _Should I call Emma? He might be having a…what did Regina call his last tantrum? Oh, yeah…a mid-life crisis. _

And then Gold's elbow shifted ever so slightly on the counter.

"He's always in the back of my mind," he whispered mostly to himself.

That brought a quick thought back to the surface of Henry's mind. Back. That was right—he was on a mission.

Now that he strained his ears to listen, he thought he could hear the creak of a footstep in the back. He wondered if Gold could hear it, too, through his foggy reverie.

Time to give him the heads-up.

"Guess what my favorite month of the year is," he demanded of his stepdad.

It tore the pawnbroker out of his dark, consuming reminiscing. He blinked as though coming out of a trance, the old spark of life returning. Gold enjoyed these little guessing games of Henry's.

"December," he chose after a moment's thought. Normally, Henry would agree. Catching snowflakes on his tongue, making snow-angels, throwing snowballs at Leroy's bald head, the season of Christmas…What kid did not like December?

But Henry shook his head.

"Nope. It's August." There went the first hint.

Gold cocked his head to the side in curiosity, sensing that something was off. Did he know that the curtain behind him was fluttering even though there wasn't a breeze in the shop? Did the month remind him of the man of the same name?

"I suppose I've learned something new today," he remarked dryly. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Henry didn't know why Gold was ignoring his instincts. Maybe he was still hazy. He would just have to try harder.

Henry was glad this was his stepdad and not his Gramps.

It would take Charming an hour to work himself out of a paper bag, as he had overheard Gold mumbling once or twice. It was hard enough trying to hook him up with Mary Margaret—this curse seemed bent on keeping them apart.

"Maybe you can help me find a gift for Ms. Blanchard. Since she just got out of jail," he suggested. Gold eagerly followed him to a crowded shelf on the wall. It held all sorts of trinkets. Jewelry, scarves, books, even a small guitar.

But Henry wasn't interested in any of it.

From this angle, Henry could see a sliver of the backroom through the curtain. Was August sifting through Gold's stuff as they spoke? He never confided in Henry what was so important in the back of Gold's shop. It mustn't be_ too_ important, then.

How could August possibly expect a ten year old to keep secrets from his stepdad?

"You sure do have a lot of stuff in your shop," he pointed out to Gold. He picked up a toy train that resembled the one from _The Polar Express_ and imagined running it through Regina's bedroom in the middle of the night. "The items keep getting stranger and stranger, don't they? _Stranger _than the ones in the _back_."

Henry made sure to put extra emphasis on those two words. He tilted his head ever so slightly to the curtain.

This time, Gold paused to absorb the message. His gaze followed the direction of Henry's head to the curtain. Just then, there was a creak of a floorboard even though neither of them moved. Henry doubted either of them were even breathing.

And Gold heard it, crystal clear. Gold knew.

He pointed a single finger to the curtain, silently asking Henry. There came a small nod in response. Gold's expression darkened as he glared at the fluttering curtain. August was in trouble.

"Have you considered some of these mugs? I'm sure she'll need a proper drink now that she's been released," Gold gestured to a set of decorated mugs along the display case. Henry knew he was acting busy with Henry as he kept his focus on the black curtain.

Henry studied the mugs one by one. He recognized them from his book—they belonged to the seven dwarves. It made Henry smile to think of giving Snow White something her friends once cherished. They were perfect. He told Gold so and asked how much they were. Seven mugs could not run cheap.

But Gold shook the inquiring question away with a hand.

"It'll be a gift of my own. For helping me earlier," he insisted, cocking his head to the curtain.

Henry watched as Gold carefully packed the mugs into a box with plenty of tissue paper to cradle them. Mary Margaret would be happy and so would Snow once she woke up. Before leaving, Henry ducked his head down and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Don't go easy on him," he told Gold while lifting the box of mugs into his hands. He would have to store it somewhere safe where the Queen would never find it. If she did, Mary Margaret's gift would probably be thrown out the window.

"I intend not to," Gold replied back in a hushed tone. Henry hoped he got the full details later. Maybe they could discuss it at Mary Margaret's party. That's when the thought hit him.

"You _are_ attending Mary Margaret's party, right?" Hesitancy spread thick and fast across Gold's face. "Mary Margaret wouldn't mind. You were her lawyer, after all." And even if she did mind, Mary Margaret was far too nice to object to Gold being at her party.

"Right, but Henry…I doubt anyone else would appreciate my presence."

Henry frowned at Gold's dismal outlook. He treated himself every bit of the outcast that the rest of the town painted him as, no matter how Henry debated against it. He set the box of mugs down and tugged insistently on Gold's sleeve.

"You're wrong. I do. And so does Emma. That should be reason enough for you to come. Who cares what everyone else says?"

Henry used his puppy-eyes to plead with him. Its power was too great for Rumple to ignore. A hint of a smile touched the corners of the pawnbroker's lips.

"An hour. No more than that," he agreed. He awkwardly reached out a hand and ruffled the top of Henry's hair. It was as soft as Bae's had been, but certainly not as dark. Still, he missed these moments. "What would I ever do without you here, Henry?"

The boy offered a small, light laugh and gathered up Mary Margaret's present.

"Hopefully, you never have to find out," he replied. He hurried through the door, with Gold's eyes chasing after him until he rounded the corner out of sight.

…..

Stubble was skulking around in the back of his shop. It made his knuckles tighten into a fist in anger. Never mind the several mugs he had given away to Henry—he was going to buy that boy a car for alerting him to the intrusion.

No one intruded in his territory and got away with it. The only reason he hadn't been as perceptive as usual was because he had been distracted.

Today was the bleak anniversary of the night he had let Bae go into that hellish portal alone. It was all he could think about, along with the recent loss of his second child. But now…now there was a distraction from that distraction.

"You have a lot of nerve, putting your nose in where it doesn't belong," he said, sweeping through the curtain noiselessly.

August didn't jump, but he grew noticeably stiff. His hand paused over Bae's ball. If that man touched it, he was going to wake up in the middle of the night with Gold towering over him. Even therapy would not help his distress.

"Sorry. I thought this was the entrance." So, he was choosing to stick with the innocent façade, was he?

"The entrance is that way," Gold coldly informed him, pointing a finger to the curtain he had just slipped through. August wiped a sleeve across his brow, almost in relief. Oh, he should be miles from relief. After all, he had yet to step a foot outside this shop.

Gold's eyes scanned the room in search of a sign of anything out of place, anything that August may have invaded with his slick hands. His butt better not have been on that bed in the corner. That man didn't have reservations and never would.

"If you don't mind, there are many more fascinating objects here in the back than in the front," August said, perusing a shelf. As a matter of fact, Gold minded very much. "Take this ball, for instance. I used to own a ball just like this one. Brown, battered…Never had many friends to play with, though."

He must have heard that cozy insight wrong. Every nerve in Gold's body, starting from his neck to his toes, iced over with apprehension as August picked up the ball and bounced it a few times on his knee.

There was no possible way August had a ball like that one. Why, he himself had crafted it for Bae before his time as the Dark One when there hadn't been enough money to spare to buy him a proper one. He could remember the pure joy on his son's face as he chased it around outside in the fields…

There was no way…

"I'd appreciate it if you could leave my shop," he hissed through his teeth. This was some kind of cruel ploy and he didn't have the patience to deal with it today.

But August wasn't leaving. He was still standing there, his eyes shining with remorse.

"Sorry about the baby again. You two were going to name her Morraine, right?" It was a simple question. It didn't mean anything. Even David knew the name of their lost unborn child, even if he kept getting it wrong. "Funny—that was the name of my first crush. It was a silly childhood thing."

Gold's lungs refused to draw in air. A fierce headache throbbed directly above the bridge of his nose. This wasn't making any sense. And was that a note of expectation radiating off August? What was he waiting for? Remembrance?

No. His mind was playing tricks on him. It was stress. Besides, the name Morraine was…well, the Morraine he knew couldn't have been the first one or the last.

"Leave," Gold growled deep in his throat. August held up his hands in mock surrender.

"I'm going. I just thought you and I could make amends for this rivalry we seem to have. I guess I was wrong," he mused, edging toward the door. Good riddance.

Gold's dark eyes burned into his leather-clad back. But he paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back thoughtfully. Hadn't this moron had enough for today? He had to twist the knife just a tiny inch more?

"Wait, you wouldn't happen to have any walking sticks, would you? Like a really sturdy walking stick? One of my relatives used to have one. I only ask because of…you know…the limp."

That was it. He was tired of this nonsense. If it was a walking stick August W. Booth wanted, it was a walking stick he would get.

Gold stormed across the floorboards, reaching August before the man could even blink. He shoved a hand against his chest, toppling him backward against a shelf covered with antiques. The objects quivered, some even crashed to the floor and broke into pieces, but Gold hardly cared. His vision ran red as he grasped August by the shirt and held him within inches of his snarling face.

"What game are you playing with me?"

August's fingers scrabbled over Gold's hand, but it was like he wasn't completely _trying _to free himself. Beneath his beard was a hint of amusement. Did he honestly think he still held a few aces when Gold could easily put him in an uncomfortable situation? Such as needing someone to help him out of bed and feed him food through a straw?

"I'm not really one for games. Though, I have witnessed a few snail races in my time. Mine always lose."

Snail. Of course. This was another test. Who told him that? Whoever it was would be in just as much trouble. His fist tightened around August's clothing, the man's feet nearly lifting off the ground.

"You take me for a fool? If you're smart, you won't answer that question." August was tight-lipped. Gold bet he was answering it in his mind. All he did was stare back as Gold loomed impossibly close, a snake rearing its head toward its victim. _"Get. Out." _

His hand opened to release August. The man stumbled forward, teetering on his feet for a moment.

Gold turned away so that he wouldn't have to spare one more pitiful glance in his direction. Not so much as a footfall sounded behind him. He teeth gritted painfully.

What part of 'get out' did Stubble have trouble interpreting?

"You're sparing me? Do I have to kiss your boot, too?" Another shudder ran through his chest. Another flash of memory: twisting Hordor's neck until it snapped after that ominous command of fealty. _Kiss my boot. _

He was giving August a total of five seconds. And then he'd be kissing his cane instead. And not in the adoring, gracious, fan-girl way, either.

_Five…_

_Four…_

_Three…_

"Oh, no, dearie. I'm not sparing you at all. I enjoy snail races, too. Mine _never_ lose," he murmured over his shoulder. _Two…_

There was a hint of a snicker, making Gold's hand curl stiffly over his gold-topped cane. A few heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, heading for the door that led to the alleyway. He closed his eyes and waited for the final slam of the door. But it was slow in forthcoming.

"Here's to hoping you don't name the next one Enora," came the last word.

It drove another gale of icy wind through Gold, so much that he spun around. _No one _knew about Enora. At least no one left alive. He sought out the undeniably knowing grin that belonged to Stubble.

But he was already gone.

….

Emma had made a snappy decision and put Ruby in charge of Mary Margaret's party decorating. The job had Ruby practically leaping rooftops like Spiderman. She hadn't even worked this hard at the diner. This was going to be fun.

"The food should go on this table…and the banner will hang right there. That way it's the first thing Mary Margaret sees when walking in the door, besides the people shouting in her face. A little more to your left…nope, it's just a bit crooked on the right, boys."

Ruby barked out the orders like a pro. She shook her head wryly as Leroy and Archie worked on hanging the colorful banner above the kitchen table. The separate M's kept flipping upside-down, spelling out Wary Wargaret.

"Leroy, I think you may be lifting it too high," Archie suggested. He wobbled on one of the wooden white-painted chairs as he pointed it out. Leroy grumbled under his breath; something about the difference between a therapist and a custodian.

"Oh, yeah? Ever thought you're just not lifting it high enough?"

Eventually, the two of them managed to suspend it in the air. It was still crooked, but hopefully no one noticed tonight. Ruby checked over the guest list again. It seemed to be altered every ten minutes, what with Clark calling to change his mind because of his allergies.

_Yes, I guess I'll come. No, wait, I changed my mind. There's too much grass on the lawn in front of Mary Margaret's. Okay, sure, I'll be there. No, wait, what if someone brings flowers? _

That man was hopeless.

"Is the gimp coming?" Leroy brushed his palms off on his jeans and peered over Ruby's list from where he stood high up on the table. She cradled it close to her chest, thwarting his sneakiness.

"What are you going to do if he does, Leroy? Are you nominating yourself as Mary Margaret's bouncer?" She would pay twenty bucks to watch Leroy try—and fail—to escort Gold out of this apartment. The drunk might be solidly built with an immeasurable temper, but he wasn't much of a threat in terms of height.

Now, Granny would make a fabulous bouncer.

"Ruby, what are we going to do if Mary Margaret shows up?"

Archie applied extra tape to his side of the banner, but he kept checking the door every few minutes. Maybe if Leroy and Archie froze just like that on top of Mary Margaret's table, she wouldn't notice. Luckily, Emma was distracting her with a day's worth of activities.

"Blindfold her and stick her in a Febreeze commercial," Ruby declared. She scanned the To-Do list for the party. There was still so much to be done in such short time. "How about drinks?"

Leroy took a flying leap off the table and thrust four of his meaty fingers in Ruby's face.

"Four words: Mar-gar-it-as." Ruby swatted his hand away and glared.

"Two words: hell no," she copied his rude gesture by digging her long nails in his chest. Archie gulped nervously. "Leroy, there are going to be kids at this thing."

Well, so far, _a_ kid: Henry. Ruby doubted that Regina would appreciate Henry bumping into walls on his way to bed.

"That was…twelve words, sister. Besides, the poor teach will need a drink after being behind bars for so long. Trust me, I know. Here's what we'll do—we'll set out two bowls: one for the adults and one for the kiddies. Just don't get them mixed up. Problem solved. Everyone's happy."

What did he think this was? A rave party? This was supposed to be a friendly welcome-home party, not a rendition of Regina's Christmas disasters.

"No. There will be no alcohol. Emma even made a small note on the bottom here: if Leroy shows up at the party smelling anything other than lemony fresh, exclude him from invitation." Leroy bent forward and peered closely at Emma's scrawled writing.

"There are way too many loops for that to spell out my name," he objected. Archie finished setting the table with a white tablecloth with pink trim. At least he was putting in all his efforts. Just for a reward, Ruby leaned over and kissed his cheek, making him blush. "I say we put a disco ball right in the middle. And how about live entertainment?"

Red narrowed her eyelids distrustfully at Leroy.

"Define 'live entertainment'," she challenged. His sloppy smile spilled the beans faster than a fabricated excuse could. "Leroy, all she did was get out of jail. This isn't a bachelorette party! If it were, I'd be hosting it elsewhere. And Granny wouldn't be coming."

"All she did?" Leroy gasped in exaggerated disbelief. "This is—hopefully—a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You either enjoy it or you regret it big-time. Not having an awesome home-from-jail party is the exact reason so many people end up in jail a second time. Why do you think I'm in there so much? No one ever throws me a home-from-jail party!"

Ruby buried her head in her hand in exasperation. _Yeah, Leroy, that's the reason. It couldn't be because you never listen to me when I cut you off! _

"Actually, Leroy, there's a logical explanation as to your jail record. You're a lonely man who quite often spends his time at the diner with a drink in hand, most likely to feel good. There's nothing wrong with that. It only becomes a problem when you get behind the wheel," Archie explained.

Leroy gawked openly.

"Did you just call me lonely?" Ruby couldn't believe that was the one word that offended Leroy. "Listen, Hopper, I have a very good reason for being at that bar every other day or so. You're right—there's nothing wrong with having a drink or two to ease my mind. I haven't exactly had an easy life. There are some things I'd rather forget. So sue me."

Leroy removed his cap and anxiously rubbed his bald head. He avoided both Ruby's and Archie's gazes.

"So…I was thinking _Archie and the Crickets _could perform at Mary Margaret's welcome home party," Archie suggested, glancing hopefully between his two partners. "The only problem is….I don't think Mary Margaret would like for David to be there."

Ruby frowned unpleasantly at the thought of David Nolan. The minute Mary Margaret was out of jail, she had informed Ruby about how David had accused her of murdering Kathryn. That guy wasn't on the guest list, either. It meant they would have to find someone else to fill in for the band.

"Where's the Italian?" Leroy muttered, waving a hand blindly at Archie.

"Marco can't make it to the party. Too much work in the shop to do," Archie shot that idea down. Silence ensued throughout the apartment as they struggled to come up with a possible third member of _Archie and the Crickets. _"How about Henry?"

Leroy's eyeballs nearly popped out of his head.

"There is no way I am being outshined by a ten year old," he remarked.

Ruby sighed and wracked her brain for an answer. There were hardly any worthy guys they could turn to for singing experience in this town. Why did they insist on having an all-guys group anyway?

Then she grinned and batted her eyelashes at Archie.

"What if…_I _were a singer in the band? Just for tonight?" Archie's face lit up with intrigue at the idea. Who knew? Maybe a female singer could bring them in a whole different direction. Her and Archie up on the stage, belting it out together in synched harmony…

But Leroy's mouth twisted up in distaste.

"_What? _I'll bet this was your plan all along! Pit David and Mary Margaret against each other so he wouldn't be allowed at the party, stock Marco's woodshop with tons of work to do, just so you can move in on the band! Next you'll insist calling us _Archie and the Red Crickets!_"

Ruby wondered if Leroy realized how ridiculous he sounded.

"It might spice things up a bit," Archie said, inadvertently taking Ruby's side. Leroy opened his mouth to shout out a protest, but Archie held up his hand. "How about if I send both Marco and David a message and ask how they feel about Ruby filling in temporarily?"

Archie dug out his phone to do just that, with Leroy muttering about Archie's use of the word 'temporarily.'

A moment later, his phone buzzed with Marco's answer. _Sounds like good plan to me. Ruby kill it onstage. _Ruby did a little fist-pump of victory. Then came David's message: _Wait…I thought my invitation got lost in the mail again. You mean I'm not singing? And Ruby's going to be a female version of me? Better her than Gold, I guess. _

Majority rules. Ruby was already planning in her head what to wear. Oh, it would be so exciting tonight! She kissed Archie a dozen times on the cheek until Leroy pretended to gag.

"Can we still have the disco ball?"

…..

The welcome home party for Mary Margaret had a nice turn-out considering the fact that the majority of the town despised Mary Margaret's name the day before. Now they were hugging her happily and handing her plates of lasagna. Everyone was happy.

Only Gold resigned himself to a corner, safely away from the rest of the crowd. He'd spent a few minutes with Henry—in which the boy had proudly shown off his card—but now…there was one person that commanded every ounce of his attention. Everything else slipped into the background except for that one person.

It invigorated him to no end—every movement, every laugh, every sultry glance around the room…

"If you're debating on asking him to dance with you, I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

Gold glanced up from staring unblinkingly at August Booth to see that Emma had joined his side. She was quite pleased with herself tonight, especially with Mary Margaret being released from jail. Their earlier dispute had blown over. He rolled his eyes at her petty humor.

Truthfully, he was relieved for her presence. Everyone else avoided him like the plague, except for Henry.

"Ha, ha," he dryly replied. He went back to watching Stubble's every move with a trained eye. Would the man be suspicious if a moving bush followed him home? "He was in my shop today."

He hadn't even given much thought to telling Emma about Stubble's strange behavior, but now it lifted a boulder off his chest.

"Maybe he wanted to buy a sticker to make his bike look pretty," she said, shrugging. She was treating this situation much too lightly. But, then, she didn't realize the extent of his anxiety. "Or maybe he was searching for shiny tassels to attach to his handlebars."

Gold silenced her quips with a desolate sideways stare.

"He was in the _back_ of my shop," he emphasized. Immediately, the good humor drained away and she latched onto the problem at hand. _Atta girl. _"Snuck in from the alleyway. He appeared to be searching for something that couldn't be found in the front. Whatever it was, he left empty-handed," he explained.

He decided to choose his words carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust Emma at all, especially after he apparently regained her trust. He just…didn't want her to know every detail yet. For one thing, he was still toying with his theory of August's true identity.

Oh, gods, he mentally prayed on his knees that he was wrong while at the same time choking from grief on the aspect that it was true. It would be the worst family reunion ever, belated by more than a few months. The family dinners would be horrifying.

That wasn't even to mention August's nonstop stint about chasing Emma romantically. That was just screwy.

This whole predicament was grating his nerves raw, setting his teeth painfully on edge. He couldn't very well walk up to August in this crowd, yell out _my boy, _and throw his arms around him to gauge a reaction. That was Plan B. Needless to say, he still required a well-thought-out Plan A.

Staring certainly wasn't bothering his conscience any. And all Emma was doing was bobbing on her toes…

The light-bulb clicked on. Emma. Of course.

This was one of those benefits of having a wife who was also the Sheriff. Surely, she would be willing to question a suspicious figure that broke into his shop uninvited.

Delicately, he captured Emma's hand and sensually kissed the back of it.

"Emma," he moaned her name for good measure. She always did enjoy the way it rolled with his accent. _Kiss. _"Emma, my dear, sweet, brilliant, luscious wife…" _Kiss, kiss. _"Did I ever tell you how much I value your voracious charm?" _Kiss, kiss, kiss. _

Emma planted a hand on her hip, silently demanding an explanation as his mouth tended to her skin. She knew this was a clever ploy for a bigger purpose. Though, the flattery was nice.

"What do you want me to do?"

He grinned against her palm. Lowering it from his lips, he deliberately ignored the rest of the crowd in favor of his latest adversary. The minute Emma caught onto his line of sight, she understood.

"You want me to…interrogate him? Flirt the answers out of him? Torture him by making off with his bike and forcing him to chase after it until he caves?"

Gold appreciated her creativity in interrogation methods, even if she technically did not agree to his request yet.

"No, no, no," he scoffed in a low voice. The last thing he needed was eavesdroppers. He'd already stuck his cane in that vase twice. "I was thinking more along the lines of…all three. As long as his reciprocation in flirting does not involve bodily contact. Otherwise, I'll hang him by strings as my virtual puppet and make him slap himself silly for two whole hours."

Emma could not argue that he wasn't precise in all details. She slipped her hand out from his and tossed it in the air: _what the hell. _After all, Stubble did intrude in his shop.

"Fine. But you owe me for easing your paranoia." She pointed a finger into his chest. He disregarded it enough to loom forward and kiss her cheek. His lips hovered near her earlobe.

"I'll be sure to make it worth your while," he murmured silkily, his fingers tracing the hem of her shirt. Emma shooed that troublesome hand away lest someone catch onto their insatiable appetites. She couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach, though.

"What if I want you to take me out to dinner first? Be a gentleman?" She tilted her head back until he could feel her breath on his chin.

Some semblance of his mind recognized that she was only taunting him, contradicting him as was her little game. But he knew deep down she really wanted it to be that way. Emma wanted to feel good again, to feel truly wanted and put the bad memories behind her.

He curled a string of her golden hair about his fingers, his knuckle caressing her skin once or twice. He marveled at how perfect and smoothly the strand untwined from his finger as he released it, returning among the other light-shaded tresses.

"Women. There's no arguing with you, is there?" Emma's hesitant smile told him all he needed to know. She wasn't backing down. "I'll make you a deal. You handle the dinner, I'll handle the dessert."

"Will there be whipped cream on top?" She raised her eyebrows hopefully. His belly flopped in a tidal of warmth, the new excitement stirring thick as a tornado as she stroked his dark violet dress shirt. He instinctively leaned into her touch.

"And a chocolate-dipped cherry," he added.

Emma's gaze wandered to August, contemplating. How could she possibly say no to his style of dessert? If she agreed, he would have her moaning in bed for days. He'd bet Mr. Clark's store would run out of all dessert toppings.

"Deal," she finally acquiesced. She flicked his tie and made a beeline for August.

For a minute, he watched Stubble in nothing short of dismay. There was something not right about that man and every instinct in his body demanded to know what his plan was. But he would wait on the sidelines—Emma would extract all the info she could. Then it would be time for Plan B.

For now, he was going to help himself to Mary Margaret's delicious sugary-frosting-topped cake. He only hoped this one didn't taste like David Nolan.

…..

"Hey, stranger," Emma chirped as she slid up beside August and perched on the edge of the food table. If anything, it gave him a good view of her hips. She twitched them in and out a bit, experimentally. Immediately, August put up his guard against her abruptly friendly attitude. "Been seeing the sights of Storybrooke lately?"

August licked his upper lip slowly, but it wasn't out of any given interest. It stemmed purely from suspicion. He bent his head down to her level, his lips parting near her jaw.

"Your husband has been staring at me since I walked through the door," he pointed out. August motioned his eyeballs to the spot over his shoulder, though his back was facing Gold. Emma ducked her head around his body to meet Gold's glare. Yep, still staring. "In light of that realization, I'm going out on a limb here and saying that he sent you flitting over here to interrogate me. Am I hogging all the cheese and wine, Sheriff?"

Just for extra pleasure, he speared a piece of sliced cheese with a toothpick and guided it into his mouth. Emma hoped he poked his tongue with that toothpick.

"You're right—he did. I suggest you play along." She forced a sweet smile. He gave her a leisurely once-over. His stubble definitely did not hide that smirk crossing his lips.

"Sure. I'm a reasonable guy. As long as you keep twitching your hips and thrusting your chest out like that because you think it makes you insanely desirable…I'll do whatever you want me to, Emma." She had to fight to keep the disgust from climbing over her face.

"Yeah, funny thing…this show isn't for you," she retorted and rocked her hips a little more.

This time, August had no qualms about checking over his shoulder at the spot where Gold lingered. He raked his hand through his unkempt hair as though trying to scratch the unwanted ideas from his brain.

"You're using me to…turn him on? To make him jealous so that you two can ride home together to your comfy odd-colored house and…try to stick another bun in the oven?"

He made a grossed-out face. She glanced at Gold, whose gaze kept dropping to Emma's hips with his tongue tracing his upper lip. He apparently liked it. Probably wanted to shove August out of the way right now.

When she turned her head back around, August was moving his hands in a see-saw pattern. Her brow furrowed in concern.

"What are you doing?" The see-saw paused for a moment.

"Weighing the options to see if it's worth getting a cane lodged where I don't want it by 'playing along,'" he replied, using his forefingers as air-quotes. The see-saw stopped completely. August must have decided it wasn't worth the suffering. "What do you want to know?"

At least he was agreeable.

That was better than half the people that came into the station. And by half, she meant Leroy and Gold. Those two always demanded specialties before answering her questions. Most people asked for a lawyer and a telephone call; those two demanded ice cream and karaoke night.

"For starters? How an intellectual writer like you could mistake the back door for the front one."

She switched into business mode, ready to call him out on any lame excuse he decided to throw at her at the speed of one of Graham's darts. He pretended to absorb himself on the cheese selections.

"Oh, yeah…that."

"Oh, yeah. _That," _she mimicked his casual tone. "So, which excuse are you cooking up this time? Your stubble made you do it?"

A hint of laughter bubbled up from his throat, but he had the sense to stifle it. He rubbed his throat, coaxing it out.

"I was going for 'all the excitement happens in the back', but that works just as well. Imprint that on a T-shirt, will you? Make sure it comes in black."

Emma's hips stopped moving. He dropped his toothpick on the plate and inched closer, commanding the reins of this little sideshow.

"I figured that would throw some ice water in your bucket, Little Miss Sunshine. And now you're regretting playing devil's advocate to your husband and trying to pick my brain. You're annoyed with my antics; it infuriates you that I am forever evading your thirst for answers. So much that you are, at this very second, debating whether to save your husband the trouble and poke my eye out with one of those little pink umbrellas people put in their drinks for decoration."

Emma was practically stunned speechless by August's little foretelling rant. How often did he practice these spiels in the mirror before leaving his room at Granny's Inn? She released a tense breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"You're good," she admitted.

"I know." He hooked a wedge of pineapple on his stick and sucked it off, slurping extra loudly. It was a good thing she hated pineapples. She didn't care what the writers of _Spongebob _said—she was the first one to throw a pineapple under the sea.

"Except I wouldn't use a pathetic pink umbrella to poke out your eye. I would use that toothpick that you are lavishing with your tongue," she wiped that smile off his face. He wasn't the only one who could flaunt fancy words. That came from playing too much Scrabble with Gold. "Are you going to answer my question?"

His head shifted in all directions, his attention swaying from the floorboards to the ceiling and then back down to her. He was being difficult on purpose.

She peeked around at Gold. This time, he was staring solidly at August's back and she thought she caught a glimpse of…uncertainty? Remorse? That was the way he sometimes looked at Henry whenever he reminded him of his son. Odd.

When she had stalked away from Gold in acceptance of this mission, she knew he hadn't told her everything. He was secretive that way, always holding the cards close to his chest. Did August…remind him of someone? Was that why he was shaken by the fact that August was in his shop today?

But why had it taken him so long to realize it? Was it just now occurring to him? That there was more to August W. Booth than met the eye?

August must have been privy to these thoughts, too, since he suddenly shared a knowing gleam in the depths of his aquamarine eyes.

"Why were you in his shop? Who do you remind him of so badly?"

She shoved a hand against his chest, but failed to make him stumble back. He needed to start answering her questions—it wasn't just about Gold's paranoia, anymore. There was something greater at stake here. She hated being kept in the dark.

"Violence is never the answer, Emma," he chided, catching her by the wrist. She struggled free from his grip. From the corner of her eye, Gold jerked away from the wall that had been supporting his body. "My only answer is this: figure it out."

He settled back and waited for her to do just that. Emma switched her head between Gold and August, scrutinizing both and trying to make sense of the puzzle pieces. Why would August reminding Gold of someone make him so uneasy? And what sort of memory would unnerve Gold so much…

Unless…

There was no possible way it could be true.

She tried to dig the answer from August's expression, but it was blank as a gray slab of stone. There was only one person that she knew of that could ever evoke such worry and personal involvement from Gold.

"Are you…you can't be…his _son?"_

August avoided her searing focus, which offered an immense response in itself. Emma began to recall every encounter she had with August, to search for some small sign of truth to this growing suspicion.

"You know what? I think I'll wear that T-shirt to my next family reunion."

August swooped forward and caught another live one: a piece of pepperoni this time. This newfound information spiraled through her brain, plunging sharp hooks into it and gnawing greedily. It was maddening.

That dessert had better be mouth-watering.

….

He watched his wife saunter over to August, prepared to work her charms. He shifted uncomfortably; he was growing rather…warm in unmentionable places. It was part of their plan for her to attract Stubble this way and wheedle out information, but…gods, the way she moved her hips so lithely…

He adjusted his tie, loosened it to accommodate the lump swelling thick and hot in his throat. Oh, how he despised the way that man mentally undressed Emma. It was disturbing. If anyone were to undress Emma, mentally or otherwise, it would be her husband. No one else.

"Jealous?"

Leroy appeared out of nowhere, red plastic cup in hand. He had no patience for pesky dwarves. And judging by the staunch odor of his breath, the short grizzly man had already had quite a few. No wonder Archie and the Crickets were forced to take a break.

Gold grimaced, reluctantly tearing his gaze from Emma's curves.

"Absolutely not. There's nothing for me to be jealous about. She's my wife, remember?" He sneered at August's back, the leather clinging to his body as he invaded Emma's space. The man might be an enigma, but that didn't mean he was jealous.

That was ridiculous.

Leroy chortled, shaking his bald head.

"Sure, Gold. Whatever you say. I've been drinkin' at the bar for a long time. I know how to spot jealousy a mile away. You, sister, have got it bad," Leroy surmised as he staggered in place.

Shouldn't he be unconscious on Mary Margaret's bathroom floor by now?

One of Leroy's meaty hands tapped Gold's shoulder almost teasingly and Gold instantly brushed off his suit. If this were the Enchanted Forest, the dwarf would have received a jolt of electricity not unlike a bug zapper.

Gold's brown eyes inevitably flickered back to Emma. She had stopped rocking her hips and it seemed her conversation with August had become tense. Unknowingly, his fingers curled into his palm. Leroy noticed and chuckled.

"Someone's turning green," he taunted. The man clearly didn't know when to quit. "Maybe she secretly likes guys in leather. With bikes. I've got a boat. What've you got?"

Perhaps if Gold ignored him, he would get bored. He had the urge to dig out his cell phone and pretend to call someone. Emma, Archie, the pizza guy, anyone.

It was too quiet. He checked on the dwarf from the corner of his eye to see him studying his cane.

"I guess you could put it to some good use."

Gold whipped his head around, baffled. Did the people in this town believe he was faking the limp? That he toted a cane just to look….cool? This was the exact reason why he never invested in David's Truth or Dare party games—he feared what the townsfolk might ask of him.

Archie passed by with an excited grin on his face.

"Hey, you two. There's going to be karaoke! Are you in?" Leroy took a careful step backward. Apparently, Archie's enthusiasm was too much to handle.

"Sorry. Leroy isn't available right now. Consult the magic cup." Leroy gestured his plastic cup in Archie's face. Gold figured he was still irked by the power of Ruby's singing voice, a mixture between Madonna and Joan Jett. Leroy had been throwing eye-darts her way since their performance.

Inevitably, Archie turned those hopeful eyes on him. What did he ever do to attract these people?

"If Ruby and I were to share the spotlight together, you'd be responsible for the start of World War III. Don't ask me to put that burden on your conscience," he replied. It was his obnoxious way of saying 'no.' He'd prefer not to do a stage-dive due to Ruby shoving him off the table.

Archie nodded, perplexed.

"Tell you what, doc. Someone needs to set an example to get this karaoke show on the road. Why don't you hop up there and belt out a bit of Whitney Houston?" Leroy's elbow nudged Archie's ribs encouragingly, pushing him toward Mary Margaret's kitchen table. The teacher wouldn't mind…much.

"And we'll make it a duet?" Leroy gaped at Archie as if he had just confessed true undying love for him. Gold fidgeted in his spot, avoiding even glancing at the cricket. _Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me…_

"No, I'll be the one splashing you with alcohol and holding up handwritten fan posters with your name on it," he retorted. Archie spied the punch bowl on the food table and frowned. Then he pointed to Leroy's drink, the punch nearly gone.

"Wait, but….there's no alcohol here. Ruby made that very clear," he objected.

Archie's eyes switched to Gold, who struggled to hide the all-knowing smirk teasing the corner of his lips. Leroy didn't bother to deny it at all; he grinned as he downed the last few drops in his cup.

"Yeah, well….there is now."

Archie jumped like a cricket in shock. Before he could even begin questioning Leroy's admission, a wild uproar came from the middle of the room. Mary Margaret burst into view, holding up an empty bottle of vodka. Leroy ducked his head guiltily.

"Alright, who spiked the punch?"

Everyone gazed down at their drinks warily. And then the concern erupted with mouths chattering away at once, demanding to be heard. Some simply kept sipping their drinks—it was too late, anyway. Emma gawked at the punch bowl.

"_Henry _drank that punch!" Her cell phone started buzzing and Gold could tell from the worry in her brow that it was Regina. She held it up to her ear, only to wrench it away when the rage started. "What do you mean he won't stop singing about a pirates' life?"

There was grumbling and complaining, answers being demanded left and right. Archie was pale and unblinking. He looked like he was having a heart attack.

"What kind of party did I get invited to where people spike the punch bowl? What's a guy got to do to stay sober in this town? This is an outrage! Gather your torches and pitchforks and all that jazz," Leroy feigned protest. He casually tilted his empty cup back and forth.

Gold rolled his eyes at Leroy's pitiful attempt at innocence. Leroy was much too smug for his own good. He tapped his cane against the ground, alerting everyone to his presence.

"I believe the man you're rallying a mob for…is _him." _Gold pointed an accusing finger at Leroy. That plastic cup nearly fell out of Leroy's hand as the crowd immediately zeroed in on their suspect with narrowed eyes. Mary Margaret deposited the vodka bottle on the table.

_"Leroy!" _The short man laughed nervously, wiggling his fingers. Then he spun to gape openly at Gold.

"You sold me out? What, for criticizing your cane?" Gold smiled earnestly and watched as everyone hurried to dump their spiked drinks in the sink. Only Ruby still held onto hers, though she sent a piercing glare across the room to Leroy: _I knew it. _

"That's one good reason," he agreed. Archie's mouth was hanging open, incoherent noises floating from it every second or so. His hand patted his clammy face in horror.

"I had…I had three drinks! You mean I'm _drunk?"_

He removed his glasses and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. The poor guy was about to faint. Leroy whistled shrilly, slapping Archie on the back. Gold had a strange feeling another guys' night was in the near future.

"'Fraid so, doc." Archie ran a hand through his hair, tugging madly at the curls. "I think I know something that'll help." Gold observed Leroy curiously. For Archie's sake, Leroy had better not try to sell him any of his miraculous hangover cure, _Drunk-Be-Gone._

"Really? What?" Archie stared at Leroy as if he held all the answers to life. Leroy gestured to the kitchen table.

"Some karaoke should do the trick. You'll get such a thrill from singing, you'll burn the drunkenness right off. Trust me." Archie glanced at the table hesitantly. He bit down on his lip as he struggled to decide if it was a good idea or not.

"I don't know…what do you think, Mr. Gold?"

The cricket was asking _his _advice? This was a bit of a turn-around. Leroy arched an eyebrow, waiting to see which side Gold would take. He sighed and swooped in close to Archie, dipping his head low.

"I think…you may very well be tonight's entertainment." Archie flashed an elated smile, his enthusiasm sky-rocketed worse than before. _What have I done? _A quick glance to the kitchen table and then Archie inclined his head confidently.

"I'll do it!" Archie leaped onto the kitchen table. Mary Margaret tugged the bottom of his pant leg, but Archie was beyond noticing. The whole room fell dead silent, another performance from Archie and the Crickets' lead singer being anticipated.

Gold was not as impressed by Archie's gall as he was by Leroy's intentions. The man was practically in stitches as Archie teetered on the edge of the table. If that cricket started dancing provocatively, Storybrooke would have a problem on its hands.

"Dr. Hopper is far from drunk," Gold pointed out. He couldn't help but marvel at the manipulation, shoddy as it was. Leroy lifted his plastic cup, bent from Leroy holding it so tightly in his fist. Now _he _was drunk.

"I know. He just thinks he is. Poor sap." Leroy snickered.

Archie waved his hands to gain everyone's attention. It wasn't hard considering he was the only man currently on top of a table. _Maybe we should intoxicate Emma, _Gold thought with a hint of amusement. _She could re-enact her dance from Georgia while Archie provides the vocals. Could be quite a show. _

"It's time for karaoke," Archie exclaimed.

A few people applauded him, if only to spur him further. It worked—he started up the first few notes of Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You." He kept looking down at Ruby, dedicating it to her only.

Gold's eyes wandered to Emma, who was tying back her blonde mane of hair. A flash of memory suddenly struck him; he could recall her doing the same thing in her Bug whilst absconding for their honeymoon. It was easy to remember how he had responded so strongly to her. _I still am, _he thought, imagining his own fingers threading through her hair.

He was thankful August was no longer offering bedroom eyes to his woman. If he really was Bae, he was grounded. After they had a tearful reunion, of course. The possibility shook him deeply to the core. Could he be so close?

Emma must have sensed his attention on her skin, for she turned to meet his eyes. Then she squirmed her way through the crowd in an effort to reach him. The urgency in her pace rooted his feet to the floor.

"Good luck," Leroy mumbled and slipped away into the crowd. Emma appeared at his side, her arms folded over her chest. Whatever August said, it wasn't good. A boulder dropped into his stomach.

"Let's talk over here. Privately." She jerked her head to the space behind the stairs. He let her lead the way. Everyone was too preoccupied with Archie's singing to notice.

"What did he tell you?"

He smoothed a hand along her back to encourage her. Emma stiffened under his touch. She fired daggers into the floorboards for a long moment. The information was there, he could feel it. She just had to release it.

"He reminds you of someone. Your son." Ice water poured into his veins. Had August admitted to being his son? Or was he simply planting the suggestion? "Is that the real reason you asked me to speak to him? You think he's your son."

His heart was pounding almost too loud for him to catch Emma's words.

"There were too many coincidences. The things he said…no one could know. Or maybe I only want it to be him."

He shook his head forlornly. It was a riddle he could not answer and it infuriated him. Emma peered up at him from under her eyelashes and curled into his embrace. He buried his face into the comfort of her hair, but it wasn't enough.

"I need answers." She inclined her head back to stare into his eyes.

"And where do you plan to get them? What are going to do? Strap him down to a chair and tickle his nose with a feather? Break into his room with the _Pink Panther _theme playing inconspicuously in the background? Real subtle, Gold."

Oh, but it intrigued him, snagged him on a hook and refused to release him. A dark gleam danced in his eyes and he deliberately headed for the door. But Emma was perceptive enough to block his path. The Charming genes were sleeping tonight.

He exhaled a breath in sheer annoyance.

"Don't make me haul you over my shoulder again, darling," he warned. With the stress straining his muscles, he wasn't sure his shoulder could support her weight.

"I was joking," she insisted, barring his way. He edged to the right, but she instantly mirrored his movements.

"That makes one of us." He slid to the left, but their dance continued. He vehemently banged his cane on the ground like a child stomping their foot after hearing their parents say no to the shiny new toy on the shelf. "Emma, this is a dire situation. I need to know for certain who this man is and why he is taunting me so cruelly. If you were searching for Henry, wouldn't you want to know?"

He played the child card. Usually it lowered her defenses, but tonight her castle was equipped with a durable army. She maintained her stance in preventing his progress.

"I know exactly where Henry is. I doubt he'd be interested in playing mind games against the mother he actually likes," she said, shrugging it off.

He picked August out of the crowd, hogging the fruit platter. This may be his only opportunity to get answers and Emma was allowing the minutes to tick by.

He was getting desperate. His mind felt like it was ablaze with the blackest fire that magic could only hope to create. He began to doubt and double-think every interaction that had occurred between him and August in the chance there might have been a clue he missed.

He was so desperate…So desperate that he was reduced to reverting to the whims of a man he had shed like snakeskin years ago.

"Please," he pleaded vulnerably. He cupped his wife's chin and lost his senses in two roughly-cut emeralds. "I must know."

She was breaking. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she internally debated it. By all accounts, he had his chance to slip past her, but he wanted her approval. Above all, he could not lose her trust now.

She sighed softly, her breath warming his wrist. Then she voluntarily stepped aside to allow him passage.

"I'll keep him busy. But only for another hour. If he calls me because you were caught rifling through his drawers, I'm not saving you the trip to the station," she said as he stepped forward with every intent of leaving. He paused beside her long enough to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering longer on her skin than earlier this evening.

"Thank you, dear," he whispered in her ear. She oh-so-slightly nodded in acknowledgment, but didn't watch him leave to go about his sneaky business.

Not for the first time since their marriage, he recounted on the fact that he truly did not deserve someone like Emma. He wanted her, he loved her, but knew she deserved so much better than a husband that broke into a person's room out of paranoia, beat a man to death with a cane, and conducted shady deals that only spilled poison into the lives of anyone he remotely valued.

Maybe after the curse broke, he would treat her and Henry to a full-paid vacation to Disneyland. It was supposed to be the happiest place on earth, or so the advertisements claimed.

The apartment exploded with applause as Archie finished his little number.

Gold smirked as he slipped out through the door. It was too bad he couldn't stay to watch the encore. According to Ruby the next morning, she and Archie sang an amazing rendition of "Sweet Caroline" and earned several encores.

…..

_**Yeah, this was pretty much my longest chapter yet. So, how about that last episode, huh? What did everyone think of it? **_

_**I'd like to thank all the reviewers for the last chapter: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, JessOvergon, liliesandroses, AccioLoki, yuiop, Guest, The-Writer2012 (love your pic, by the way), isara-love, nuckythompson, Musicalfan2012, discotimelord, The Auburn Girl, SwanQueen4055, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, DragonRose4, Guest, Deathbringer88, and CookieSpells4. **_

_**Thank you everyone! (-; **_


	50. Chapter 50

_**A/N: Hello there, everyone! First off, I know this chapter has taken a lot longer to get out than I expected. My schedule has been so busy lately that I barely have any time to keep up with all my stories. Real life, what can you do? Nonetheless, I hope everyone enjoys the 50**__**th**__** chapter of Sunshine! And I must also thank everyone for their reviews—this story has just reached 1,000. I owe everyone a delicious ice cream cake. **_

It was a little past eleven at night when Emma heard their bedroom door creak open. There was the telltale pattern of hollow thumping as Gold's cane tapped the floorboards. After three steps, he resulted to carrying it and limping on the precarious risk of his balance. After five minutes—the time it took for him to stealthily undress—she felt the mattress sink under her husband's weight.

He tried to slip quietly into bed beside her, as if she hadn't been lying awake waiting for him. It also didn't help his case that he couldn't resist caressing a hand along her hip and snuggled tightly against her back. He must have sensed she was still awake.

Emma tilted her head back to catch his eyes in the darkness. They were guarded and calculating. The wheels spun in his mind.

"Did you wait in his closet until he fell asleep?" His cheek barely lifted in response to her flat-panned quip. He sure did take his sweet time getting home. The party ended at nine-thirty. "So? Is he your son or not?"

Only silence reached her ears. His fingers paused on her hip, his expression stony. He refused to let her in. Fine—then he could make friends with her shoulder. This was the last time she was sticking her neck out for him. No more bending to his requests because he was paranoid enough to think some mysterious stranger could be his son. Why didn't he just hire a private detective?

"I don't know," came the weary response. He sounded broken, distraught, like someone who had lost their way. Like someone who doubted their instincts one too many times to count. "It's a complicated, confusing matter."

"Then talk to Archie," she immediately tossed over her shoulder.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder blade and she could tell he was in the throes of despair. Normally he was used to having full control and being able to envision the pawns on the chess board. But August W. Booth had done the impossible in ripping the rug out from under Gold's unsteady feet and sweeping a hand across the board, sending the pieces scattering.

And Gold was afraid of the vulnerability. Emma's didn't know how to break through to him.

"Why would August pretend to be your son? That's pretty low. What would he get out of it? Turning a few more of your hairs gray?"

The whole idea sounded utterly ridiculous to her. Was this a cry of boredom in their provincial town? Writer's block? If she discovered that August was doing as Gold suspected—pretending to be his son—he'd have her to answer to as well.

"I don't know," he answered more harshly. She reached over and gripped his wrist, instructing him to calm down. A slow, shaky breath whistled through his lips. "Maybe he wants to drive me up the wall, cause me undue suffering. Ripping open old wounds for the hell of it. Maybe he was hired by someone…the possibilities are endless."

And then there was door number four where August actually turned out to be telling the truth and was Gold's biological son. Whatever happened between them obviously created a vast gap and need for apologies.

His mutterings trailed off as he became hopelessly entangled in his troubling thoughts.

"What if he is your son?" Gold's hand tightened on her hip, squeezing it almost uncomfortably.

"He's not. He can't be." Denial.

"If he is?"

Not that she had a great desire to imagine spending Thanksgiving dinners with August or ever calling him her stepson. That would be too unsettling for words. It sent an invasive chill down her spine. Gold was terribly silent next to her, his expression shadowy.

"It's been…so many years," he whispered, barely audible. Emma winced under the 'woe-is-me' tone. Time to get off this subject before he spent the entire day in bed tomorrow drowning his sorrows into his pillow. She'd never truly met Depressed Gold and she never wanted to.

"Henry asked if he could have Paige over for dinner tomorrow," she changed the subject. "At first he didn't want to, but apparently after having ice cream with Paige today, he sang a different tune. Says you encouraged him a bit."

Miraculously, there was a spot of a smirk in on her radar. Was it a blip? Nope, it was genuine.

"Perhaps I did. It's time to put your motherly instincts to the test since he'll be bringing his first girl home. Paige…Not bad for a first catch. Quite intelligent, polite…graceful."

There was an odd, mischievous note in his voice that tipped her off. Squirming in his arms, she shifted to scrutinize him. His poker face was a masterful one, but she could sense something trivial lurking beneath the surface. What was he up to now?

"Your agreement with this idea…it doesn't have anything to do with Jefferson, does it?" There was a tiny flicker of alarm, vanishing under the waters of his placid mask in a second. But she had caught it. Of course he had an ulterior motive—revenge. "So, you're planning to…make Jefferson jealous by spending an evening dinner with Henry and Paige, who he believes is his daughter? Just so you can mock him?"

He seemed pretty set on it.

"Does it bother you?" She shrugged and returned to her previous position in bed. His arm wrapped around her waist and he cradled her body against his chest.

"No, not really. Dinner with Paige is pretty mild for you. I was expecting something more masochistic, like driving your car through Jefferson's front door or waiting in his bushes with binoculars, a box of doughnuts, and your cane until he shows his face. As long as you don't stage her parents' grim demise and tell me we're adopting her, go nuts with your tea party."

Emma savored the peaceful silence between them, her mind being rocked to gentle sleep by the comfort of his embrace. It was moments before the pillow became too soft to bear, before sleep ebbed in like a warm wave.

"By the way, dear, you'll have to be the one to discuss this arrangement with Paige's parents. Her father will think I'm plotting to sell his child on EBay."

And there went the wave, rolling out. Emma gave him a condescending look over the curve of her shoulder.

"You use EBay?" What was Henry teaching him during their bonding days? A guilty expression slithered over his face. He cast his eyes downward toward the sheet. Truthfully, he was rather cute when he was embarrassed, rifling a timid hand through his dusty brown hair.

"It's…addictive." It was the case of McDonald's fries all over again. "Darling, how do you feel about a chocolate fountain?"

…..

"Stop fidgeting! I'm almost done!"

Emma ruffled her hands through Henry's unkempt hair, trying hopelessly to pat down that one strand that kept standing up. He ducked his head away to avoid it, which only made her try harder.

"I brushed it twice! She won't notice," he complained and purposely undid all her progress. An unspoken groan of 'Mom' rang through her head. She could tell he didn't appreciate her pestering, but he was secretly pleased she was acting more like his mother. She wasn't that overbearing. She just didn't want him looking like he rolled out of bed.

"Shows how much you know, kid. Haven't you ever wondered why your stepfather spends so much time in the bathroom in the morning? Or why every detail has to be absolutely perfect? He knows I'll jump at the chance to call him out on it." And just in time—the sound of a cane tapping the floor. It was followed swiftly by a hand on her back.

"What fables are you telling the boy now?"

She turned her cheek to meet his lips and gave him a haughty look. She scanned his body, totaling every small detail. Finely pressed suit, firmly knotted tie, every hair perfectly set in place, a spritz of cologne wafting from his dress shirt. He'd even shined his expensive Italian shoes.

Wasn't Henry supposed to be the one on the date?

"Fables? So, you're denying the fact that you flip and blow-dry your hair to give it extra oomph?" His lips tightened into an unsettling line. Henry's eyes boggled.

"You blow-dry your hair?" Gold stalked past them to check on the spaghetti cooking in a pot on the stove. They had gone to Clark's that evening and Henry had picked out spiral-shaped ones. He grunted.

"Why is everyone surprised by that? What am I to do—let it air-dry?" Henry giggled over Gold's unease, his beauty secrets spilling to the surface. There were enough of them hidden away in the recesses of his mind to fill an entire fashion magazine. "Leave the poor boy alone, Emma. You've tousled his hair enough for one day."

She placed a hand on her hip, astonished.

"This coming from the man who wanted to dress him in a suit identical to his own and spray him with cologne. We're not exactly presenting him to his future wife." Gold tested out the sauce that was boiling on the stove. He winced and added a pinch of spice to it.

"You don't know that for certain. Nobody can truly know until fate deals her cards," he replied in his fortune-cookie manner. Henry twitched his nose. As a ten year old, he didn't really dream about marrying Paige yet. If ever.

"Guys, it's just dinner." Easy for the kid to say. The chime of the doorbell directed their immediate attention to the door. Emma figured she should be the one to answer it, unless they wanted Paige's parents to become an unnecessary issue of the night. She tousled Henry's hair one last time, just in case.

The show was about to begin.

….

Dinner was awfully quiet. Only the sound of their scraping forks pierced the air.

Occasionally Paige would ask for Henry to pass something, always using proper manners, and their fingers might briefly touch around the bowl of bread or stick of butter. It made both of them hush up even more out of silly embarrassment and fondness, at least until they began giggling about Pongo having Miss Ginger on his hit list.

Other than that, Paige was rather shy. Emma couldn't say she blamed the child—Paige probably never had dinner with the town's dealmaker extraordinaire before. Most children never even came in contact with Gold on the streets; any who had the misfortune of doing so were ushered away by their parents or squeaked out a polite greeting in hopes he wouldn't jump out of their closets at night.

Sometimes, Emma loathed the rumor mill.

She glanced across the table at her husband, who kept fidgeting and chasing a stray piece of pasta with his fork. She could tell his mind was distracted by the August situation. He refused to talk about it now, even when he was alone with her.

What was going on in his head?

"So, Paige…do you like ice cream cake? We're having some for dessert," Emma said cheerfully, hoping to engage Henry's friend—who happened to be a girl—in some form of conversation. Immediately, Paige's face brightened with a tempted smile.

"I love ice cream cake," she replied softly, nodding her head like a bobble-head doll. A fork clattered noisily onto a plate. All eyes traveled simultaneously to Gold. He stared darkly at Emma—that cake had been meant for the two of them.

Must he be so childishly stubborn? If only she could kick him under the table.

The attention must have dawned on him since he gathered up his fork. But she could read the defiance reflected in his face: _First, she knocks over my blessed cane. Then she treats herself to my ice cream cake. Is nothing sacred?_

_Might as well offer the dog a piece. _

His brown eyes gazed down at Goldie with a small sneer as she begged Paige for food. Henry kept sneaking her pieces of spaghetti under the table. Emma sent him a silent message in return: _Careful, Gold. If you offer the dog a piece, she might get the wrong idea. _

Gold had been much too fearful about being violated in his bed since The Incident with Goldie. Emma was starting to think she might have to send him to Archie.

"You're in Mary Margaret's class, too, right?"

Emma carried on with the questioning, peering between Paige and Henry. The two of them eyed the leftover food on their plates, though they chanced small glances every now and then. At this rate, Henry would be giving her a promise ring, sending flowers on Valentine's Day, and asking Gold to buy him a boom-box so he could hold it outside Paige's bedroom. Or at least beside her bike.

"Yeah, Henry and I are in the same class," she responded kindly. She met Henry's eyes across the table and fleetingly dropped them to her plate. Emma didn't miss the lingering smile. "I like Ms. Blanchard. She's really nice."

At least Mary Margaret didn't smell like bacon, unlike Miss Ginger. Henry beamed at his friend, hanging on every syllable that fell from her mouth.

"She's a really good student, too. She was the one that won the spelling bee last month," Henry added. A pink blush highlighted Paige's face as Henry commended her accomplishment, though the small dimple in her cheek suggested she liked it.

The warmth dissipated as Gold scoffed from his end of the table.

"Ah, right. It takes a great deal of wit to spell 'grandmother.' Even Leroy can do it and he's not lucid half the time," he taunted.

The dimple faded from Paige's cheek. Emma slapped her napkin down on the table and glared profusely at her husband. She was about to open her mouth and scold him for his unbelievable rudeness, but Paige beat her to the punch.

"Anyone can spell 'grandmother.' I'll bet I can spell any word you give me…sir," she tacked on for good measure. If she wasn't careful, he might increase her parent's rent as payback and there would be no dinner with Henry after that. Revenge or no revenge, Gold would not tolerate being verbally thrown down by a ten year old.

"Is that so? How about you and I make a deal?" Always the opportunist. He rested his elbows on the table and extended his hand to Paige. "If you correctly spell every word I give you, you can have the entire ice cream cake. But, should you fail…that cake will be mine and mine alone."

Emma wondered if she was an exception to that rule or if he planned to lock himself in their bedroom and feast on his cake in their bed.

Paige studied Gold's hand warily, considering the offer with the seriousness of an adult. Parents in Storybrooke drilled the phrase 'do not make deals with Mr. Gold' into the heads of their children like they did the ABC's or never to run into traffic.

Then she bravely straightened up in her chair and clasped his hand, giving it a firm shake.

"Deal. What's my first word?"

Paige tilted her head curiously, the light from the ceiling lamp illuminating her blonde highlights. Henry forgot all about his half-eaten dinner, watching the crackling tension between the two competitors. Emma was surprised he didn't scribble Paige's name on his napkin and wave it in the air.

Even Goldie was quieter than usual, sitting on the floor with her golden tail thumping on the floor.

Gold settled back in his chair, tenting his fingers together under his nose. His irises glinted extraordinarily—two shining black orbs locked on Paige. The way he lounged carelessly, confidently, still as a vulture that spotted its prey, he looked every bit the part of a scheming imp.

"Your first word…absurdity," he drawled with careful precision. Henry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Absurdity was another term for 'madness'. He didn't believe in coincidences very often. Why else should Gold choose that term first?

But Paige was unperturbed. Where other children might have paused in confusion, doubting their abilities to spell it correctly, she seemed to run over the word in her head and nodded.

"A-B-S-U-R-D-I-T-Y," she rattled off smoothly. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin proudly. But Gold was not bemused by her achievement—he was only getting started. The lengths he was willing to go to for an ice cream treat was astonishing.

"Gracefulness," he proposed next, this one fired more quickly. Grace. The key word.

Henry urgently nudged Gold's ankle under the table to gain his attention, maybe ask what he was doing, but Gold ignored his efforts. Paige didn't falter for a moment.

"G-R-A-C-E-F-U-L-N-E-S-S. Gracefulness."

Henry observed her cautiously as her own true name slipped stealthily through her teeth. Paige scrunched her nose and her focus distanced as though her mind were summoning an elusive memory. She shook it away with a rough sway of her head.

Henry leaned over his corner of the table. He tugged on Gold's sleeve, but Gold merely moved his elbow out of reach.

This was not meant to happen. Not yet. If Grace woke up now…she'd have two sets of memories in her head, battling for control. The stress and complexity of sorting through it—alone—would make her sanity slide. And then there was Emma to worry about. If he did this, would Emma believe? Or would she think something fishy was going on?

It was too big a risk to take.

"Mr. Gold—"

"Something tougher ought to do the trick for you," he carried on as though Henry did not exist at his table. He touched a finger to his lips, which curved dangerously. His lips parted ever so slightly. "Rumplestiltskin."

The name rolled effortlessly off his tongue. Henry didn't think it'd be out of place for him to give Paige a sweeping bow in introduction. And yet he sat stunned in his chair, bewildered that Gold would take such a leap here and now. Emma froze in her seat as well and she watched Gold suspiciously.

For the first time since the game began, Paige showed a hint of uncertainty.

"R-U-M-P-E-L—" Paige paused for a second as a clever smirk crossed Gold's face. "S-T-I-L-T-S-K-I-N. Rumpelstiltskin," she finished with a small break in her voice. Gold traced a finger along his fork, but he was grinning victoriously.

"You're wrong, dearie," he lilted. Paige's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Emma could tell she was spelling it out mentally, double-checking. "It's L-E, not E-L. Close, but no cigar. Or, in your case, cake."

"No, it's not," Paige countered defensively.

Gold stiffened, astounded by Paige's sudden boldness of calling him wrong. That cake belonged to him, fair and square. They had a deal! Henry breathed a sigh of relief, finally earning Gold's attention. That was it—Henry wasn't getting a single frosted flower.

"Yes, it is. Face it—you spelled the word wrong and you forfeited the cake. Better luck next time," he retorted sharply. Paige wasn't backing down. Emma wondered if she should intervene before Gold's childish antics surfaced. He was teetering on that edge.

"I did not spell it wrong," she protested. Gold arched forward in his seat, irritated.

"Yes, you did!"

"Look it up," she challenged and crossed her arms.

Emma really approved of Paige's willingness to put her foot down against Gold. She seriously considered hiring her as Deputy. Once the kid was old enough, anyway. Maybe she and Henry could be partners in crime for real.

Gold glowered fiercely at their guest. Scraping back his chair, he deliberately strode off into the hallway and climbed the stairs. A minute or two later, he returned and dropped a dusty volume of Grimm fairy tales on the table. It was older than the one they had given to Henry for Christmas, with antiquated pages and worn creases on the cover, spreading like wrinkles to reveal its age.

He thumbed through the pages, stopping on the table of contents. His finger worked its way down the page as he searched for the proper tale.

"Here it is. R-U-M-P—" He paused abruptly, his eyelids narrowing at the yellowed page.

Henry knew what had made him stop. There were plenty of versions of his story, but the most popular one was 'Rumpelstiltskin.' It wasn't the way he spelled his name, but by this world's standards, Paige had spelled it correctly. He could not deny the child her victory without explaining the reason for it.

"See? I spelled it right," Paige pointed out, tapping the name on the page. Gold snapped the book closed forcefully, nearly catching Paige's finger. Emma took that as a cue to serve dessert. Gold slumped in his chair, pouting over his failed attempt at winning that cake. Surprisingly, Paige offered him the first piece, anyway. "Henry told me how much his stepfather likes ice cream."

Gold glanced down at the generous slice of cake, the innards melting and the sugary frosted rose tempting his taste-buds. He didn't know what to say to her kindness, so he simply accepted the cake in stubborn silence. The four of them chowed down half the cake and Paige declined taking the rest of it home, despite her deal with Gold.

He supposed she wasn't such a bad contender for Henry's girlfriend.

"Cute teddy bear," she cooed as she gathered her things. Her parents were coming to pick her up. No doubt they had been waiting by the phone all night.

Gold followed the direction of her outstretched hand to Goldie, who was viciously ravaging Mr. Teddy. The little cane was splintered in half and the suit was so torn that Mr. Teddy might as well be wearing nothing.

"No, no, no! Not that one, you pathetic fur-ball! That is not a toy! What did Mr. Teddy ever do to offend you?" He wished he hadn't left Teddy Jefferson in his shop. Gold rescued Mr. Teddy from Goldie's hungry jaws. It was damp with saliva and there shouldn't be that much stuffing on the _outside _of his belly. "Emma, he'll require surgery."

"I am not performing surgery on a bear," she declined while she cleaned up the table of plates and utensils. It was no use arguing with him. He probably wouldn't go to bed until every piece of stuffing was safely tucked back inside Mr. Teddy.

What would Whale think if they showed up at the hospital and placed Mr. Teddy on a stretcher?

It was when she picked up Paige's plate that she noticed the girl had plopped back down in her chair. Henry joined her side, his expression fearful. He peered up at her face from under the curtain of dirty blond strands. Emma almost dropped the dirty plates on the table, her muscles rigid when she sensed a bigger problem at work here.

"Paige…what's wrong?"

The girl's body was trembling slightly, her face was pale, white as a sheet, and her normally intelligent eyes were unfocused. Her cheeks puffed, her neck craned forward, her knees wobbled on the chair. She looked ready to throw up.

"I don't…feel good," she moaned, rubbing a hand over her belly.

Henry rushed off to fetch a wet hand-towel to cool her down. Her cheeks turned rosy red and looked like they were burning up fast. Emma didn't know what to do; she never had experience with this sort of thing.

"Maybe you ate too much ice cream cake after dinner," she suggested. Her eyes flashed upwards to her husband in warning before he mocked the girl with something like 'serves her right.' If he valued Mr. Teddy's short life, he would hold his tongue.

What would she do if this were her child?

"Do you want to lie down on the couch until your parents come?" She prayed Paige's bout of sickness cleared up in the next two minutes. Otherwise, he parents might assume Gold poisoned her. But that seemed more of Regina's expertise.

"No…no I think I'm fine. It's going away," Paige assured her.

Emma touched the back of her hand to Paige's forehead. She didn't feel that hot. The lucidity returned to her bright eyes and she jumped up to her feet, which were no longer as tremulous. She scrutinized the bear tucked close to Gold's chest.

"It's weird. That bear reminds me of a toy I think I used to have when I was younger. Except it was a really old, ratty white rabbit with colored patches."

Henry's face lit up with recognition. He dashed off to retrieve his book from the couch. Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. _Not now, Henry. Can't Operation: Cobra wait until tomorrow? _But he was already cracking it open, flipping to a page somewhere in the middle.

"Kind of like…this one?"

He revealed a page with one of those glossy storybook illustrations. It depicted a tea party with a little girl pouring fake tea from a white kettle. Surrounding her on wooden chairs were all kinds of stuffed animals, the one closest to her being a funny-looking white rabbit. Henry showed her.

"Yeah, it looked exactly like that," Paige exclaimed, taking the book into her own hands.

Her gaze rolled over the page, drinking in every detail about that strange white rabbit. Emma frowned as recognition seemed to blossom over Paige's face. It must be the planting of the suggestion that was throwing her off—Henry had planted the suggestion and Paige was confused by it.

But then how was the picture there in the book in the first place? Coincidences were rare, in her viewpoint.

A horn beeped outside, startling Paige out of her reverie. She quickly returned the book to Henry's hands and hurried off for the door, tossing numerous 'thank-you's over her shoulder. Henry showed her out, carrying her backpack on her arm. Emma thought she caught them holding hands before Paige slipped through the door.

_Yeah…we're never seeing her at our dinner table again. _

…..

Emma finished stacking the dirty sauce-stained dishes in the sink. Paige's parents had just picked her up, their car roaring down the street. If it went any faster, it'd take off for the moon. She stealthily watched Henry as he stood at the front door when she thought he wasn't looking.

The kid could have had little pink hearts floating around his head to match the goofy grin plastered on his face. Someone was in love.

Warm hands nestled her hips as she rinsed their cocoa-filled glasses. She tilted her head back to rest on her husband's shoulder and he delicately kissed her temple. That soft kiss morphed into a trail of kisses down her cheek. His fingers danced over her belly.

"Now that the child is gone," he murmured into her ear.

He was talking about Paige, but she still felt a sting in her heart as her mind reminisced about their unborn child. She lightly elbowed him in the stomach and glanced over his shoulder at Henry, who was closing the front door. Her eyes flickered back to Gold with a warning: _not now. _

"Hey, Henry, would you like to bring Goldie for a walk? I'm sure she needs to work off some of that buffet she just ate," Emma suggested.

On cue, Goldie lifted her blonde head from the bed in the corner of the kitchen and dashed off in search of Henry. The kid eagerly clipped her leash on.

"You know, if you guys want a moment alone, all you have to do is ask," he said and disappeared through the door with Goldie. Maybe they would run into Archie and Pongo. The minute the door closed, Gold buried his face in her hair and inhaled her sweet scent.

"Where were we?"

He started to nuzzle her neck, but she shifted away. There was something more trivial on her mind tonight. And she knew he was just trying to find a worthy distraction to chase away the troubling thoughts dominating over his concentration lately. It was all a smokescreen.

"I think…you should give Henry 'the talk,'" she proposed. He stared back at her as though waiting for the punch-line of a joke. When he realized she was serious, his attitude became grave. He acted like she just hired him to kill someone.

"_The_ talk?" She nodded and weaved her fingers together.

"The talk. You know, with a capital 'the.' The birds and the bees, stuff like that," she confirmed. Uneasiness cloaked his movements as he drifted to the counter beside her.

The last time he spoke of birds and bees was…oh, he lost count of the years since Bae had been subject to that conversation. He certainly lost any fatherly touch that would allow him to carry out that deed. The Dark One mentoring his stepson in the ways of the world and puberty; that ought to be a show in itself.

Emma frowned as she registered the hesitance on his face.

"Gold, he's turning eleven soon. He's completely innocent to this stuff and he's experiencing his first real crush. Plus, I doubt Regina had this heart-to-heart with him. At least, I hope not," she reasoned. The thought of how Regina might go about that issue turned her stomach.

Gold gripped the edge of the counter for support. His knuckles turned white and he averted his gaze.

"Emma, I'm not entirely sure I'm the right man to do that," he admitted, casting his eyes down to his shoes. She leaned toward him and caressed the side of his jaw, urging him to look up at her. He did it with great reluctance.

"Then, who?" Neither of them could answer that question. Who would have been an appropriate candidate? David Nolan? He might have actually discussed the nature of birds and bees. "I trust you. He's starting to appreciate you as his stepfather. You should be the one to do it."

The front door opened and closed, paired with harried footsteps and a metallic noise as Henry unclipped the dog's leash. Goldie bounded into the kitchen and leaped up on Gold's good leg, tail wagging like a helicopter blade. Apparently, Goldie agreed with Emma.

He never turned his attention from her, merely watched and waited for her to make a decision.

"Henry, I think Gold has something he wants to talk about with you," Emma called out. She ignored the brief panic in Gold's eyes as he scurried to figure out what to say. Henry strolled into the kitchen and met Gold's nervous gaze curiously. "I'll leave you two alone."

Emma wandered away into the hall, but she didn't hear any talking going on behind her. No doubt Gold would wait until she was gone, safely upstairs where she could not overhear easily. And now she had added time on her hands.

Hmm…a bath sounded good. She stretched her arms above her head, her muscles demanding it in their stiffness. With any luck, she and Gold would have their own little talk of birds and bees later on.

…..

Gold stalled as long as he could, his tongue heavy and numb. Sooner or later, he would have to do it. But that was half the problem. How did he do it? His experience in this field was slim to none. Gods, he hadn't been a proper father in centuries! He was more than a little rusty.

And Henry wouldn't quit staring at him! Was he even blinking? Better to dive head-first and get this settled with. Once it was done, they could put it past them and pretend it never happened.

"Have a seat, Henry," he offered, gesturing to a chair.

The boy obeyed and Gold lowered his body into the chair opposite him. He wrung his hands in a single fist between his knees, he took up his cane and rolled it between his palms, and he glanced at everything in the room except Henry. Nervousness dripped off him like rainwater.

"Mr. Gold…are you alright?"

The unabashed concern in Henry's voice was touching, but did little to soothe his nerves. He slapped his cane down on the table and edged forward in his seat. Every time he wanted to say something, to plunge into this awkward discussion, the words clogged in his throat like the world's thickest peanut butter.

Judging by the confusion and alarm spreading across Henry's face, he might as well be preparing to break the news of his upcoming death.

"Henry, this is a rather serious topic. It's something every boy must experience. I went through it when I was young," he started with ease. So far so good. "You see, Henry…you've been growing close to Gr—uh, Paige. Sometimes, when a boy is fond of a girl, he might…there are certain events that could…in your body, there's…Let me put this in a way you and I can both relate. The boy and girl, they make a little deal and of course deals need to be signed in order to be enacted, so the boy takes his pen and—"

"Mr. Gold," Henry stopped him halfway through. Just when he was working up the courage to reach his point. "Emma asked you to talk to me about the birds and bees, right? It's okay. Regina already had the talk with me. Except she talked about bananas. I get it," he admitted.

Gold lounged back in his chair, a cold sweat breaking over his forehead. That was it? He was off the hook? Henry lightly touched his arm.

"I like Grace, but not in the way you like Emma. If this curse hadn't happened, she'd be way too old for me. If anyone should be given the talk, it should be her," he continued. Gold wiped a hand across his jaw, wincing as it unlocked.

"Thank the gods!" He exclaimed, wiping his brow. He was surprised to find he was almost sweating bullets. "Back in our world, we had this thing called arranged marriages. Far less stressful."

Though, he didn't fully appreciate Regina giving his stepson the talk, either. Henry raised an eyebrow.

"But you would want me to marry for love, wouldn't you?"

Gold straightened up in his chair and patted Henry reassuringly on the leg. His muscles were relaxing and he could breathe so much easier now that the pressure of dealing out this talk was done.

"Of course. I'm a fan of true love, after all," he replied, placing a hand to his heart. Henry smiled in relief. "Are you sure you wouldn't have me recount on the birds and bees?" Henry chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Not unless you want to," he said passively. Gold wasn't truly worried about Henry, anyway. The boy was smart, capable of making sound decisions. "Plus, I kind of want to make sure she's my true love before we become boyfriend and girlfriend. Or get married. Or any of that adult stuff. I'm still a kid, y'know."

Gold chuckled and clapped Henry on the shoulder. What had they been worried about?

"You should treasure those childhood years, too. Before you know it, they've slipped right through your fingers. There's no turning back the clock, Henry," he advised. He squeezed Henry's shoulder once before rising to his feet. Regina should be coming to pick up Henry soon—a fact of life that no one except Regina was happy about.

"Hey, Mr. Gold?" Henry called him back hesitantly. Gold turned and tilted his head in invitation. Henry perched on the edge of his chair with a dubious expression on his face. Something was bothering him. "During dinner, you weren't….trying to wake up Grace, were you?"

Oh, that. His fruitless endeavor. Or mainly fruitless, if her brief upset stomach and flash of memory was anything to go by. He maintained a blank mask over the swirling plans that were brewing in his mind. It had been a petty stab at revenge, nothing else.

But Henry could not know that. How much faith would Henry lose in him if he understood what he'd almost done this evening?

"No, Henry. It was a simple test. A harmless experiment to verify whether this curse was weakening any." The lie unfolded smoothly, his voice never faltering in tone. Even so, Henry studied him suspiciously for a long, tense moment.

Why ever would he do something so reckless as waking up Grace? That would mean forcing her to endure two sets of memories, to possibly lose her sanity trying to make sense of the warring personalities, causing Jefferson to lose his daughter in a way worse than death. To lose his child just as Gold lost his. Suffering.

Why, it was preposterous.

Henry blinked, squirming on his chair.

"Okay," he murmured unconvincingly. Both of them knew he was not being terribly truthful. But the boy let it go for now. For that, Gold was thankful. He would just have to be patient. His revenge would come, one way or another.

…

Emma licked the runaway drop of ice cream from her chin, smacking her lips with utmost satisfaction. She reclined her head on her pillow, basking in her husband's embrace. The tray of leftover ice cream cake had been placed between their bodies—they were feeding little bits of it to each other in the darkness.

Thankfully, they had the foresight to close the door this time. Their only witness was Mr. Teddy, who was stationed on the chair next to the window with countless black stitches in his body. He would make a full recovery.

"More?" Emma didn't even need to wait for his head-dipping approval.

She swiped a finger through the chocolate-swirl ice cream and dangled her finger in front of Gold's lips. He eagerly took it in his mouth, sucking away the thin layer of ice cream as a thirsty child would drink from a bottle. His tongue tickled the skin under her nail before he released her.

It was his turn.

Dipping his finger deep into the cake, he brought a mixture of frosting and ice cream to her lips. Tracing her bottom lip, a line of the creamy substance brushed off on her mouth. Bending his head down, his tongue darted out to lick it away. She leaned her head toward him, crushing her lips against his in a demanding, overdue kiss. The remaining creaminess on his finger dripped onto a bare strip of her belly and he broke away to lick that spot, too.

Every stray drop counted.

That was precisely when they heard it. A disruptive bang from somewhere downstairs.

Gold's mouth paused, hovering above the warm skin of her belly. Every muscle in his body coiled rapidly, his head cocked to the side to listen for any noises that were not meant to be there. Surely, no one besides Moe French would be foolish enough to break into the sanctity of their house in the middle of the night.

"Maybe it was the wind. Or a drunken Leroy running around knocking on random doors equipped with a water gun again," Emma suggested, though she kept her voice down just in case. Her gun was in the bedside table drawer. She contemplated grabbing, pulled open the drawer and did just that, but Gold had already reached for his cane.

Somehow, his cane was a much more feared weapon in this town than her loaded gun.

Emma tossed back the covers and raced to join his side on the threshold of their bedroom, her gun gripped steadily in her hand. The floorboards were hauntingly icy as she crept behind Gold. The two of them made their way soundlessly down the stairs, their lungs barely sucking in air. The downstairs level was shadowy, perfect for an intruder to hide. Gold flicked on the hall light to partly illuminate their path.

"I'll check the back door," Emma whispered into his clothed shoulder. He gave a barely perceptible nod to show he had heard. Emma snuck down the dim hall toward the kitchen, her gun aimed directly in front of her.

Gold swiftly lifted his cane into his hand and peered into the abyss of the living room. Was that a hunched figure there in the corner? No, that was the cello. No sense beating that to a pulp. His eyes swept over the area critically, searching for some small sign of an intrusion.

There had been a noise, he was certain of it. It wasn't a trick of his mind—Emma had heard it, too. They couldn't both be imagining it, could they? Maybe they really could use a weekend in the cabin to clear their overworked minds.

Goldie's amber eyes glowed from her bed, but she never moved. Some watchdog she was.

Silently, he danced his way to the front door and turned the knob slowly in his hand. As quietly as possible, he edged it open and stuck his head out. He gazed about the porch, expecting someone to be running away in hopes of escaping. No living thing in sight.

Just to be sure, he stepped out onto the porch and scanned the dark, deserted street. Every house was shrouded in darkness, not a single light on to suggest one of his neighbors was restlessly venturing for a midnight snack. No unfamiliar cars on the street. No one hiding in his bushes—he purposely poked his cane into the ones lining the porch.

How odd. Had it been a groan of the house?

He turned to head back inside….and then he spotted it. Fluttering in the light night breeze, taped to his front door with a thick strip of duct tape. A note.

So that was the sound they had heard. Someone slapping a note on his front door.

Who would be stupid enough to do that in the dead of the night? Stupid…or very clever if they assumed it would limit the risk of being caught by him. Was it an anonymous complaint from one of the townsfolk? He was pretty confident it wasn't an eviction notice. Not the official, legal kind, anyway.

Gold lowered his cane long enough to rip it off and read it over. It was very short, yet very threatening. It was written in a rushed script, slanting across the plain white page. _If you go anywhere near my daughter again, you'll wish you never even looked at my hat. Stop putting ideas in her head. Or you'll lose yours._

How touchy.

He would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Jefferson. He wasn't exactly in the position to be making death threats. So he was miffed about missing the tea party, was he?

"Nothing in the back. Did you find anything?" Emma approached from behind. He crumpled the note in his palm before she could notice it. He forced a reassuring smile and tucked a piece of stray blonde hair behind her ear.

"Afraid not. Must have been the house telling us to quit stuffing our faces and go to sleep," he quipped. He angled his body toward the front door, urging her back inside. Emma back-tracked, shutting out the chill of the wind with a thrust of the door with her foot. "I'll be up in a minute. I think I'll have a cup of tea to settle my nerves."

Emma rolled her eyes at his melodrama, but retreated up the stairs to their bedroom. Gold waited until she was upstairs before he hurried into the kitchen. He found the lighter he always kept in one of the cupboards and stood in front of the sink with the note in hand.

Once more he read it over, though the words were already seared into his brain.

Then he flicked open the lighter, producing a tiny glowing flame. He held it to a corner of the note and watched it catch fire, the flame licking across the white page. He dropped it into the sink and observed the way the words turned black, the paper crumbling and curling in on itself, becoming unreadable and lost to the world.

_Bring it on, Jefferson. Do your worst. And when you make the petty mistake of showing your face, I'll be waiting. _

….

…

_**Jefferson might be a sorry boy once this story is done. **_

_**On a side note, I did scrape up enough time to write a one-shot based on Charming's line about Thanksgiving in the episode Manhattan. Just a light, humorous fic on what it'd be like if that awkward family had Thanksgiving dinner together. Just a notice in case anyone wants to check it out. **_

_**Of course, I have my reviewers to thank: DaesGatling, discotimelord, la-stella-immortale (thank you so much for all the reviews!), The-Writer2012, guest, The Auburn Girl, Huntress4455, housefangirl25, JessOvergon, liliesandroses, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, isara-love, CookieSpells4, nuckythompson, sbcarri, Musicalfan2012, SwanQueen4055, and megumisakura.**_

_**So (for those of you watching Season 2), are you all ready for The Miller's Daughter? **_


	51. Chapter 51

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! I believe you'll enjoy this chapter very much—there's some good Golden Swan waiting for you. And I just realized that this story has passed its one year anniversary! How time flies, huh? I want to thank all the readers for giving me their support and loyally reading this far. **_

Gold was nervous.

It was that dreadful tingling nerves-sweating bullets-butterflies in the deepest pit of his stomach kind of nervousness. It rendered him frozen like a wild deer caught in headlights. There he stood, rigid in the spine, outside Archie's office door, hand rising and falling in an awkward dance.

_Should I knock? No, this is a waste of time. Or perhaps he can ease my mind...No, what am I saying? He's a cricket. What can he possibly do for me? What if he's not there? Or is he with another patient? This whole town's seeing him for something, except me. Maybe I should leave a note...slip it under the door...I can't do this..._

_ But I have to. _

Oh, he was a natural wreck.

His mind refused to commit to one single train of thought. It would be so easy to walk away and never have the cricket know that he was considering asking for advice...but he had to do this. There was no debating it.

All day, he'd been flashing back to the past, walking in a haze, replaying the last few moments he ever had with his son. It wouldn't leave him alone, what with this August conundrum. If he didn't talk about it soon, get it off his chest...he might literally go mad.

He needed to do this. Gradually, he raised his fist and rapped his knuckles on the wood of the door. Inside, he was trembling. The thought of sitting on that black couch and pouring out all the emotions he had bottled was...unnerving.

He was wrong—this was ridiculous. The cricket wouldn't be able to understand. He would just vent to Emma again; she was the only one in this town he could ever open up to fully, anyway. She would listen, comfort him, take him into her arms and soothe the pain away.

Hanging his head, he began to walk away.

"Mr. Gold?" A thin voice inquired from behind. He halted in his tracks, his bad leg faltering a half-step. He hadn't realized Archie had answered the door and emerged into the hallway. There was no running now. The cricket would think him a coward.

Slowly, he revolved and met Archie's bespectacled eyes. His hands were buried in his pockets, his head tilted to the side as he examined what he only knew to be a small-town pawnbroker. He wasn't even involved in _Archie and the Crickets_. Not that he was jealous of David Nolan or anything.

"Are you...here for the rent?"

"Why does everyone ask that?" He countered.

Was it so impossible to believe that he might have another reason to walk among the community? Drop in and say hello? Perhaps be offered a friendly beer even if he was likely to decline?

Archie cleared his throat and scraped the top of his shoe on the hallway carpet.

"Do you have something on your mind?" _What tipped you off? _Gold took an uncertain step forward.

Archie was using that overly cautious, soft tone meant to console him and invite him into the security of his office. Sadly, it was working its charm. Archie always confounded him that way. The cricket could reduce Lord Voldemort to quivering tears within a half hour's session.

All he had strength for was a resolute nod, his feet shuffling back toward the office instead of the stairway that would take him outside and beyond this stuffy building. Archie offered him a reassuring smile as he stepped aside to let him pass. The chirping of crickets beckoned him closer to the black couch. Oddly, the box of tissues was on the other side of the table.

Wasn't the patient supposed to be the one drowning in a sorrowful pool of tears? Since when was it the other way around?

That man had better stay a good distance from his shoulder. His suits weren't resistant to tears.

Archie gestured for him to sit wherever he pleased. Hesitantly, Gold's body gracefully lowered onto the edge of the leather black couch, his knees bent anxiously as though he was ready to spring back up at any moment. His cane rolled between his legs, spinning through his palms.

The cricket perched on the opposite end of the couch, the table the only thing separating them. He casually folded his hands over his knees and sported a goofy, toothy grin. Probably eager to pick his brain. Any shrink would be, if they only knew how much baggage he toted on his shoulders.

Archie drew in a deep breath and released it just as carefully. It was the signal that their session was about to begin.

"Now...tell me what's bothering you."

…

"She infiltrates my blankets. I don't even hear her coming. And then she digs her nails into my leg and just...keeps on grinding in heat. Takes me an entire five minutes to shake her off. I've never felt so violated in my life," Gold shakily recounted the vicious Incident.

Archie gaped open-mouthed. He never had a patient traumatized by their own dog before, at least not in this way. Over-affection had never been a reason for therapy. He was considering setting Gold up with Mrs. Ginger so they could discuss their experiences of being terrorized by dogs.

"Have you ever considered bringing a male dog into your home? I'll bet Goldie's lonely," Archie suggested. The couch groaned under his weight as he leaned avidly forward in his seat. Gold, however, scooted further away into the corner. He tossed a scathing look.

"Ah, yes. Brilliant plan, Hopper. I'll come home from work to find two mutts going at it in my bed. She's already taken my favorite pillow! And chewed apart my most expensive shoes and slobbered all over one of my silk ties. Mr. Teddy is in intensive care. The last thing I'll do is bring a second scoundrel into my house," he huffed, clinging to the arm of the couch. Archie opened his mouth only to have Gold's cane slap down on the table. "Don't you _dare_ suggest a play-date with that miniature cow of yours, either."

Pongo lifted his head from his bed, sensing the personal topic at hand. Gold smoothed a hand across his shaved jaw, urging away the discomfort. Archie merely blinked in response. He had never dealt with a distressed Gold before.

Maybe what he really needed was another guys' night out.

"Well, you could try closing the bedroom door when you and Emma...you know..." Archie's face flushed pink in the midst of his awkwardness. "I know the two of you have been through rough times. I know you're both trying again. Think of how Goldie must feel, yearning for attention. Sometimes...a puppy is as delicate as a human child. Needing care and love..."

The way Gold's lip curled in distaste stopped Archie from continuing onward.

Truth be told, Gold was fonder of Goldie than he would openly admit. There was nothing really wrong with the fur-ball; he did share some of his morning and dinner scraps of food, and he did take her for generously long walks about the neighborhood. He just didn't appreciate having his control stripped and being dominated while in bed with his wife.

_He _was supposed to be the master of the house, not _her. _

"Something tells me that's not your real reason for coming here," Archie hinted.

It was obvious to him that Gold was struggling internally with this unexpected Incident, but it was a cover for what really lay under the surface. Gold's knuckles whitened as he gripped his cane and Archie knew he was right. There was something trickier at work here.

"You can tell me anything. Every word you say is confidential. I'll help to the best of my ability."

_Empty promises, _Gold mused bitterly as he debated whether to reveal that sore source of his anxiety. What would Archie even say if he knew the depth of his grief? Would he be so helpful?

"Gold, if there is something else bothering you, perhaps it would be best to talk about it instead of bottling it up. You can trust me. Why else would you have knocked on my door if you weren't seeking advice?"

Once more, Archie's wise eyes flickered to the calendar on the wall. Oh, good—the rent wasn't due for another week. Advice was what this perplexing man was looking for, then.

Archie patiently waited. If Gold truly wished to be comforted, he would have to prove his willingness to be helped.

There was a small shifting noise as Gold's body relaxed a bit on the couch. He didn't appear ready to lounge back and sip martinis, exactly, but he didn't look like he would bolt for the door without a moment's notice. He silently weaved his hands together. His brown hair framed his sharply-edged face in a thick curtain. His chest rose and fell in a rough pattern, his breath coming quick.

"I have a son," he whispered almost inaudibly.

Archie never noticed the man's lips even moving. For a second, he assumed he had misheard it. Then a new wave of pity eclipsed his heart. He could only recall Emma breaking down after their untimely miscarriage, but what sort of dark emotions still riveted through Gold?

"Denial isn't very healthy in the long run—"

In one swift motion, Gold snatched up his cane. Instead of heading for the door, though, he slammed it forcefully against the surface of the table, effectively silencing Archie's explanations and critical theories.

"I am not in denial," he insisted through clenched teeth. Archie raised his hands, motioning for him to calm down. Gold's hand shook as he released the cane onto the table again. "Before Emma...I had a son."

He would not speak his name. There were some things he preferred to cherish deep inside his mind, information the cricket did not deserve to know. But when he closed his eyes, he dredged up Bae's youthful face. It wasn't as clear as he would have liked, as though the image were trapped behind shattered glass.

When did it become such a challenge to remember his face?

"Had or have?"

Archie latched onto only one portion of his revelation instead of pursuing his personal curiosities. Gold's brows knitted together, the hazy image of Bae's face swimming away.

"I...I have no idea. It's been years since I last saw him or even had the pleasure of hearing his voice," he said mournfully. He gave a tired sigh, the ache in his bones reminding him of his true age. "It's one of the worst fates in the world, Hopper—never knowing for certain whether your child is alright."

It was impossible to hide the solemn note in his voice. Archie frowned with unadulterated sympathy, his fingers twitching into his palm. The doc probably had an itching to grab a tissue.

"You said it's been years. Why have you decided to come tonight?"

Gold's shoulders slumped. It would only be uphill from here. He may as well get used to it if he wanted any sort of sleep tonight. He glared an invisible hole into the floorboards, averting his gaze entirely from Archie's probing one.

"I may have found him," he muttered. Or, rather, August had been the one to find him. He had been the one to instigate this sudden falling of dominoes, the very reason why he was spending his evening in this office instead of returning home to Emma.

He wished she was here with him. Her presence would make it easier to unstick the words from his throat.

"That's great news," Archie exclaimed, starting to smile. Gold didn't share his enthusiasm.

"There was conflict between us. I think he might still be very angry. I think...he might be here to try to kill me," he stated flatly. The satisfaction in Archie's face vanished. That kind of theory definitely put a damper on their progress.

"That's terrible news," he murmured. Well, wasn't he one to point out the obvious?

Gold wished he could stop there, before this got too uncomfortable, but the words were too powerful to staunch. It was like a massive volcano had erupted inside him, the lava flowing thick and hot through his veins. Everything he pondered over for the last 300 years—every regret, fear, and moment of stress—burst forth in a tremendous river.

"I let him go. I've spent my entire life since trying to fix it. I thought...with Emma, I thought I was being given a second chance; that I could be a father again. But I lost that child, too. I value Henry more than I can say, as his stepfather. But now, my son may finally be here. He's not who I expected he would be. He even kissed my wife at Christmas and took her on a date! We can't possibly fight over the same woman. That's just...mad."

The notion of it made him shudder internally. If August truly was Bae, that boy was grounded indefinitely and would soon become Archie's new best friend. They would just see how suave he was when he was cleaning out the crickets' cage.

For now, Gold sank his head into his hands. The scratching of a pencil on paper directed his attention back to Archie momentarily—he was jotting something down on a pad. That had better be hangman and not the words 'family therapy.'

"I don't know what to do," he confessed.

There was the odd sound of something sliding his way. Gold glanced up to see that Archie had passed over the box of tissues. The cricket assumed he was having a breakdown. Gold glared at Archie across the table, who gulped upon realizing his mistake.

"If you're not interested in using those tissues, you could always pass them back," Archie kindly suggested. Gold's eyes narrowed.

Picking up the box of tissues, he flung it at Archie's red head. Yelping, Archie ducked and the box of tissues sailed through the air over his head, right through the window that Archie had left open to let in the night breeze.

"_Ow!" _

A moan of discomfort arose from the street outside. Archie rushed to the window and poked his head out. Gold stayed where he was on the couch, uncaring about the poor sap that had been caught under the tissues.

Maybe the impact would knock a memory or two loose.

"Everyone! The sky is falling!"

"Sorry," Archie called out into the night. Bringing his head back in, he closed the window. He returned to the couch, smiling sheepishly at Gold. "I might have to clear my schedule tomorrow for Leroy."

He gave a timid laugh. Gold didn't reciprocate. Archie suddenly reverted to seriousness, running a hand along his sweater vest as he tried to figure out how to pick up where they left off.

"You were asking for my advice," Archie retraced their steps. Gold's jaw locked stiffly in his impatience.

"No, I was about to suggest you and I cook up some popcorn and engage in a karaoke competition using that overrated musical contraption that burned through one hundred dollars in my pocket," he retorted.

Archie's eyes flickered to the karaoke machine. It was a good thing he was perceptive to Gold's sarcasm. He cleared his throat. What came out of it next completely stupefied Gold.

"_Yes, I would love to have your professional advice, Dr. Hopper. There's no therapist quite like you. _Sure thing, Mr. Gold," he openly filled in the blanks himself. He even tried putting on a fake Scottish accent, which sounded more like an ill British person. Gold winced. Did he really sound like that? "Here it is, free of charge. Since you're one of my favorite Archie and the Crickets' fans. Don't tell Ruby I said that."

If he breathed a word of Archie's favoritism to Little Red, there was no doubt that he would go conspicuously missing after the curse broke. All that would be found of him was his cane and maybe a scrap of his suit.

"Be honest with your son. Tell him what you told me and ask for his forgiveness." How helpful.

Why didn't he think to bring his special video camera and record this session and simply press the play button for Bae? It wouldn't make his words any less true. And if Bae remained angry, at least the 'sky falling' bit might serve to earn a smile.

"Honesty has never been the best color on me," he replied dryly. It was why Regina stopped asking him if her dresses and suits made her look fat. Just to screw with her, he always said yes.

A sharp trill interrupted their session. His cell phone went off in his pocket. It was a text message from Emma. He rose to his feet, prepared to use the interruption as a good excuse to end this nonsense. Archie copied his movements, probably just as glad to get him off his couch.

"That would be my cue to go. Emma's advising me to watch out for hurtling pieces of sky on my way home," he explained.

Apparently, Leroy's cries of the sky falling traveled fast. He plucked a peppermint candy from the glass bowl on Archie's desk on his way past. He pointed a finger toward Archie's chest, which made the cricket jump faster than if he carried a gun.

"Same time next week?"

…

"Papa," the word escaped August's lips and rooted Gold's soles to the slick earth.

Vines could have snaked up along his legs and bound him in place for all his efforts in moving. A rush of relief overwhelmed him, slamming into him with the force of a freight train, followed swiftly by a sensation of fear. He had anticipated this moment for three centuries, but now that it was finally here...a breath away...

There were no words teasing his throat. His tongue was heavy and his brain fizzling like firecrackers. What would he say that could explain away all the fatherless suffering Bae had endured? Would Bae even forgive him?

Maybe he should have brought a gift in offering.

"Bae," he breathed in awe. His lungs seemed to flatten, unable to swell and draw in air. A shuddering ache passed through his heart. Oh, gods, was he having a heart attack? Being able to 'die happy' was just a phrase! "It's...really you?"

He reached out a gloved hand. On second thought, he ripped off the glove in order to appreciate the feel of Bae's face once more. But he shifted his head away to avoid the touch. Gold frowned as Bae stalked a few paces in the other direction.

"You left me fatherless. It's not exactly the same as forgetting your son in Disney World and buying him an ice cream to apologize. Disney World had the spinning tea cups."

Gold let his hand fall away limply to his side. Centuries of guilt surged up in a tsunami, thousands of doubt-ridden woes pounding through his skull until it throbbed. Hadn't he expected this? Hadn't he tried to prepare himself, day in and day out, for Bae's resentment?

But, oh, it stripped him clean to the bone, making him revert to the feeble coward he used to be. Weak, spineless, and lonely. Then again, had he ever stopped? Or perhaps that man had always been buried deep inside his shell, rearing its way back to the surface.

"I'm so sorry, Bae. I'm sorry I let you go into this land alone. You have to believe me when I tell you I have tried every day since to find you. I never stopped. You were right about everything. You have every right to be angry with me and demand never to see me again. All I can do now is ask for your forgiveness, so that you and I can be a family."

He glanced at his son from under his eyelashes, hoping that some semblance of his apology leaked through. Bae dug the toe of his shoe into the soft dirt, tracing a wide circle.

"You, me, Emma, and Henry. One big happy family?" Gold stiffened. He did not consider whether Bae would be open to the idea of an extended family. Not to mention the baby he and Emma almost nurtured together. He swallowed the dam of ache in his throat—this was one of the toughest decisions he ever had to make.

"Only if you'll accept it that way," he assured.

It did not matter if he had fallen madly for Emma or if he wished to have her by his side forever. It did not matter whether Henry was beginning to treat him like the father he never had. Above all else, his son came first. Even if it killed another part of his soul in the process.

Slowly, he extended his hand to his son, begging him to take it. Taking it would mean some part of him longed for that connection instead of walking away in anger. The seconds ticked by, the cool night air chafing their cheeks. His eyelids fluttered closed.

Then, a hand slapped his palm and Gold reeled his son into his arms. He rocked him in his embrace, savoring the weight of his body in his arms. His son.

"I'm so sorry, Bae," he murmured into the leather black material. Something inside Gold shattered apart—the tears came hot and fresh, unshed after so many centuries of pooling under his eyelids. Bae returned the hug, though he wasn't a sobbing mess. "I'm sorry I ever mocked you. I'm sorry I sent you that box of chocolates and rendered you blind for a week. I'm sorry I threatened you with my cane on Christmas and sent Goldie chasing after you to get you off my property."

He never knew the list of apologies could be so long.

"I'm sorry I kissed Emma on Christmas and took her on that date," August returned into the silk of Gold's suit. Gold brushed his hands through his son's hair and wondered why it hadn't retained its curliness. He pulled his head back and studied August crucially.

"About that. What possessed you to pursue your stepmother, Bae? That...that's stranger than Leroy waking up on the roof of the diner and screaming that it's time for everyone in town to wake up. You and Emma...gods, Bae, how much more awkward can you get?"

A slight grin flashed across August's face. This was another setback to losing his son apparently: his son being too cocky for his own good.

"I blame Regina's Christmas cider." He shrugged. Gold nodded in understanding. Regina's apple cider always did funny things to your mind. It made the mushrooms in Wonderland look perfectly edible in comparison.

"No chasing after Emma, Bae. Or you'll be grounded and won't be riding that deathtrap you call a bike," he warned. August's smile dimmed and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Papa," he moaned. Gold waved his hand away as the two of them started off into the woods surrounding the cabin. He knew precisely what his son wanted—the dagger. This must be a test to see if he'd changed.

"I don't want to hear it. There are plenty of young women in Storybrooke who would be lucky to have you," he said, carefully avoiding the first thatch of roots upended in the trail. August rolled his eyes.

"Name one." Gold was silent for a long moment as he ran through his mental list of all the women in Storybrooke. He had hoped he would not push this topic. Then he snapped his fingers.

"How do you fancy the lovely woman that frequents the diner?" August nearly toppled over a branch. He gripped the trunk of a tree to steady himself, with his eyes almost jumping out of his head in astonishment.

"You mean Granny?"

Gold averted his gaze, if only to avoid betraying his guilt. The woman was a widow, after all! The only other option was someone like Regina and it would be the day that dreadful woman stepped a slimy foot over his threshold for dinner. He'd build a doghouse for her.

"Think of it this way, Bae: you date Granny on the side and I might have those pickles free of charge."

…

Rage. Despair. Disappointment. More rage, red and hot along every nerve in his body.

The warring emotions set his brain on fire, the truth unbearable to accept, yet undeniable as the dagger shined under the moonlight.

August planted his feet steadily apart on the other side of the dug hole, pointing that dagger directly at Gold's chest with the uttered demands of control. His blue-green eyes were determined, his grip unyielding on the hilt of the knife.

It couldn't be.

But the truth whispered over his skin, sneaking along the crevices of his mind, spreading black poison. Bae would never use the dagger against his father. He would never try to promote its purpose.

That was simply because...this wasn't Bae. This was not his son.

And for that, for keeping up this cruel façade and using his desires against him in a most despicable manner, he was going to kill him. No, not just kill him. He would make him suffer first and beg for death on his knees, precisely where he belonged.

Was August even his real name? He severely doubted it.

Maybe he would tie him to that enormous tree trunk and torture him with an ice cream cone. Yes, that was precisely what he would do. He would leave him stranded here, then return with a deliciously creamy vanilla cone and purposely lick it up right in front of him. Every drop that fell would be acid inside his parched throat.

"You are not my son," he hissed through viciously clenched teeth. His jaw ached, his fingers screaming from the pressure over the top of his cane. On that note...

Gold raised his cane, faster than August could follow. It batted against August's wrist with a sickening crack. The dagger soared out of his grip, burying itself hilt-deep in the freshly dug soil. Gold limped over to retrieve it while August cradled his injured wrist to his chest.

Another visit to Whale was in order. That was torture in its own right.

"You fool. There is no magic in this land. My son would have known that," he berated August. He traced a finger over the jagged edge of the blade, stained with old blood. Smugness clouded August's beard.

Odd. Right about now, he should be on his knees begging for mercy.

"You buried a useless knife," he murmured, shifting his weight against the tree to better cradle his injured hand. Gold stared at August, perplexed. Did he hear what came out of his mouth at all?

"No, not useless. If I can carve an ice sculpture of myself, imagine what it could do to your skin," he growled before shoving August up against the bark of the tree. With the knife poised at his throat, he pinned him down effortlessly.

Now who was the smug one? Certainly not Lies-A-Lot.

"You carved an ice sculpture of yourself?" August looked like he was trying to summon the image in his mind. Gold shrugged loosely.

He was quite lonely and bored in his castle towards the end of their realm. He had tried butter first until he realized that his castle truly wasn't as drafty as he claimed. He nearly broke his tailbone while climbing the stairs soaked in melted butter.

"How does your knife fare carving wood?" What kind of nonsensical question was that? Was he still holding up the shrewd alias of Bae and hoping to bond? Fishing and football were out of the question.

Gold was becoming increasingly annoyed by the enigma that was August Booth, especially since he was back to square one in not knowing his true identity. The blade dug deeper into his throat, shedding a pearl of crimson blood.

"These babies are far too precious for splinters," he replied, waving his elegantly long fingers in August's face. "Now, who told you about me and this dagger?"

August rolled his eyes up to the canopy of trees above their heads. Gold wanted to shake him by the shoulders and demand the answer from his stubble-shaded lips. There was no one alive that knew of its existence...unless...

"A little fairy told me," he said in his obnoxiously vague manner.

But still Gold's shoulders curved inward with anger, his looming stature making up for the fact that he was a foot shorter than August. His emotions could barely be contained in his body.

"That jellyfish is going to die," he declared loudly within the silence of the forest.

Among the other names on his Impending Doom list, of course. Jefferson was number one on his list, but August wasn't too far behind. He would enjoy snapping their pictures and crossing a big X through their arrogant faces with a red Sharpie.

"What are you planning to do with me?"

August did not sound overly frightened, merely curious as to the miserable fate that inevitably lay ahead. Then again, August had never been tortured with ice cream before. He'd be writhing in agony soon enough, squirming with every cherry and sprinkle that lavished Gold's tongue.

"If you're going to kill me, quit beating around the bush and do it. I'm dying, anyway. I'm sick."

That was an understatement.

Gold half-expected August to milk the charade for its worth and fake a cough. Maybe make some pitiful groaning noise that stemmed from something other than his mangled wrist. Was he seriously playing the death card? Did he not realize how many people made that same excuse on rent week?

Best not to ignore a dying man's wishes.

"If you insist—" Gold drove the dagger back, prepared to strike fatally. As he hoped, August immediately tensed and flung his body back against the tree, holding out his good hand pleadingly.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're not supposed to agree with me! You're supposed to feel sorry for me!" August exclaimed, hopelessly working to block the dagger from inching any closer. Gold gawked openly at August's gall. Then his features twisted even more maliciously than before.

"_Sorry? _You expect me to feel sorry for the man who pretended to be my son? You, Booth, are more deranged than I thought previous," he spat venomously. August bent at the knees, huffing for a fresh breath of air.

"Hear me out. I was..." He paused, terrible agony storming across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in air through a circle formed by his lips. "I was going to get Emma to believe, but I don't think I'll make it long enough to see that happen."

Gold slipped into the depths of thought in terms of what to do about his current nemesis.

Much as he despised even the mud caking August's shoes at this moment, he had to admit that the process of Emma opening her eyes to the curse was painfully slow in forthcoming. Henry was trying his hardest, proclaiming his little heart away, but Emma was stubborn above all else. If she truly convinced herself that this curse was absolute fable, then she would avoid seeing everything that stood in front of her eyes. Much like he himself had done in clinging to the far-fetched possibility that August was his son.

Ooh, that betrayal still stung worse than any physical wound. Killing August in a torrent of rage here in the middle of the woods would be worthwhile, but using him and watching him suffer would be even more rewarding.

So, he sheathed the dagger in his suit jacket and allowed August to stand.

"You're sparing me?" Gold instantly scoffed, a deep guttural noise in his throat. The hope dimmed in August's blue-green eyes.

"Spare you? How optimistic. No, think of it as recruitment. You're going to finish the job you've started. You're going to make Emma believe in this curse, all the while suffering from whatever sickness plagues you. End of story."

August scrunched his nose; he didn't look too fond of that idea. He mouthed the word 'recruitment' with a crude twisting of his lips. The man was being overdramatic. It wasn't like he was auctioning August off as a slave in Storybrooke's town hall.

Granny would obviously win that auction.

"Why don't you be the one to tell her? You are her devoted husband. Seems like a flawless plan to me. Sit her down at the table, clasp one of her hands, tell her you have something incredibly serious to discuss with her, and then wham! Big reveal: you're Rumpelstiltskin," he painted the picture in Gold's mind.

And Gold never wanted to view that picture again.

He gathered his cane from the ground, brushed it free of flecks of leaves and dirt. All the while, he deliberately avoided August's unrelenting gaze.

"If I informed her that I am awake, she would never heed it. She would think me mad. I have no problem with her thinking you mad," he said with a heavy sigh.

August whimpered as he moved his injured hand on his chest, stumbling away from the tree.

"Can't have that, can we?"

Gold dipped his hand inside his suit and clutched the hilt of the dagger. August Booth was in no position to be mocking him when he could so easily change his mind and add a little more blood on the steel blade.

"I think you're afraid."

In a whirlwind of black gracefulness, Gold spun around to find August a mere foot or so from him. The cane buried itself into the soil, his other hand curling into a fist by his side. His teeth ground together until they ached.

Who did this guy honestly think he was?

"Excuse me?" That was his _one-false-move-and-you-die _voice. For the first time ever, there was defiance in response.

"You're afraid," August repeated confidently. Even with that injury, he dared hold his chin high as he spoke down to Gold. "Admit it—that's the real reason you won't tell Emma. You're afraid that if you bare your soul and tell her everything that she won't understand. You're afraid she'll no longer love the man she's sharing a bed with. How can you possibly love someone if you don't even know who they really are inside?"

With every word, a resounding shard of glass pierced his heart until he could not rightly breathe. It was as though August was peering inside his mind and reciting back the dubious thoughts spinning there. He had those doubts often since growing irrevocably attached to Emma.

But he'd be damned if he admitted to it in front of August and hand him useful ammo. No, he was the one in control, always.

"Get her to believe," he snapped, heading for the path that would lead him back to the cabin and his car. August's footsteps did not sound behind him—no crunching of leaves or breaking of twigs besides the ones under Gold's expensive shoes.

"And what if I can't?" Gold paused. Another doubt that had risen in his mind, voiced aloud by Storybrooke's best tale-spinner. He cast a quick glance at August over his shoulder.

"Then I suppose your punishment will be extended," he mused darkly. Next time, there would definitely be ice cream with all toppings included. Watching Gold devour it slowly wouldn't be as easy as the clever writer assumed it would. "You might want to get that wrist checked out. I fear it may be broken."

August whined as he struggled to avoid moving his wrist too much while following behind Gold.

"Let me guess: you'd rather I didn't tell Frankenstein that you and I had this little rendezvous that led to me being hit with your cane," he called out to Gold's retreating back.

Gold smirked silently—if August even mentioned the events of this night, he'd probably get tossed into a padded cell.

"You're a writer. Create an amusing cover story. Tell him you agreed to Moonlight Golfing with me. He'll understand." August decided not to ask.

…

He was late coming home.

Emma lay half-asleep in bed, listening to him moving around downstairs. Every creak and step sounded loud now that Leroy stopped running around the streets screaming about how the sky was falling. By the sound of Gold's rough footsteps and slamming of the cupboards, he was not in a humorous mood. She pitied anything—whether it be the sky or not—that dared fall on his head.

Instead of venturing downstairs in search of him, she remained in bed with her back facing the door. There was no use prodding him when he was upset. He would come to bed when he was good and ready.

It took him a half hour to accomplish that feat despite the fact that the clock claimed it was a couple minutes shy of midnight. _God, what is he doing down there? Giving birth to twins? _

The intrusive thought inevitably led to the reminder of the unfortunate miscarriage. She blinked her eyelids rapidly, willing the notion away. No, she would not think of that tonight.

The bedroom door creaked open, but Emma did not shift an inch. There was the firm tapping of his cane on the floorboards, followed by the sound of the closet door being shoved open. A rustle of clothing suggested he was changing into sleepwear.

He must have known she was awake, but he never said a word.

The mattress sunk under his weight. For a few moments, he merely perched on the edge of it, as though too exhausted to finish the task of climbing into bed. Breathing slowly in and out, the mattress strained under his body, the hands of the clock ticking away precious time. Finally, he swung his legs over with a low groan and slid under the covers with her.

_About time, _she thought with relief as he snatched up a handful of the blanket and tugged it up to his chest. _And now...now..._

Something was seriously bugging him tonight. Gold wasn't even making the slightest effort to touch her. Oftentimes, he anticipated their time alone in bed, not to mention that he held the title of Storybrooke Snuggler even if all of Storybrooke was unaware of it. But her skin was cold tonight without his teases and caresses.

He wasn't snuggling...and he wasn't falling asleep, either.

His breath did not deepen while tendrils of sleep dominated his mind. Somehow, she knew he would be lying there, drilling holes into the ceiling with the burn of his eyes. She chanced a glance his way and found that she'd hit the target.

With eyes wide open and unblinking, he lay still as a statue on his back with a hand resting stiffly on his chest. Staring up toward the ceiling, breathing shortly in and out through his nose, his lips twisted in a sour pout. Who knew what dark thoughts unfurled in his mind?

_Okay, I suppose this is where I come in as the considerate, doting wife, _she mused as she rolled over to face him. The muscles of his hand clenched tight, but he didn't blink in her direction. She dipped under the sheets and settled a hand on his thigh.

"Are you alright?"

It was a tentative start at best. She was never really good at picking up the pieces, especially when her own pieces were hopelessly scattered in shards at her feet for years on end. All she could do for Gold was try.

At first, she assumed he didn't hear her question. Gold's critical eyes, glinting richly as liquid chocolate, remained fixed on the cracks in the ceiling's plaster. Then his jaw locked up and the shadows crept across his skin when he shifted his head away.

"Do I seem alright, _dearie?" _ He hissed, the trademark attachment not meant to be taken as a term of endearment.

Emma bristled under the sheets, reeling her head up from the pillow as if he had actually snapped his jaws at her like a frustrated wolf. What he needed was the affirmed knowledge that she wasn't going to be let down that easily. He needed to loosen up.

"I'd prefer it if you call me sweetheart," she hinted in her best flirting tone. She even went as far as cuddling her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, waiting for him to break.

But he never wrapped his arms around her. She gazed up at his stony expression in alarm. Not a single quip. If anything, his resolve was increasingly stubborn. She blew a wisp of blonde hair from her nose, scowling.

"Oh, come on! Usually, you jump on that sort of invitation without a second thought. Comatose David would have stronger vital signs than you right about now."

He shook her hand off his thigh and angled his body alongside the edge of the mattress.

"I'm not in the mood, Emma," he insisted sharply, top lip curling in a sneer. Emma leaned up on one elbow and studied him seriously. She had to admit she was stunned—she had never seen him this low before.

Out of pure concern, she placed a cautious hand on his shoulder for comfort, but he shook the touch off just as hastily. He turned so that his back was the only part of him she could see.

"Don't," he muttered into his pillow.

Oh, now he was just being ridiculous. Drowning in his self-pity, probably thinking his world was going to end by tomorrow morning. Well, Emma had tough news for him—she wasn't about to let him result to endless woes without a hard fight.

"Don't what? Comfort you? You're just going to...mope? How well do you think that'll work out for you?" Furious silence. The big baby. "Oh, for God's sake, Gold! You're acting like a four year old pouting because he didn't get the last cookie in the cookie jar."

"I didn't ask for your comfort. Nor your pity," he tossed over his shoulder. Emma punched her pillow a couple of times if only to relieve some of the fiery frustration wiring along her nerves.

"Oh, really? Well, do you mind telling me what the hell is going on with you? I at least deserve to know that much, considering I am your wife. You haven't exactly been sporting a Joker smile since..."

Emma's words trailed away as one crucial detail of this past week clicked in her mind.

She recalled their conversation about August at Mary Margaret's welcome home party and the suspicion that he could be Gold's son returned. The way his mood had grown steadily black, a swirling threat of a storm brewing on the horizon. A sickly feeling plunged into the pit of her stomach.

"Gold...does this temper tantrum have anything to do with August?"

Lightning crackled within the black clouds of that swirling storm, the eye of it making its debut. No sooner had she uttered the name than Gold abruptly loomed over her body, pinning her to the mattress. The face she'd grown to love and long for contorted with immeasurable pain and rage.

"Don't you _dare _speak that bastard's name to me!" Gold's lips curled back to bare his teeth. One of his fingers pointed into her face until she swatted it away. He didn't notice the movement; it was like he wasn't truly seeing her at all, too consumed was he in grief. "He _lied _to me! He _tricked _me! Just when I thought I had my son back!"

Emma pushed her hands against his chest, encouraging him to back off a bit. His fingers grazed her wrist and it was as though he realized how far he had tipped over the edge. The rage in his face crumpled into shaky dismay and he scooted away from her on the bed.

"I...I'm so sorry, Emma. I didn't mean to..."

The further he slid away in fear, the more motivated she was to edge forward in pursuit. She only stopped when his arms flailed wildly in the air as he risked falling off the bed. She grabbed up a handful of his shirt and tugged him forward to prevent it, consequently driving him straight into her arms.

Still he would not meet her gaze, ashamed as he was in light of his uncontrollable emotions.

"It's a terrible thing—losing your child," she surmised with a sniffle. "Almost makes you go mad. Like someone's ripped your heart out, performed step-dancing on top of it, and shoved it back in while expecting it to work as properly as it did before. And you tell yourself the scars will heal with time, thinking if you say it often enough it'll come true. Even when you know, deep down, those scars will be there forever."

She didn't realize she was shaking until he touched a finger to her bottom lip. It quivered against the pad of his finger, her lips parting for him. His face softened.

"Sweetheart...yes. That is exactly the way it feels," he whispered solemnly, stroking her hair back from her face.

They had both been denying their pain for so long. Only now did she understand how deep that river of suffering ran. He softly reclined his forehead against hers and she savored the feel of his warm breath between her eyes.

"August is not your son...is he?" He shook his head demurely.

Part of her wanted to exclaim _Oh, thank God! _But she had the feeling that would not be welcomed with approval by her husband. He wanted so much to believe his son was here, only to have that hope ripped from under his feet.

"It was a cruel ruse. My boy...is dead. And it's my fault." Emma's heart lurched painfully for him. Her throat was suddenly dry as sandpaper while she battled the wave of anguish broiling in her chest. Gold's body shook violently as he buried his face in the familiarity of her skin. "I let him go. I should have listened to him all those years ago. He's gone because of me. He's never coming back."

He gritted his teeth to staunch the sob in his throat. It was a sad thing, watching Gold break down without any hope of gaining his composure until the morning. She cupped his cheek and forced him to look at her straight-on.

Oh, he was in so much pain.

"Let me take the pain away," she whispered longingly, stroking a hand along his cheek to his jaw, where it lingered faintly. It was the only thing she could possibly do for him.

Lips parting, she tilted her blonde head forward, drawing closer to his trembling mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed, his pulse raced underneath his jaw, but his hands steadily clasped her shoulders.

"Emma," he murmured regretfully.

Her eyes opened in surprise. He wanted it just as much as she did—she could tell by the way his breath quickened and how that elegant hand danced from her shoulder to her neck. He was hurting and holding back because he was afraid of hurting her, too.

"Don't be afraid," she said softly.

Her eyes flickered across his face, her body dreadfully still in his embrace as she tested him for any further refusal. When he did not urge her away, she ultimately closed the space between them.

Her mouth pressed against his, gently at first and then harder. It only took him a moment to start kissing back, their familiar intimacy blossoming. That old spark reignited feverishly.

Her arms entwined around his neck, pulling him deeper into her. His resolve diminished once and for all as he guided her backward onto the pillows by her shoulders and kissed her back passionately. Every one of her muscles convulsed with overexcitement while her leg wrapped around his lower back to hold him in place.

He patted her thigh reassuringly. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. He wasn't in any hurry, either, as his legs gradually straddled her body. They had all night to stoke the fire raging between them.

Gold broke the kiss, allowing her to inhale a fresh breath of air. His tongue traced her bottom lip greedily, making her shiver pleasurably. A trail of kisses spanned her jaw, her neck, down to the hollow of her throat, where her heartbeat pulsed hardest under her skin. His lips pressed against that tender spot and she tilted her head back into the pillow, sighing.

Her fingers weaved through his silky hair, stroking it intensely as his nips and teases riled her up. Then her fingers drifted across his back, pausing to feel how his muscles arched and rippled. Reaching the hem of his shirt, she slipped her hands underneath and lifted it up, encouraging him to part with it.

He acquiesced, pulling his mouth away long enough to slide out of the shirt. It landed on the floor, completely forgotten the second it was tossed from Emma's hands.

"Your turn," he panted heavily in her ear.

His hands hugged her hips before helping her out of her tank top. It joined his shirt, lost in the darkness. His eyes unabashedly drank in her form and she leaned back into the pillows, letting him look.

"Like what you see?" She playfully teased him.

One of her hands reached up and sought out the spot on his bare chest where his heart thudded. It pounded rapidly against her open palm, as though it were fighting to leap out and be presented to her as a marital gift. His hand trapped hers gently, holding it there.

"More than you could ever fathom, sweetheart," he responded silkily, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

With aching slowness and tantalizing care, the rest of their clothes were added to the pile on the floor. There was only one thing they both anticipated.

Under his guidance, her legs arched upwards, her bare feet planted on the mattress. Hands on her knees, Gold stared down at Emma with nothing short of unsatisfied longing, his tongue repeatedly licking his lips.

Heat coursed through her veins, worse than if someone literally set the bed on fire. His touch teasingly caressed her thighs, his body descending until he was resting in the midst of her center.

One arm delved under her warm body, urging her to rise as he held her. The other arm lingered by her head, his brown eyes burrowing deep into her green ones until he could see his reflection in her irises.

Lightly, he kissed her cheek while her hands splayed over the taut skin of his back.

"I missed this," she murmured into the shell of his ear. His hair swept down and tickled her skin. She ran a hand across his cheek and smiled as he leaned his head into it, his lips kissing her palm.

"As have I."

In one swift motion, their bodies became one, moving rhythmically together in inconceivable bliss. This was their lullaby, their paradise, their happy ending.

Emma's nails dug into his bare back, his muscles thriving in her palms. Her eyeballs sensually rolled into her head, a moan rising from her throat. The way he moved and flourished inside her was beyond any pleasurable feeling she experienced.

This was home.

She was floating on unbearably soft clouds the entire time, though she could remember urging him onto his back at one point and taking control. She enjoyed watching the intense satisfaction blossom across his face, beads of sweat glossing his brows. His hands clenched fistfuls of the black sheets as he groaned.

Then his leg nudged her hip and he dominated once more. It was an unending battle between them, both vying for the reins.

Emma didn't know what time it was when their personal rhythm eased and the fire decreased to a tolerable kindling. Every muscle in her body ached, but it was a tender sweet ache in her thighs and abdomen. The sheets had become hopelessly tangled around their bodies, so much that it might as well have been a silky ribbon holding them together.

Breathing heavily, Gold collapsed onto her body, shaking in the final throes of his passion. He kissed her throat and laid his head on her chest. Their bodies began to cool and she drew a rumpled section of the sheets over them. She stroked the hair back from his face as his breath fluttered over her skin.

Perhaps this was truly it—it was time he let the past lie and embraced what could be with her.

Whispering words of soothing comfort in his ear, she cradled him in her arms until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

…

That was the last Emma saw of Gold's grief that night. Sometime close to two in the morning, they had stirred in each other's arms and had violently lost themselves in their lovemaking again. And again. It had been so long since they'd come together this way; it felt right.

In between their passionate sessions, Emma basked in the comfort of his embrace and she knew he did the same, scorching the memory into his brain as if it would be their last. Her breath came in quick gasps, but she didn't mind it. These were the few moments that she was free to nestle her cheek into his skin, her muscles uncoiling, and let her mind wander.

As his fingers caressed the curve of her back, thoughts began to link together in her mind, finding their way to her tongue.

"When did it stop mattering?"

She whispered into the warm skin of his chest, his heartbeat creating a melody that only she would ever appreciate. His hand flew to the back of her head and she tilted it back to gaze up at him. His features contorted with confusion.

"What?" She snuggled closer to absorb his body heat. He tucked the blanket around her shoulder.

"Wanting me on your side? It was your initial reason for marrying me. When did it stop being about alliance and started being about me?"

She didn't know why, but that question had haunted her mind for a while. She just never possessed the ability to put it into words until now. There was no doubt in her mind that she no longer a simple pawn to him, anymore. She was just...curious.

"It was always about you, Emma," he replied. She offered him a skeptical look. He sighed, realizing that answer would not be enough. "The night you straddled me—"

It was impossible to stifle the abrupt scoff that Emma nurtured in her throat.

"So, all it took was for me to sexually assault you in your sleep? Romantic, Gold." He placed a finger to her lips, requesting her silence. If she wanted the answer, then she would have it. Her lips puckered against his finger, but she was resigned to listening.

"That night, I dreamt of you. Before I awoke to find you on top of me, that is," he started to explain. If he closed his eyes, he could recall the dream in hazy pieces. He wished to have it again, but his mind had never conjured it since. "I dreamt I was in an extravagant ballroom. Golden pillars, marble floors that shined under a massive chandelier, a glass ceiling with the stars beyond it."

Emma's green eyes glistened, as though he were truly painting the picture for her mind to devour. Truthfully—something he chose not to tell Emma—he had recognized that ballroom as the one belonging to his Dark Castle. His brain surged with nostalgia.

"Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to see you, clad in the most beautiful white gown. Straps hanging low on your shoulders, a bodice that enhanced your curves deliciously, the folds spiraling to the floor...You truly were enchanting, Emma. A rightful princess from a fairy tale."

A small smile quirked Emma's pink lips, but she rolled her eyes at his compliments.

"Except I don't wear white dresses—" That finger touched her lips again. Didn't she want to hear the ending?

"You extended your hand to me, asking me to take it. And I did. I took you into my arms and swayed with you. The dream shattered the moment you were about to kiss me...and I awoke to find you on top of me," he finished, smirking. It was a memory he had replayed countless times since their honeymoon.

"Must have been an exciting dance," Emma commented once she was allowed to speak again. She raised her eyebrow suggestively.

Without warning, his expression became serious. He threaded his fingers through her hair, breathed in the scent of cinnamon that cloaked her body like a second skin.

"After our night in that motel, all I could think about was you. All I wanted was to make you as happy as you were in that dream. Though, it was hard to believe you could ever look at me that way. Until the night we spent together in Louisiana, of course."

He brushed a gentle hand along her neck. She smiled up at him, reclining her head against his shoulder. He would give anything to keep that look of love in her eyes.

"If it's any consideration, I think you putting the idea of marriage in my head—" He winced instinctively. Apparently, he expected to be criticized for such a scheme. "—wasn't as great a mistake as you've convinced yourself. I'm happy with you."

Oh, how he longed to hear those words.

"Me, too."

…

_**Wow, so many people to thank for reviewing last chapter. I appreciate every word! Huge thanks go to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, megumisakura, Princess Flame Haze Xerxes, reginamillz, Russianeyes718ouat7psych, Deathbringer88, Sup25, TeamTHEFT, helikesitheymikey, bellegold89, la-stella-immortale, The-Writer2012, FortunesFavour, discotimelord, CookieSpells4, nuckythompson, sbcarri, yuiop, The Auburn Girl, SwanQueen4055, and Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape. **_


	52. Chapter 52

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you are all enjoying this three-week hiatus of Once. Hopefully, this chapter will tide you over a bit. **_

August ached in every bone—and splinter—in his body the next morning. It hurt to walk, it hurt to eat, it even hurt to lay there on his back in bed. It wasn't exactly easy falling asleep at night when your legs were virtual trees. His broken wrist was the worst. He had gotten it checked out after his brutal confrontation with Gold last night, but, oh, it made his teeth throb in agony.

He wondered if turning to wood would remedy the situation any.

It was a herculean effort to rise out of bed—or rather, fall out of bed and land face-first on the floor. All he wanted to do was sleep it off, but he knew the pain would only continue to worsen. Hiding away in the shadows of his room would only give Gold undue satisfaction. The image of his potential smirk instilled a new wave of inspiration in August.

He would do this last task before becoming a life-size dummy. He would make Emma believe.

So, he miserably clutched a handful of the blanket with his good hand and tried to use it as leverage to get to his feet. Only the blanket slipped off the bed and he collapsed back onto his butt again. Flinging his body toward the desk, he half-crawled like a dying man in the desert and clung to the leg of the table until he could regain his footing.

If anyone ever witnessed this, he'd never live it down.

Even less enthusiastically, he trudged down the stairs, nodded a stiff hello to Granny on his way out, walked into the blinding sunshine…

"Oh, no," he groaned under his breath and hobbled backwards toward the porch.

There was someone leaning against his bike. Emma. Arms crossed over her leather-clad chest, lips twisted in a crude frown, boot tapping on the sidewalk. She looked angry. Beyond angry, even. Darts soared out of her narrowed eyes and her hair crackled with fiery fury, becoming curlier by the second.

He tried running back to the safety of the Inn—_Granny, save me—_but running with wooden legs reduced him to a painstaking limp and Emma's boots pounded on the sidewalk behind him. She caught him easily and shoved his shoulders, throwing him swiftly to the ground. He landed on his broken wrist and searing white-hot agony shot up his still human arm.

She was on him in a second and not in the good way. Clenching handfuls of his shirt, she brought him within inches of her glaring face. He instinctively raised his good hand to cover his face from any incoming blows.

"Wait, I can explain everything! It's not what you think!" Emma's eyelids lowered to slits. "Furthermore, I should warn you the nuns are going door to door selling roses for fundraising and I don't think they would approve of you beating up a defenseless cripple!"

Emma glanced around, as though expecting to have Mother Superior pop up out of nowhere just by the mention of the nuns. She did that quite a lot.

"Really? I'd love to hear your explanation. Because you weren't the one dealing with an emotional grief-stricken Gold last night! I should get a Nobel prize for hiding all the cartons of ice cream so he wouldn't drown his sorrows!"

She tossed him to the ground and he scrambled to get to his feet. Her fists were still curled by her sides, her expression suggesting just how greatly she wanted to hit him.

And he always thought Rumpelstiltskin was a force to be reckoned with. His rage paled significantly in comparison to his wife. It made August wonder how Emma reacted whenever Rumpel got in trouble. He had a feeling the typical excuses of '_you're always right, dear' _ and _'my evil twin did it' _never let him off the hook.

"I'm sorry—" He tried to apologize, only to realize too late that it was a mistake. It only fueled Emma's frustration even more. She didn't want to hear a word of it.

"You're _sorry?_ You tricked Gold by making him think you were his long-lost son! He wanted to believe it and it nearly killed him to find out it was a lie! What explanation could you have for doing something so cruel?" _Well, Emma, here's the thing. I'm not a man—I'm a puppet. And I'm turning back into wood so I needed to find a magical dagger that belongs to your husband, who happens to be Rumpelstiltskin. _No, that would surely get him a punch in the nose.

August held up a hand to calm her. She zoomed in on his broken one, but there was no sympathy. Maybe he didn't deserve it.

"You wouldn't understand. Not yet," he argued. Emma scoffed. She obviously thought he was attempting to buy a little time before she skewered him on a stick.

"Try me," she challenged boldly, but he shook his head. If he explained it to Emma now, she would never believe it. It would push her further into denial. She needed to see the proof; she needed the entire story and be allowed to make her own assumptions.

"I can't tell you now, but I can show you. If you just come with me today…"

Yes, that was how he would make her believe once and for all. He would take her back to the place where it all started, back to the place where she came through via the tree. He would show it to her, he would show her his wooden leg, and she would see it all. Figuratively, he crossed his fingers and hoped it would be enough to make her open her eyes…

But his hopes dampened when she raked her hands through her blonde hair in utmost annoyance and released a mighty, tiresome groan.

"You are incorrigible. You crossed my husband, hurt him in the worst way possible, and you expect me to hop on your bike for old times' sake? You're more delusional than I thought. Do you even feel a little bit guilty for what you did?"

August tilted his head back and gazed up at the light blue sky. The sunshine warmed his face and it made his heart squeeze to understand that it wouldn't be that way forever. Soon he wouldn't even be able to feel the wind on his jaw or the difference between temperatures. He rubbed his good hand across his stubble-covered jaw, savoring the sensation of the sun.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't even know how lucky he was in life. He was so focused on his tragedies that he was wasting good opportunities.

"He'll get over it," he muttered flatly.

Rumpelstiltskin had done considerably worse things throughout the past three centuries, even if Emma was not privy to that knowledge. In Storybrooke alone, he had proved himself fearsome and dangerous on multiple accounts. Why should his one foul deed matter?

But when he lowered his eyes to Emma again, the sunshine seemed to slip away behind the clouds. He realized with a feeling of dread that he had pushed too far. That was the wrong thing to say, the ink to his death certificate.

The punch came out of nowhere. One moment her fist was restrained at her side, trembling with rage. The next moment, it had connected with his jaw. It was like being hit by an eighteen-wheeler—who knew Emma could muster such strength in such little time?

His head snapped sharply to the right, his body flying after it and collapsing in a heap on the lawn. Red stars danced behind his eyelids, the world spinning ten times faster than usual. He tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as it dabbed at his cheek and gums. Or was his tongue doing the bleeding? He pinched it between two fingers to check, his tongue wagging out of his mouth. Nope, it was his gums.

God, that woman had one hell of a right hook.

"You want to take a road-trip so badly? Go to hell, August," she roared bitterly.

Her boots faded on the sidewalk and he wheezed in relief as he weakly lifted his head to assure that he was alone. That didn't go so well. _Ugh, better get up before I become Granny's latest garden decoration. _Those lawn gnomes didn't look too happy over there.

A pattern of footsteps approached his side. Oh, no, she was coming back. What if she had a dangerous weapon on hand? But he found Mother Superior looming over him with a concerned frown on her kind lips. In her arms were dozens of bright red roses with long graceful stems.

"I take it you're not interested in buying roses for someone special?"

….

"I am taking back my son," Emma vowed, undeterred by the cold fury swirling with the brutal intensity of white water rapids under Regina's faux smile. There were no clever words passing through those crudely painted burgundy lips now. There were no snappy remarks, no mocking gleam of unjustified victory brewing in those incessant ebony orbs.

Emma was the one who ultimately turned her back on Regina as she strode back to her office, every thud of her boots on the linoleum tiles echoing with the deadly promise she had just made. She could feel invisible darts stabbing deep into her back, piercing a line that started from the spot between her shoulder blades, to the nape of her neck, finally to the center of her golden head.

Regina glared, but she said nothing. Emma was the one holding the ace now, not the other way around. It was something Regina would do well to learn: Emma never made promises she could not keep.

Enough was enough.

She had endured enough pain in her life, what with her less-than-miserable upbringing, the loss of her baby, and watching her husband sink into the lowest depths of despair over his son. She had watched Henry suffer enough times under the iron fist of his "Evil Queen" adoptive mother. She'd seen the way his face lit up marvelously whenever she spent time with him only to have that hopeful flame be extinguished once he returned back to the Mayor's fortress.

That place would never be home for him. She thought that by giving Henry up at birth that she would consequently be giving him his best chance, the kind she never had growing up. She was wrong.

Emma burst into her office and slammed the door behind her. It rattled inside its doorframe from the impact, a breeze blowing and lifting the sleeve of Graham's leather jacket as if his ghost were somehow lingering there in the station. Another soul the vampire had claimed.

She refused to let her son be the next one.

_I will save you, Henry, _she silently vowed while her fingers habitually played with the tiny golden swan dangling from the bracelet Henry had given her for Christmas. Her hand flew to the matching necklace at the base of her throat. Two of the most important people in her life were haunted by undue torment and unhappiness. She needed to protect them. If she could not fulfill Henry's vision of being a savior, at least she could do that much.

But, oh, it was going to take an impressive sword to slay this dragon. And Emma was pretty sure there was wouldn't be a How-To manual or _Dragon Slaying for Dummies _in stock at the library.

….

The minute he walked into the kitchen after work, he knew something was wrong with Emma.

For one thing, he was surprised the neighbors weren't lighting their torches and wielding pitchforks over the excessively loud rock music. Currently, the speakers blasted Bon Jovi's _You Give Love a Bad Name. _If she wished to hold a concert, the least she could have done was warn him ahead of time. He had the urge to check behind the couch and in the closets for Archie and the Crickets.

It wouldn't be the first time that band showed up on his property. Contrary to what David Nolan believed, the tree outside his window was still his property.

To add to the effect, Emma was pounding away at raw meat for hamburgers. Why didn't she simply request someone to run the meat over if she wanted it that flat? He'd seen Play-Doh hamburgers that had more to offer than those patties.

"It's dead, sweetheart," he deadpanned, coming up from behind and grabbing the mallet from her clenched fist. At first she fought him and he figured he would have to engage in a wrestling match for it, but he was stronger than he looked. He wrenched it from her hands and laid it aside. "Did your favorite show get cancelled after a cliffhanger?"

Limping over to the radio, he punched the power button. The silence rang heavily in his ears. Emma didn't know what to do with herself as she bristled in anger, so she planted her hands defiantly on her hips and fumed. _I'm not happy _was plastered in big block letters on her face.

Maybe if he was quick enough, he could snatch up the toaster, blender, and coffeepot and hide them from her wrath. After watching the Disney version of _Beauty and the Beast _on television, he had considerably more respect for inanimate objects. He nearly held a burial ceremony for his lost chipped cup afterwards. That cartoon version was seared into his brain, along with the motherly kettle.

"If that ever happened, Gold, the patties wouldn't be the only flat thing around here. This is about Henry," she said, though she did not elaborate. She didn't need to—her husband was capable of reading between the lines. There was only one source of distress whose face most likely conjured itself on those obnoxiously flat patties.

"Fess up, darling. This isn't merely about Henry, is it? Your boy is only part of the equation. This is about her. Regina."

The way he spat her name—and broke the second rule in this household after the rule about never letting the freezer be empty of ice cream—it might as well qualify as the foulest of curse words.

Emma's lack of response spoke volumes. Gold crossed the two feet separating their bodies and deftly caught her chin in his palm. At his urging, it rose to meet his calculating gaze.

"What has Mommy Dearest done this time? Attended Parent's Day and glared the little children to death?" Emma shifted her chin from his grasp.

"What _hasn't _she done? She has my son in therapy, she corrupts everyone she comes in contact with, she desperately needs to purchase a parenting manual or enroll herself in Parenting 101….Hell, even Little Bo Beep would transform her little lambs into a dictating army if she ever met Regina."

Need she say more? All she knew was that there was no way she could allow Regina to keep him like a shiny toy she refused to share. Gold gripped his cane tighter, his dismay rearing its terrible head.

"If there was anything I could do in my power to ease the situation, Henry would already have that balcony for his own," he asserted. He watched the seed unfold and sprout into weeds in Emma's head. Green eyes illuminating with the spark of a newfound idea, she urgently latched onto his arm.

"There is something you can do. You are the only one who ever goes against Regina and wins. You and I can take her on. You are a lawyer and you keep complaining that you need to improve your success rate," she blurted, shaking him like a Raggedy Ann doll. He pried her insistent hands from his suit, his eyeballs practically rolling in his head.

"Except that," he stated with a regrettable hiss through his teeth.

He inched the mallet farther away on the counter as Emma shot him the wifely _did-you-seriously-just-argue-with-me_ glower. She had perfected it sometime ago.

"I'll have you know that my success rate has been steadily climbing. There are plenty of townsfolk in need of a sufficient lawyer. Regina is suing Leroy for sitting on her special stool at the diner. David is suing my bodyguard for writing that message in the sky and making him think he's pregnant. Dr. Whale tried suing himself to emphasize his reputation because 'bad boys always get the good girls'."

Emma gave him a crucial stare, as though he just proclaimed that he was boarding up his shop and fulfilling his dream of ventriloquism using a replica puppet of David Nolan. Actually, she really didn't want to put that idea into his head. But this…this was straight out of the blue.

"What about Henry? Do it for him. Think about how much happier he would be with us instead of living in that…that prison!" But Gold shook his head slowly, declining. Her hands balled into angry fists by her side. Why was he so determined to refuse?

"I'm afraid I can't do that. In your mind, this might be exactly what Henry needs. Your intentions are admirable, dearie. But let's be honest, shall we? Dangerous and detrimental to Henry's wellbeing as she may be, there's no means of proving her recent endeavors. As you've already discovered, she can literally get away with murder if need be. But a custody battle against her would be long, drawn out, and futile. In the end, Henry would suffer. You can't do that to your boy. Don't ask me to do it."

The grooves in Emma's forehead deepened with every word he spoke—she did not approve of his refusal in the least. She approached him with careful steps, closing in on him like a mother vulture whose babies were being denied the worm. Gold barely blinked, though he felt the magnetism dancing between their bodies.

"Are you suggesting I leave Henry in that house with her? That I not fight for him?" He winced under the coldness delivered with her words. He started to reach toward her cheek, but let his hand drop away to his side.

"I'm suggesting…that this is not the proper course of action, no matter how much you ignore your instincts. I'm sorry, Emma. My mind is made up," he declared shortly.

Emma took one step closer, enough to bring her face inches from his own. He could feel her breath coming quick and heavy on his lips; he could sense her muscles tightening like piano wire under her jacket. He'd like nothing more than to ease those muscles, ease her mind.

But he would not be able to do it tonight.

"Change it," she pleaded, her green eyes boring into his brown ones. Unblinking, unrelenting, offering him one last chance to alter his answer. He wondered what kind of hell his darling wife would raise for him if he stuck to his story. He licked his lips, contemplating.

"It seems I'm not the man to help you beat Madame Mayor."

Emma whipped her head back, stunned. The way her lips parted and heat rushed to her face, he might as well have backhanded her. She searched his face for some kind of logical reason, but he averted his gaze. She could not understand why he was adamant about this. _I'm sorry, Emma, _he apologized in his head, where she could never hear it. _It must be done. _

Would it be better for August to succeed in making her believe? In helping her learn the truth about her husband? Or would it lead to the crumbling of their marriage? Only time would tell. But he had selected his path and there was no choice but to follow it now.

Gritting her teeth, she stumbled away from him, beyond his reach. Never had her eyes scorched his skin so much in a non-lustful way.

"No. Guess you're not," she retorted.

For a brief instant, he noticed the sheer disappointment spiraling across her face. She had hoped he would be her saving grace, as Emma herself was meant to be for the town. But then a grim understanding eclipsed it: he could not help her. So be it.

With a sudden whip of her golden hair, she strode from the kitchen and the front door slammed shortly afterward. All that was left in her wake was his miserable silence, Goldie, and extremely flat hamburgers.

…

Someone was knocking at his door. Come to think of it, it sounded more like they were kicking it. With the rate this day was going, he was almost afraid to answer it. August paused near the door, trying to listen for external sounds that would give away the visitor's identity. Another series of knocks and kicks slammed against the door, these ones more urgent in rhythm.

"August, open up! It's me," Emma's frantic voice announced from behind the door.

That got his nerves jumping, worse than if it was Granny providing room service. If she was here, it must mean Gold had given her that gentle nudge. Or was she here to hit him again? What if this was part of Gold's insatiable thirst for revenge? Sic Emma on him?

"August, I'm not here to arrest you! Or throw another punch! We need to talk!"

Very reassuring.

"Those happen to be the worst four words in the English language!" He shouted through the door.

At least in this world they were. Nothing good ever came from having a woman tell a man that _they needed to talk._ Back home, the worst four words were _we'll find a way. _Things always seemed to go from bad to worse whenever someone uttered those words.

"Hah! You _are _in there! I knew it," Emma shot back.

More pounding on the door. August pressed his good arm against it, as if Emma possessed the ability to huff and puff and blow it down. _I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, _he thought with regret as he felt her weight against the other side of the door.

"Sorry, August isn't here right now. Please leave a message after the beep."

There was no beep. The knocking suddenly grew quiet. Had she finally gotten the hint? Or should he take his chances and find out what she wanted? For all he knew, this could be a trick to make him open the door.

"Fine. You want to shut yourself in there and sulk? Be my guest. Guess I won't be taking you up on that offer of hopping on your bike." Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Oh, no—she was leaving. And she truly wanted him to take her and show her the truth!

Quickly, he pulled open the door and came face to face with Emma. She was leaning casually against the doorframe with her boots in her hands. He glanced down and noted that she was wearing red socks to match her leather jacket. A cunning smirk touched her lips.

"Took you long enough."

Bending down, she fixed her boots on her feet again. It amazed him that the laces took minutes to tie. Those boots were almost as demanding as the pair Rumpelstiltskin always wore in their world. It was true: those two were perfect for each other.

"You here for that ride?" August could hardly believe it really worked. By this time tomorrow, Emma would be a believer. Emma straightened up and tossed him a flat stare that dubbed him soft in the head.

"No, I volunteered to sell Girl Scout cookies out of the goodness of my heart. Hope you weren't expecting Thin Mints." Her gaze pointedly dropped to his broken wrist. "I'm driving."

…

"You are our only hope," August argued desperately as he gripped his "wooden" leg in agony.

Emma's mind was in brambles, with so many individual strings of thought coiling in and out that it was impossible to grasp a single strand. All she could do was feel the forest spin wildly around her in an array of blacks and greens, to watch August struggle to convince her of something truly ridiculous, and to try to make even a speck of sense of the thoughts running rapid across her mind.

August was delusional. There wasn't anything wrong with his leg. She wasn't the savior he made her out to be. She was tired and hungry and cold and irritable and in need of a hot drink to soothe her nerves. The start of a headache pounded right between her eyes. Above all, she'd had enough.

"Then you're all screwed," she snapped crossly. Such was the cusp of her anger—a thick, broiling, black thunderhead. Let him slump there against that tree trunk and keep playing up his pain and woes. She was done with all of it. "I'll be waiting by the bike."

And she turned and stalked off, back down the path from whence they came. For what reason? So that August could present some fabricated story of how he happened to be the seven year old who found her not on the side of the road but in the middle of the woods. Inside a tree. How did that even make sense?

What a waste of time.

He had better wrap up this 'woe-is-me' façade. She'd give him five minutes and then she would drive off without him. Or maybe she would do that right now and let him hitchhike back to Storybrooke. See how many people buy the classic _my-lady-friend-abandoned-me-because-I-have-a-woode n-leg_ excuse.

She couldn't even believe she had given him the benefit of the doubt. What was she hoping for? A miracle? No wonder Gold had broken the guy's wrist! He was nothing short of infuriating. August was obviously barking up the wrong tree. Who did he think he was, telling her she had no choice but to fulfill a predetermined destiny of saving everyone? What kind of crap was that?

Emma emerged from the fringe of trees and located August's bike. She straddled the seat, revved the engine, gripped the handlebars…and there she sat fuming. She wished she could forget this entire day.

What else could she do to save Henry? That was the only soul—besides her husband and Mary Margaret—that she cared deeply for. She couldn't save everyone…but she was fighting like hell to save him. August had that much right, at least.

No one was left to help her. August obviously couldn't help her. Even Gold could not find the will to help, despite the knowledge that Henry was his stepson. That one hurt the most, thudding against her heart in a dull monotone.

Maybe this quest was something she had to complete herself.

A twig snapped underfoot, but she didn't glance up from the inky pavement of the road. She heard August approach the bike, trying to limp and cradle his broken wrist at the same time. Occasionally, he hissed in discomfort and struggled to work his muscles properly. If he was trying to earn her sympathy, he'd have more luck with one of his fantastical woodland creatures.

August rested his shaky hand on the back of the bike. He lifted a leg up to climb on when the bike abruptly zoomed past him. A foot, if that, but enough to give him the hint.

"Cute, Emma. Very mature," he remarked dryly.

He limped over to the bike again, lifted his leg up…and Emma jerked the bike another foot. August nearly fell into a gutter, suddenly unbalanced. He swore under his breath. Emma, on the other hand, was feeling quite good about this. How many times could he fall for that trick?

"I get it. You're pissed off. You're punishing me. But since it's almost nine at night and we're beyond walking distance to Storybrooke…do you mind if I get on my bike?"

There was no answer. He didn't deserve one. He was lucky she didn't take off right then and there.

August joined Emma's side. He placed his hand on the back of the bike, all the while never taking his eyes off the back of her head. She felt his gaze wander to her fists on the handlebars, the veins thick ridges against her skin as she clenched them in her hands. He quickly straddled the bike, angling his body against the firmness of her back to accommodate his injured wrist. His other hand circled her waist.

"You know, it'd be so much easier on both of us if just believed—"

Emma never knew August's bike could reach such a high speed within seconds until she raced down the street with August yelping behind her all the way.

…

Emma sat in her yellow Bug outside the Mayor's elaborate, white house. The car was shielded from view by the large, rectangular hedges that lined the sidewalk directly in front of the Mayor's home; the only way Regina would catch a reasonable glimpse of the car was if she traipsed onto the balcony and glanced down.

The clock read 9:35, but Emma knew it was an hour slow. It was far past the kid's bedtime. She wondered if he was asleep under his blankets, dreaming of a fairy tale world that was sweeter than this harsh world he'd been born into. She was almost tempted to forget it, to drive back to Gold and the safety of his arms.

But her rampaging thoughts demanded it.

She regretted what she was going to have to do, but her options were vastly limited and she was desperate. Not for herself, but for that precocious kid who was wasting away in a prison and ruled by an Evil Queen.

_I am taking my son back. I warned her I would…and I never break my promises_. Oh, but the consequences were weighing heavily on her shoulders.

It would mean leaving Storybrooke. It would mean leaving Gold behind, when she had just sworn to him that she would not do such a thing._ I don't want to hurt him again. Not after the way he came home broken the other night. _

But this was for Henry. She knew in her heart that she had to get that kid away from Regina, whatever the cost. It had to be done. Gold wasn't able to help her, anyway. _I've already lost one kid. I swear, if it kills me, I'm going to do what's right by Henry. I have to do what's best for my son. _That was it—once Emma made up her mind, nothing could change its course.

With trembling hands and a heavy heart, Emma retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. Her decision was made, but if Gold deserved anything from her, it was an explanation. She owed him that much.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear and she closed her eyes tiredly, sweeping the blonde hair off her neck. Her throat grew dry and her teeth clenched anxiously as the buzzing dragged on. _Bzzz….Bzzz…Bzzz…_

Part of her longed to hear Gold's velvety, Scottish accent in her ear, to hear her name slip lovingly from his tongue once more before she carried out her actions. Part of her also understood that, if that happened, it would make it all the harder to leave. And so she breathed a ragged, regretful sigh of relief as the flat, mechanical voice told her to leave a message.

_Beep._

For a long minute, Emma held the phone to her ear and couldn't find the words. They were jammed on the roof her mouth like the world's thickest peanut butter. A chill crawled along her skin, her body frozen in the driver's seat. Her lip quivered and her mind felt like mashed potatoes. _Say something, you idiot!_

Oh, her mouth was so dry. Dry as cotton. She wondered if Regina would think it odd to have the Sheriff standing on her doorstep asking for a glass of water. Of course, Emma wouldn't catch falling snowflakes on her tongue on the Mayor's lawn without suspecting they might be poisoned.

Silence. And then—

"Gold," she choked out weakly. Her green eyes were glued to Henry's dark bedroom window. _I'm doing this for my child, _she reminded herself once more. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Gold…I won't be able to make it home tonight. And I think you have a right to know why…I'm leaving." Emma's forehead lowered until it rested against the cold surface of the glass window. She was surprised to find burning tears pooling in her eyes. This is what it came to, after they were ready to try for another child, even.

So much nonsense had happened tonight—so much she'd rather forget—and it was taking a mighty toll on her. She sniffled and wiped her raw nose on her sleeve.

"But…before you jump to conclusions, my reason for leaving has nothing to do with _us_. It's about my kid. My son," she explained, her voice nearly a whisper. It was getting so hard to release the words, but she knew she had to say them all the same. Otherwise, they would sit inside her, festering like weeds.

"I…I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what to believe anymore. It's such a mess. But all I know…is that Henry is not happy with Regina. Something tells me he may not be very safe, either. Not with her. And I can't…I can't just walk away without knowing he'll be okay," she sighed, the lump in her throat aching.

Was Gold standing there, listening to this? Was he becoming upset, angry that she was leaving with the uncertainty of returning? Was he aching, replaying their tender moments in his mind? Smashing things with his cane?

Emma swallowed the rough sensation in her throat, raking her fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. But I have to do what's best for Henry. And what's best for him…it's not here in Storybrooke. I'm sorry," she repeated meaningfully and slowly dropped the phone onto the seat beside her.

She frustratingly wiped the warm water from her eyes and picked up the black walkie-talkie, turning it on to the proper channel.

And then she called out to her son.

…

Gold turned the tap and the scalding spray of water immediately ceased to a dull drip. His skin was slightly pink in hue from the intense heat of the shower and his hair hung in sopping wet tangles on his neck. Raking the curtain aside, he reached for a white fuzzy towel that had the initials of his name etched in golden thread along the edge. He rubbed it all across his chest, savoring its warmth.

The hallway was unnervingly silent. The sudden emergence from the steamy bathroom caused the air in the rest of the house to feel icy against his damp skin. His eyes darted to the clock on the bedside table as he entered the bedroom. It was 10:30.

How odd—August had called nearly an hour ago to inform him that Emma had dropped him off with his bike and had headed toward the station to retrieve her Bug. Unless he was lying—somehow, Gold would not be surprised by it this week—then Emma should be home by now. He had resorted to showering while waiting up for her in hopes of fate working its wonders and having her join him.

How disappointing. He was pouting on the inside.

Even now, he still hadn't received a word from her. Had she perhaps called while he was in the shower? He tilted his head to the side and listened to the noises of the house. Silence. She certainly wasn't here.

Goldie lay curled up in a ball on the bed, right on top of his pillow. That pillowcase was in dire need of vacuuming from all the hairballs clumped on it. It was a good thing he wasn't susceptible to allergies or else he'd be in a worse state than Sneezy.

"Did you eat her?" Goldie whined in alarm and lifted her head from the pillow. The way she angled it, the dog was obviously questioning his sanity. He rolled his eyes grimly. "Of course not. By consequence, you'd be stuck with me."

Though, Goldie didn't appear to see the problem with that when she was hoarding scraps of food at dinnertime and claiming everything that had his name or scent on it. He figured he should keep a close eye on that one. Goldie might look like any other innocent pup, but he knew looks could be deceiving.

_Where, oh where, has my darling wife gone? Where, oh where, can she be? _

Wrapping the towel more firmly around his hips, he put off changing clothes in order to grab the phone. Quickly, he dialed the station just in case she was still there by happenstance. Maybe his nerves were just running wild, but some stroke of intuition warned him to try anyway.

What was the harm in being concerned for his wife?

Besides, he was rapidly becoming bored in this empty house. What was he supposed to do—throw a tennis ball for hours and watch Goldie mindlessly chase after it? What was the allure in such a silly game? It made him wonder what the poor pup would do if he decided to toss a bucketful of tennis balls only to have her spin in circles after every single one of them.

A series of buzzing noises drummed in his ear as he waited for the call to go through to the station. Then, there was a sharp click on the other end. Before he could open his mouth, an automated message drifted through the phone. It was one that Ruby had instilled during her short time as Emma's Deputy. Apparently, Emma hadn't thought to remove it yet.

"_Storybrooke Sheriff Station. If you would like to report a crime, please press 1. If you feel guilty and wish to turn yourself in, please press 2. If this is Leroy, hang up now or I'm calling Granny! Have a nice day!"_

Well, Emma wasn't at the station. He dropped the phone into the cradle and instantly picked it up again, ready to try a number for a place where he was sure Emma might be lurking. If not, he was ready to round up Team Seven and conduct a search.

"Hello?" Mary Margaret's sickly sweet voice rang in his ear.

He perched on the edge of the bed, nearly sitting on Goldie in the process, and nestled the phone in the junction between his neck and shoulder. At the same time, he scanned the room for other clues—papers, notes, anything to tell him where Emma was.

Had the rendezvous with Stubble gone as terribly wrong as he feared? He should have known that moronic, lying cur would fail epically at making Emma believe. She was much too stubborn—August W. Booth was no match for her walls and skepticism. But where would she run instead of into his arms?

"Miss Blanchard. Forgive me for bothering you at this late hour," he apologized, though he really didn't give a damn about interrupting her evening. Especially if she was currently in the company of one foolish David Nolan. _Lovebirds. Can't keep them apart for a week. How does a fool like him manage to keep his woman when he practically causes World War III just by walking down the street? _

There was a pause and he wondered if she had hung up. Most everyone was tempted to do it, but never the dear used-to-be Snow White. Unless she was far more in connection with her Snow White self than usual tonight. Thankfully, there was a heavenly sigh.

"Mr. Gold. You weren't interrupting me. I was just cleaning up before bed," she assured him kindly. He could picture her in the kitchen, cup of cocoa in her hands, a snuggly nightgown on her lithe body. Who honestly found reason to hum while cleaning? "What can I do for you?"

"Have you…seen Emma tonight?" As much as he tried to keep the worry from his voice, he knew a strand of it was still there. And he knew Mary Margaret, considerate as she was, heard it crystal clear.

"No, she hasn't been here at all. Is everything alright?" _Is everything alright? _Translation:_ are you two having problems again? _

"Everything is quite peachy, dearie." Translation: _the two of us spent a blissful night together. And now I'm sitting in my towel, practically naked, and I've seem to have misplaced my wife. What ever am I supposed to do now?_

"I'm sorry. I haven't heard from her. If I do, I'll let you know immediately," she promised rather sincerely. Gold murmured a rough _thank you_ and was about to hang up when Mary Margaret's voice sounded in his ear again. "You really do care about her…don't you?"

It caught him off-guard and he felt a lump forming in his throat as he replayed all those moments with Emma throughout the course of their marriage thus far, moments that led him to become closer to her than he had done even with Belle. He closed his eyes, simply breathing…

"Does that come as a surprise, Miss Blanchard?" His tone was harsher than he meant it. It was only a second before she replied, though.

"No," she answered confidently. "I believe everyone has someone special out there. And I'm glad you care for her. She deserves someone that will treat her right, Mr. Gold. Someone who thinks the world of her and can grant her happiness. It's rather…sweet," she admitted shyly.

This sounded like he was being warned by a doting mother. Gold couldn't muster up enough of a smile—not when Emma was out there somewhere. _What if that madman's returned? He's already taken my child—what more does he want? What if he took her again? I'll drive right up to that house on the hill and shove that telescope down his scarred throat. _

Mary Margaret repeated her promise to him and he hung up, cutting her off. He breathed slowly through his nose, fighting to keep calm and level-headed about the matter. _No need to panic. Emma can take care of herself; she's resourceful as hell. Just because she fails to come home doesn't mean anything. Maybe she's PMSing. Maybe she decided to take her Sunshine out for a late-night car wash. _

No, absolutely not. The notion of a late-night car wash was ridiculous. Storybrooke didn't have a car wash.

Gold rose from the bed and decided to let the matter be. He headed downstairs, his stomach demanding a nighttime snack. If Emma were to come through that door, at least she'd get a welcoming surprise—she'd never seen him cooking in something as little as a towel. His lips curled in a smile as he imagined her startled or possibly aroused reaction. _Perhaps we won't even make it to the bedroom. The towel will 'slip' off and then…_

He slowly made his way to the kitchen, but paused near the phone, something catching his eye. The red light on the old answering machine was blinking. Brow furrowed, his finger traced the play button. No one ever left him messages. _If it's Archie requesting a dinner or wanting to schedule another session, he'll be in for a surprise as well._

Hesitantly, Gold pressed the play button and sighed with relief as Emma's voice came through. The relief only lasted a brief instant as he leaned forward to listen. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

Emma's breathing was broken and hitched. The background was silent—she could be anywhere in Storybrooke.

"Gold," she repeated his name, her voice breaking slightly and tinged with distress. _Something's happened._ And as Gold listened, his clammy hands gripping the table where the phone rested, his heart caved.

Emma was leaving.

Her voice struggled to explain, the pauses feeling like an eternity in his ears. She was taking Henry and leaving, for she was determined to do what was necessary to protect her son. Gold could not believe what he was hearing. _That is nowhere near the best course of action…but she's willing to try it for the sake of her child. _

Could he really blame Emma for taking her child and running when he himself had done the same thing once upon a time? _No, Emma. Running…running is not the answer. It doesn't solve anything. Trust me. _

With every strained syllable, Gold's breathing quickened in his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest as Emma held back soft tears. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to catch them as they fell from her emerald eyes, to take her into his arms and tell her _it was okay_.

"I'm sorry," Emma whispered through the machine and suddenly she was gone.

The emptiness of the house mocked him. She was leaving. It might be forever, he knew that. She was supposed to break the curse, but if she chose to leave…what was really stopping her besides a prophecy? Prophecies were merely another piece of the puzzle, capable of shifting at any time. What was to prevent her from crossing that border if he could not follow without being tied at the waist to this pathetic town?

Gold's head sunk down, his muscles rippling as he sucked in heavy breaths. He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his heart pounding there. It was pounding, but he was sure it would shatter any moment. Was this what a true broken heart felt like? He was starting to see why Snow White drank that potion.

_I can't…I can't let her leave. Not when we've only started to try again. I need her…I won't lose her. I need to protect what belongs to me. I need to protect her. _

Goldie bounded down the steps, as if the dog sensed the onslaught of anxiety boiling in his veins. She could accompany him on this car chase. If he had not been the collective, incentive type of man, if he had been impulsive like Regina…he would have dashed out the door in his towel in hot pursuit of Emma.

…

Gold could easily pride himself with being skillful at many things in this land. Being an overly safe driver when his wife was on the verge of taking her kid and hitting Boston wasn't one of them. There were few times he drove his decrepit car instead of walking—it didn't make sense to waste the gas when his shop was a mere fifteen minutes in walking distance from his house.

But the times he did get behind the wheel, he was certain he never pushed the car to handle this much speed; 85 last time he checked. He roared down Storybrooke's main street, his hair still sleek and soaked from the shower. It stuck to the back of his neck and he had the urge to brush it away. If he wasn't driving like a madman in a hurry, he would.

Gods, how did people ever manage to do something as idiotic as texting and driving at the same time?

90.

All he could think about—or even allowed himself to think about—was reaching Emma before she crossed the border. Of course, there was no problem with him following her to Boston so long as the intention to return to Storybrooke slumbered in the back of his mind.

But that was the problem in itself.

What if she did not want to return to Storybrooke with Henry? That woman was stubborn enough to make a nun swear. If that were the case, he admitted with a heavy heart that it was impossible for him to stay with her beyond the town's limits. And Emma would never be able to understand why.

Something terrible and tragic always happened to people who crossed the line without any intention of coming back. That was the golden rule that trapped every single one of them inside the town with the reinforcement of a snow globe. There was no getting out. Gods, he could end up in a coma like David Nolan. He could lose the other leg in some freak accident. He could have his hair catch on fire, leaving him bald.

The possibilities were endless.

100.

Emma was making a mistake. He knew that better than anyone. He needed to find her, now. Fortunately, he knew a shortcut to the border. It was a narrow bumpy trail that led around Storybrooke and ended a foot or so from the town line. If Emma hadn't reached it yet, there was still a chance of cutting her off.

He gunned down on the pedal. In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Goldie sliding back and forth in the backseat. Left, right, left…

"Hold on, Goldilocks," he muttered as the needle over the speedometer ticked higher and higher.

120.

…

"Emma, we can't leave," Henry pleaded in her ear. "Think about what you're doing! Your parents are back there! Mr. Gold is back there!"

Emma's knuckles whitened as she clenched the steering wheel harder. It made her heart ache and her lungs burn from the inside out to have Henry remind her of everything she was leaving behind in Storybrooke. Sacrifice—that's what it came down to in the end. Necessary sacrifice.

Warmth welled up behind her eyelids and she angrily wiped the unwanted moisture away with the back of her hand. It made her vision blurry and she blinked frantically to rid herself of the vulnerability. God, she hated the way Henry was staring at her now; incredulously, like she was out of her mind. Like she was a complete stranger instead of the birth mother he longed for.

And then there was Gold. Her husband.

After everything they'd been through, he didn't deserve this. Even a phone call in Boston would not heal the wound she was likely tearing into his chest with every second she drove farther away.

She would miss his seductive, devilish smiles and the way she would hopelessly try to decode them. She would miss sharing an ice cream with him and having him kiss away the extra traces of vanilla from her lips. She would miss lying in his arms at night after coming together with him so perfectly and passionately, the way she never would again with any other man.

Her vision blurred again.

No, she refused to feel guilty about this. Feeling guilty would mean admitting she had truly done the unthinkable, that she was scraping at the bottom of the well entitled desperation. This was the right thing to do. It had to be. All she wanted was to protect her son, the way she could not protect her unborn one.

"Please," Henry cried, growing antsy in the passenger's seat. Emma did not look at him. Looking into those wide innocent eyes would lead to her breaking. Her silent, distant manner told him this was not up for debate.

Her Bug rounded the corner, a dense thicket of trees whirring by in a flash of deep greens and blacks. The border of the town loomed into view, the slightly crooked sign reading _You are now leaving Storybrooke. Yes, we are, _Emma thought darkly. _Except this time, I can't make any promises that we'll be coming back. _

The border crept closer, barely thirty feet away. Twenty. Henry's eyes boggled in his head when he realized, once and for all, that she was serious about her talk of taking him away from Storybrooke. Away from Regina. She intended to do this, what she probably should have done a long time ago.

"Emma!" She hardly heard his shrill voice as she prepared to cross the line, both literally and figuratively. After that, there would be no turning back. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief instant, a last token of farewell forming in her mind.

_Goodbye, Gold. _

Without warning, Henry flung his body over the length of the seat and latched onto the steering wheel, jerking it violently to the side. The car immediately took a sharp left turn, jarring her from her moment of solemn silence. Emma's eyes bolted wide and she tried to control the steering wheel, but the Bug was already beyond her control.

"Henry!"

Then she noticed what he had already taken note of, the reason for his unexpected action. The town line was blocked by a car. If Henry hadn't acted, they would have collided right into it. Wait….a probing thought unfolded through the binding rush of adrenaline. She knew that black hunk of metal deathtrap.

Gold.

Instead of crossing the border and ramming into her husband's car, her Bug screeched across the pavement and sped over the patch of grass lining the side of the inky black road. Her foot slammed on the brake and they came within inches of hitting a tree.

At the last minute, Emma forgot about the steering wheel and folded Henry into her arms, shielding him from the impact. The car halted and both of them lurched forward. Emma's shoulder collided with the steering wheel, but she could live with it.

The car ticked as it cooled. Her heart hammered in her chest so painfully that she thought it was going to pop out like one of those cheap Valentine's Day cards. Henry squirmed from her arms and pressed his face to the glass of the window, cupping his hands around his forehead as he peered out into the night. He was probably searching for Gold.

Gold.

"Henry, stay in the car," she ordered, her voice raw and raspy. Henry jumped back from the window, the glass foggy with his breath, his face pinched with concern.

"But—"

"Stay in the car," she repeated forcefully before bursting through her door and making a beeline for the border.

It was a challenge to walk straight, what with the way her legs were shaking from the shock of nearly becoming one of those Halloween decorations that featured a witch flattened against a tree. Gold had already left his car and rapidly limped in her direction. There was nothing but hurt and worry reflected in his chocolate brown eyes.

"What the hell? I'd love to know where you learned to drive that qualifies you to speed into the middle of the road and oncoming traffic," she huffed indignantly. If this were any other ordinary instance, her next question would be: _sir, have you been drinking tonight? _She should write him a ticket for this. Or ten.

But all he did was shake his head pitifully.

"Where do you think you're going, Emma?"

They stopped within a foot of each other, but it may as well have been miles apart. His eyes scanned over her body, searching for signs of injury. If there were, her body was too numb from the adrenaline to feel them yet. She was too focused on Gold's insane stunt and the fact that he was willing to do anything to stop her from leaving.

This had to be the right choice; it had to be.

She didn't realize she was trembling until Gold took her hand in his, a timid white spider in his palm. All at once, everything she had been feeling since that getaway fiasco with August built up with the pressure of a volcano ready to explode, tunneling up through her throat and out. It was too demanding to stuff down. What was it about Gold that made her fall apart so easily?

"I had to get Henry away from her. What am I supposed to do? You want me to apologize? Well, then I'm sorry for leaving you behind this way. I'm sorry for doing everything in my power to protect my son—"

That was the last word to fall from her lips before Gold's grip tightened on her hand and he pulled her flush against his body. Their lips melded together in a passionate kiss that consumed every ounce of her breath. For a minute, she was stunned. Then her arms entwined around his neck and she returned the kiss just as intensely. His hands nestled on her hips, always urging her forward into his arms. The scent of his cologne wafted around her neck, teasing her nose. His lips were warm as they moved over hers sensually and he tasted of deliciously rich wine.

If he was aiming to remind her what she would be missing, it was working.

The kiss softly broke, though their reddened mouths hovered together. His breath tickled her skin, causing her to scrunch her nose in the way he always adored. Her hands slid their way to his chest, clutching handfuls of his dress shirt. His hand cupped her cheek, guiding it so that she gazed directly into his eyes.

What she saw there frightened her. Acceptance. Pain. Need. Urgency. Love.

Taking a single step back, he thrust a finger in the direction of the border. Surprisingly, the desperation to cross it had dimmed a little in light of their kiss.

"Go, if you must. But hear this: you will sacrifice happiness, Emma. That is inevitably the price you will pay for such an escapade. Trust me; running is never the answer. It is not what is best for your son, no matter how much you wish to believe otherwise," he reasoned. She could hear the pleading note in his voice. It rooted her to the cold, damp pavement. Her hands eased away from his shirt.

"And being with_ her_ is what's best for him?" How could he even suggest such a thing?

But he grasped her by the arms, his expression torn. She had never seen Gold so broken, except for his breakdown last night over his son. This was the extent of his agony, then. Calm on the outside, inside he was screaming and tormented at the thought of losing his wife and stepson. The way he lost his first son.

"No, of course not! But for God's sake, will you stop and consider the path you're choosing? You are kidnapping your son," he growled deeply, holding her firmly to his chest. He only held up a hand to silence her heated objection. "If you run, Regina will make it her life's work to find you. You will never be able to create a stable home for Henry. You'll always be on the move, always bouncing from motel to motel, living off seedy diners on the side of the road and enduring your own empty stomach to put food in your son's mouth. What will you do for Henry? Return to that old bounty hunting job you used to get by? You'll homeschool him yourself? Keep a suitcase of clothes in the back seat of your car? What sort of life is that for your child?"

Emma opened her mouth to defend herself, but nothing came out. Every word that Gold said was right. Every word amounting to the fears she had attempted to stifle while racing toward the border. Instantly, she pictured it in her mind in startling clarity and she loathed it. Henry could never be happy with the life she had formed at merely seventeen years of age. She hadn't considered what future lay behind the border.

She hadn't considered that what lay out there might be worse for Henry than the life he already had in here.

Gold must have sensed her turmoil and resolve breaking, for he rocked her gently and laid his forehead against hers. The glimmering brown depths of his eyes swallowed her whole. She buried her head in the comfort of his neck and inhaled his familiar scent.

"We'll find a way," he whispered into the shell of her ear.

She found herself nodding and wanting so much to believe it. Behind her came the click of a door and she turned to see Henry approaching them. The way Gold's eyes softened and gleamed at the sight of his stepson…it made Emma feel even guiltier.

Henry stopped a few paces shy of them and tilted his head to Emma.

"We're not still leaving…are we?"

The forlorn tone of his voice clearly revealed which side he was rooting for. Still lounging in Gold's embrace, she could feel his gaze on her skin, his body unnaturally stiff as he waited for her decision. Emma half-smiled and ruffled Henry's hair.

"No, kid. We're heading home," she declared, purposely meeting Gold's relieved eyes. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her long and hard again—faster in tempo now that he knew this kiss would not be their last. Henry muttered something about the two of them getting a room at Granny's.

They would find a way, somehow. Together.

…..

_**Shout-outs go to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Super-Twi-Harry-Heroes-Fan, Newland Archer, Ouatlover150, discotimelord, BundyShoes, Deathbringer88, liliesandroses, The Auburn Girl, la-stella-immortale, ParanormalMoonlight, FortunesFavour, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Guest, sexysashaas, sbcarri, DragonRose4, The-Writer2012, reginamillz, SwanQueen4055, megumisakura, Princess Flame Haze Xerxes, and Russian8once1psych7 (love your House picture, by the way—happens to be my favorite show). **_

_**Thank you, everyone! **_


	53. Chapter 53

_**A/N: At long last, here is the update everyone has been waiting patiently (or impatiently) for. I am terribly sorry that it took such a long time to update, but my finals dominated my waking hours for the past two weeks or so. I just hope this chapter lives up to everyone's expectations and makes up for the wait. **_

Emma had given this a lot of thought.

There was only one way to deal with Regina and save Henry. It was a perfect plan. It was foolproof. Why hadn't she thought of it before? If she truly was a savior, this was simply one of those tough decisions she was going to have to make for the good of the townspeople. Though, she doubted anyone else in town would openly complain. No one ever persecuted Dorothy for melting the Wicked Witch.

It all started with the ringing of a bell.

"Sheriff," Regina coldly greeted as she poked her head out from behind her door. The inviting aroma of lasagna teased Emma's nose. But Regina's lithe body blocked her view of the interior of her sprawling, marvelous mansion. "What the hell do you think you're doing on my porch?"

Regina armed herself with that cocky hand-on-hip glare. It made Emma's blood boil. The mayor was always so pompous, so aggravatingly self-righteous, thinking herself above the other folk of Storybrooke. Enough was enough.

"Henry invited me," she responded nonchalantly. She purposefully made it sound as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, just to dig deeper under Regina's milky skin.

The expression on her pinched face remained rigidly cool, but there was swirling black tension underneath the surface. A hand latched onto the edge of the door as though prepared to slam it, trembling in…anger? Or fear? The door quivered under her grasp—the mayor wanted so desperately to slam it in Emma's face.

"Do you honestly think I would allow you inside my house, eating my lasagna, leaving little blonde hairs on my furniture after what you've done to me?" Regina scoffed boldly.

Apparently, she was still convinced of being in control. But Emma smiled darkly. Regina had no idea what was coming. This would be as exciting as an episode of _Punk'd, _except Ashton Kutcher wouldn't randomly hop out of her bushes with a camera crew.

"Oh, I didn't come for dinner," Emma countered. She devoured the sight of Regina's lips twitching, her glorious smirk faltering. It was beginning to dawn on her. She stiffened like a cardboard cut-out in her fancy heels, the wrinkling of her forehead betraying her confusion. "I came for _you. _We all did."

Before Regina's lips could form one of the thousand troubling questions invading her twisted mind, Emma snapped her fingers over her shoulder. From behind trees, bushes, and Regina's car they came, slippery shadows in the night: Mary Margaret with a candlestick, Ruby with a kitchen knife, Archie with a wrench, Leroy with a rusty pipe, Granny with a revolver, and Henry…

Henry was standing at the top of the marble staircase with a rope slung over his shoulder.

"What is this? A live-action game of _Clue?" _Regina could only wish. Emma swung her head to Granny, a signal that set the old woman on Regina. The gun looked far more dangerous in her hands than it would in anyone else's, including the so-called Evil Queen herself.

Regina balked and retreated inside her house in an effort to escape Granny, turning instead to Henry who was slowly descending the stairs. There was no way a ten year old could best her and tie her up. She only reached the hall before David stepped in front of her, having emerged from the kitchen. He was licking sauce off his fingers.

"Just for the record, you have excellent taste in lasagna," he praised Regina. Over the Mayor's shoulder, Granny narrowed her eyes to slits, daring him to repeat that sentiment. That gun shifted an inch or two. "But your lasagna is nowhere near the quality and brilliance of Granny's lasagna!"

Granny nodded curtly. Mary Margaret's green eyes bolted open in sheer incredulity.

"David, I thought you said _my_ lasagna was your favorite!" David's head spun wildly from Regina to Granny to Mary Margaret, around and around in circles until he looked possessed. He shrugged sheepishly to Mary Margaret.

"I do love your lasagna, Mary Margaret…but Granny's the one with the gun." He pointed to Granny frantically. That old woman seemed perfectly happy handling the weapon.

Under Emma's guidance, David and Archie pounced on Regina like hungry lions, securing her limbs. With their arms hooked through hers, David and Archie appeared ready to frolic with Regina through a field of daisies instead of carrying out a plan that would mean the wellbeing of the entire town. Henry slid down the banister railing and landed swiftly on his feet. He handed over the rope while Granny kept the gun trained on Regina's chest. David fumbled with the rope until Granny impatiently shoved him out of the way and professionally hog-tied Regina's limbs, using a broomstick to secure her hands.

Emma snapped her fingers again and her gang filed out of the house, carrying Regina upside-down like a tribal offering. They set her down before her precious apple tree. On Emma's cue, Granny begrudgingly untied her and Regina scowled at being handled so roughly.

"Have you all lost your minds? What do you put in that iced tea?" Regina demanded of Granny. The old woman strode forward in a rage worse than any Regina could muster. Leroy sang an old Van Halen tune under his breath: _Granny's got a gun…Granny's got a gun…_

"What did you say about my iced tea, you overgrown tarantula? Repeat it, I dare you!" Regina quit dusting off her suit and backed up against the tree. _And we didn't even have to smash the apples, _Emma thought with wicked amusement. This was easier than she thought it would be. _Maybe Granny should run for Mayor. _

Archie and Ruby took advantage of Regina's dismay to tie her against the tree, the thick rope coiling around her waist. The Mayor probably loathed her beloved tree then, especially since the bark was not the most comfortable of surfaces. She squirmed and writhed about, but Archie and Ruby were already pulling the ends of the ropes into tight knots.

"This will make for a great song," Ruby declared, winking at Archie over Regina's head. Ruby hummed a catchy tune, bobbing on her heels. "Black Cow and the Apple Tree. It'll be a hit." Emma cocked an eyebrow, but Ruby went on tying Regina up.

"Didn't someone already make that song? Black Horse and the Cherry Tree?" Archie and Ruby exchanged odd glances.

"Never heard of it," they answered simultaneously. _Of course not, _Emma thought. _Everyone's living in their own personal bubble in this town. _She watched the crowd circle around the tree, anticipating Regina's fate. Archie pulled on the rope until his hands turned red and Regina's chest heaved from the restriction.

"Let go of me this instant! I command you!" Regina screeched, but no one cared to listen. That superiority of hers was a tough shell to crack, apparently. Emma shook her head pitifully. Perhaps power was the only real love Regina ever had.

"Need I remind you that _you're_ the one tied to the apple tree? I'd say you have as much authority as a dove hell-bent on world domination, Regina," she retorted. Knowing Regina, she probably kept a dove like that as a pet. Unless it was a parrot that repeated everything she said in her office.

"Tighter! She needs to feel our pain!" Granny shouted on the top of her lungs. Emma severely doubted the old woman had endured much pain lately. In fact, she looked positively happy about knocking Ruby out of the way and doing the tying herself.

Regina's eyes boggled like an anger management doll. Her head lolled weakly against the trunk of the tree—if Emma peered closely enough, she thought she saw something glistening in Regina's eyes. She had never seen Regina shed a single tear before. Up to this point, she didn't even think it was remotely possible.

"I just wanted to win for once," she moaned.

Any sympathy Emma may have started to feel quickly turned to ash, a blazing fire of disgust rising in her chest. Regina was actually trying to justify herself. It offered Emma a dark glimpse of Regina's soul—there was no regret there at all, nothing but blame and hatred and the twisted belief that she was in the right. It made Emma's golden hair stand on end with anger.

Emma charged toward Regina and caught her by the throat. Regina's head tilted back against the tree trunk, her pulse racing wildly under Emma's palm. She reveled in the way the formerly vindictive mayor's eyes flew wide in apprehension. A cool smile curved Emma's lips as she reached a hand above Regina's dark head and claimed a juicy red apple from the leaves of the tree. Good enough to eat.

Then she squeezed it mercilessly.

Her fingernails wormed their way into the crimson skin. Instead of a crisp, strong fruit, the apple soured and melted into soiled black waste. It drenched Emma's pale fingers and burned her fair skin with the equivalence of battery acid. Putrid, black, unhealthy…just like Regina's soul.

"Rotten to the core," Emma muttered, her tone in the distinct unspoken manner of _what-did-I-tell-you? _She tossed the revolting remains of the apple away and wiped the sludge on her jeans. Regina gaped in horror at the pool of sticky tar and ash that used to be a tempting apple. "You took away our happiness. Now it's our turn to take away yours."

Emma returned to Mary Margaret's side, but only for a moment. David gladly offered his sword to her, of which she all too readily accepted by the hilt. Regina really began to squirm against the binds of the ropes to no avail. Granny had mastered many skills in her lifetime, including rope-tying.

The sword was gripped in Emma's fist with nothing short of confidence, as though she was always meant to wield it. This would solve everything. Henry would be happy. They would all be happy. If only Gold were here to witness this long-awaited moment and encourage her decision…

And suddenly he was there.

She never heard the betraying sound of his cane, muffled as it was by the soft grass. She didn't yet earn the familiar, silky notes of his Scottish accent. But she knew he was there, with her. The way Regina scooted her back up against the tree trunk confirmed as much.

There was the slightest hint of his cologne as he joined her side. Elegant fingers—fingers that had the power to elicit incredible pleasure—cupped her chin and gently directed her head toward the left. Instantly, she found herself tumbling into two pools of chocolate, rich with cunning. Though, underneath the moonlight those intelligent orbs held speckles of amber. His hand snaked along her skin, caressing her cheek. She instinctively leaned into his touch. _You're here with me, _she thought proudly and she could tell from the sly quirk of his lips that he perceived her relief.

"I'm a man of my word, dearie. I told you we would find a way," he lilted an instant before his hand coiled around the back of her neck and he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

It was the kind of open-mouthed kiss that made her weak at the knees, his arms enveloping her like warm ebony wings with the sword vertically pressed between them, grinding against their thighs. Regina audibly gagged in disgust, but that only seemed to spur the fire between them. He tasted like tea…and a hint of fudge…Emma hastily returned his kiss, her arm splayed across his back with his muscles riveting beneath the surface.

Maybe, after all was said and done here, she and Gold could put that apple tree to good use.

Eventually, the kiss broke with both of them breathing heavily. Emma whimpered at the loss of his lips, but the way his mouth trailed across her jaw promised there would be more to come. If Regina wasn't tied up, she'd most likely be seizing on the floor from having to watch their kiss unfold. She did look a little green.

Emma readjusted the sword in her hand, testing its weight and feel. Holding her close, Gold's hand slipped over the one that gripped the hilt.

"You and I shall do it together," Gold whispered against the lobe of her ear, placing a tender kiss just below it. Emma nodded. It felt right to live up to their promise of enduring this as one, of finally giving Henry the happiness he deserved. And together, they drove the blade of the sword into Regina's heart.

…

"_Die, die, die!_"

"Ooh, ooh, oof, ow!" What in all the realms…?

Gold had been dreaming peacefully about being stuck on a deserted island with Emma. There they were under the blazing sun, the crystal clear water lapping their bare ankles, their bodies rolling together in hot white sand as they made sweet love…and he brutally awoke to find his darling wife attacking his chest. She was half on top of him, her fist pounding away above his heart, stuck in the web of her own dream.

"This is what you deserve!"

He could barely breathe, his chest shuddering from the way her fist struck it without mercy. What in gods did he do to deserve this? He was being given unnecessary CPR without the mouth-to-mouth.

"Is this…_ugh_…about the…pickles?"

He coughed and squirmed as she straddled his hips to pin him down to the mattress. He tried to lift her off of his body, but Emma was a force to be reckoned with tonight. A stone statue would have been easier to move. The heel of her hand struck his chest and he could feel his heart racing just underneath the surface of his skin.

"This…is…for…_Henry!" _She was beyond his reach. She wouldn't even respond to the sound of his voice calling out her name for dear life. Was this his unexpected fate? To die in his bed at his wife's hand due to some terrible dream?

There was only one logical thing to do.

Gripping her hands, he wrenched her body flush against his. Her nails curved into his arm, scratching the skin ruthlessly, but he didn't care. His lips sought out hers, demanding enough to make her pause in her white fury. Her mouth inevitably opened for him and he plundered it greedily. Taking advantage of her loss of control, he urged her onto her back and used the new angle to kiss her deeper than ever before. He knew she was coming back to her senses when her fingers threaded through his hair and stroked his back.

Thank gods.

He reluctantly broke away from her mouth to gaze down into a pair of lucid green eyes.

"Isn't it a bit late in this stage of our marriage to kill me and make off with my riches?" Oh, his chest was sore. He couldn't even rightly appreciate the way blood instantly poured into Emma's cheeks, giving it a raw pink glow as she realized her mistake.

"Sorry. I was killing Regina," she muttered. Her hand pressed against his chest—ow, ow, ow—and he relinquished his hold on her.

"That explains everything," he mused, rubbing the spot where Emma cruelly attacked him. She leaned over to kiss the tender spot and it eased a bit. He could feel the magic bubbling inside her, even if she did not recognize it yet. "I, on the other hand, require a heart transplant. I like it better when you dream about me having my way with you."

"You _did_ kiss me in the dream," she admitted, fluffing her badgered pillow. And he wondered why these sheets were always so messy and rumpled in the morning. Her words caught up with him and excitement trumped the remaining discomfort of his suffering.

"I was there? Fantastic," he gleefully exclaimed. Back in the Enchanted Forest, the royals never invited him to any of the executions in the kingdoms. He always had to pretend to be a beggar woman selling flowers.

But Emma didn't respond to his uplifted mood. Her head was turned away from him on the pillow, though he knew she wasn't attempting to fall back asleep. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring distantly toward the window. Maybe that dream had bothered her more than he assumed.

What she needed was some unraveling, some loosening up.

Looming over her body, he lowered his mouth to the rising curve of her shoulder and seductively trailed his lips across her soft flesh. Nothing. How odd. Usually he had her moaning by now. His hand delved under the blankets and teasingly traced her hip. His leg nudged her thigh. He buried his face into her blonde curls.

Nothing. Not even a peep of pleasure.

This kind of thing never happened for him before.

"I've been thinking," she started, leaning up on one elbow. Ah, so it was this kind of nuisance.

There was that overly somber tone and the implication that something terrible was coming. The cowardly part of his personality took charge and he prepared to do anything he could to stall this conversation. That sort of conversation threatened change, of which he might not be prepared for.

"There will be plenty of time for that in the morning," he said, patting her thigh. He leaned down to kiss her lips, but she turned her head at the last second and he caught her cheek instead. His eyelids parted in surprise, only to have his stomach plunge at the miffed expression dominating her hard features. "Am I in need of Listerine?"

Not even a chuckle. He checked his breath, just in case. Not too bad. Nothing to gripe about, anyway. Had he somehow done the wrong thing? Women always disliked having their ideas ignored, even if it was half past midnight.

"Fine. I won't tell you," she replied briskly and rolled over so that the only part of her he could see was her slender back. It left him disconcerted and more than a little irritated. This must be one of her ruses to entice him into biting the hook. Well, it wasn't going to work. Two could play at that game.

"Have it your way. Enjoy your inner thoughts," he snapped and copied her posture.

He thrust a fist into his pillow a couple of times to fluff it up and buried his head in it. All she would earn was his back, an eye for an eye. Honestly, why did his wife feel the need to be so damn stubborn? It was a trait they both shared from time to time and caused more clashing of their heads than he preferred. Well, he hoped she liked waiting.

There was absolutely no chance of him taking the bait. If either of them were going to crack, it would be her. It should only take a matter of three seconds.

Three…

Two…

Two and a half…

"Alright, what's on your mind?"

Three seconds had been three seconds too long. It killed him to crack first, but Emma was unnervingly silent on her side of the bed. Who knew whether she could truly hold out until morning? Not knowing would eat him alive from the inside out. He flipped over and touched her shoulder—and witnessed the victorious grin spreading on her lips. The clever minx.

"I knew you couldn't resist," she gloated, finally giving him peace in turning around to curl into his arms. That felt much better. He kissed her forehead to prove his gratitude.

The humor faded from her eyes as quickly as it had come, replaced with stark seriousness. His stomach coiled as he waited for the topic of this conversation to make itself known. Something was deeply bothering his wife and he had a feeling it all connected back to the conundrum of Regina. Always her, hanging over their heads like a churning black thunderhead that could erupt into a world disaster at any moment.

"I don't want to kill Regina," she blurted out.

She shuddered in his embrace, a fragile thing desperate for comfort. Emma was at a crossroads about what to do for Henry and desperation was clouding her judgment. It pained him to see her so wired and helpless. As for killing Regina…the last thing he ever hoped in this marriage was that he corrupted Emma's purity and morals.

"Emma," he murmured her name to capture her undivided attention. Those glistening green eyes, the same shade as her mother's, gazed deeply into his with noticeable hope, even if it was but a flickering flame, as if he might somehow possess the answer she was seeking. He would do anything to preserve that strength and goodwill inside her. "Listen to me carefully. You are the most heroic woman…no, _person_…I have ever had the fortune to meet. You always appreciate the sanctity of a life, always protecting those in need of it. Killing is not something a hero is born to do, nor are the consequences worth taking the life of another. You'll regret it and it will change you. Don't. Leave the dirty work to those with fewer morals."

Emma looked awe-inspired by his words, but he didn't miss the glint of something deeper—wariness, alarm, suspicion. She latched onto his forearm, a pleading gesture. There was that slight furrowing of the brow, her mouth twisting in a shrewd pout. That was her serious look.

"You obviously misinterpreted me. I don't want _you_ killing her, either. We shouldn't have to stoop to her level just to settle the score with her," she reasoned. She held his gaze fiercely and he knew what she wanted to hear. Every time he shifted his eyes, she followed. There was no escaping. "Give me your word that you won't kill her. The last thing Henry needs is his stepfather going Rambo."

He should have gone back to sleep when he had the chance. This situation could have easily been avoided. Until breakfast, at least.

"I give you my word. I will not kill her," he consented. Habits were hard to break, though—the deal was already spinning inside his mind, the details picked apart until he found a loophole. Most people would be satisfied to have his word. Not Emma. She knew him too well.

"Let me make it clearer. I don't want you to kill her…or torture her with the intent of making her suffer. Please." There was that word—the one she knew would destroy his motivation. He groaned. The loophole burst into flames.

"Why must you ruin my fun? What else do you propose we do to avenge everything she's ever done? Stick her in a jail cell and charge people fifty cents each to throw a tomato at her?"

His money would burn a hole in his pocket if that were the case. It was a passing daydream, anyhow—there was hardly any feasible way to prove the extent of Regina's evil. She would be out and about the town of Storybrooke in the matter of hours. Killing her might be the easy way out, but it was a permanent solution. He certainly had no use of her anymore.

"I can't kill her. That's not me. But we need to stop tearing at each other's throats and throwing daggers the minute we turn our backs on each other. You already said I couldn't face a custody battle. It would only hurt Henry and he doesn't deserve that. Running is out of the question. Replacing him with a robot Henry won't do any good. Regina would probably notice when he starts making weird buzzing noises and spewing oil over his cornflakes," she thought aloud, mostly to herself.

She nestled her head on his shoulder and tiredly closed her eyes. He knew she was very much awake, just mulling it over in silence. There was little hope to be had in their limited range of options.

"So, what do you propose, then?"

His manner was clipped and tense, more than he preferred it to be. The whole problem irked him the wrong way. This was his stepson, a member of his family. He refused to allow Regina the satisfaction of winning. Emma inclined her head to stare up at him. She looked as worn as he felt.

"I propose…shared custody of Henry."

For a long moment, the only sound that could be heard in the bedroom was the howling wind through the trees outside. There weren't even any crickets chirping. Gold blinked quizzically, trying to decide if he heard Emma correctly or if he was just that sleepy. This was the last straw he expected her to grasp.

_This_ was her master plan? Bend to Regina's will and split Henry down the middle like the banana in Granny's sundaes?

"Oh, is it my turn to say something utterly ridiculous? Let me see….ah…ah, yes. _Damn_. David Nolan knows how to rock a pair of leather pants. What _is_ his secret?" Gold made an exaggerated show of batting his eyelashes. "See, that was ridiculous. Your turn."

Emma fought against the urge to crack a smile and her shoulders caved as she realized he wasn't taking this seriously. What was he supposed to say to that? This was as likely to work as a snowball's chance in hell. He could already detect a few variables that might hinder it. The first being Regina's incapability of sharing her precious stool in Granny's Diner, let alone what she presumed to be "her son."

"This is your solution? Humor Regina's whims and offer her chances in hopes she'll see the error of her ways? Not very promising, is it? I'll save you the time and energy, dearie. The only thing Regina will do is take advantage of your goodwill," he grumbled.

His intuition worked its wonders, setting the alarms off full-blast in his head. This opportunity of peace might satisfy Emma, but it would only fuel Regina's attempts to have Henry for herself. And if she made the mistake of harming his wife or his stepson to get what she wanted, his promise to Emma would be null and void.

He would kill her. Slowly.

"Maybe this is the chance that she needs. Both of us can have Henry in our life. If she drives me out of town or I kill her, it will mean Henry's suffering. This is the only logical solution," she reasoned. He wasn't about to be fed that line. _Logical_ wasn't a word that could be found in Regina's vocabulary. He wasn't going to pretend that Regina was sane enough to agree.

But it was getting harder to keep his eyes trained on Emma's green ones. Gods, she wanted to believe in this so badly.

"Let's at least try it. And then if it fails…"

Her voice trailed off into the night. If it failed, there would be no reasonable options left. Emma didn't want to consider that alternative, but it was written on the wall all the same. He knew this was going to end in disaster—these things always did. But Emma's fingers were scrabbling over his chest and he found it impossible to deny her the hope she craved.

"By all means, try. Don't say I didn't warn you ahead of time," he retorted. "She'll never agree to it. Not unless you replace our mayor with her good twin."

Emma swallowed his weak compliance eagerly and balanced her head in the crook of his neck. Gingerly, he weaved his fingers through her silky hair as her breathing deepened. It was as though the newfound hope was a lullaby rocking her to dreamland.

"It will work. It has to…for Henry," she mumbled lazily, teetering on the edge of sleep.

He remained wide awake long after she slipped into unconsciousness, staring critically at the ceiling until he thought the plaster would crack under his severe gaze. He ruminated over the countless variables of Emma's proposal to Regina. He thought of how much of a downfall this could be and how he could possibly protect his family against Regina's wrath.

This would work. It had to. If not, Regina was going to have hell to pay.

….

Gold had tried many spontaneous things in his long life. Impromptu acting at the crack of dawn was not one of them.

"Just sit still, would you? I'll stand here. You'll be Regina," Emma instructed, applying enough force onto his shoulders to make him plop into one of the kitchen chairs. Even though she hardly stirred through the night, she was anxious enough to try practicing what to say to Regina. Her husband had all the enthusiasm of a chicken crossing the road against oncoming traffic.

"Why must _I_ be Regina? Emma, dear, I know you believe you wear the pants in this relationship, but it's only a phrase," he moaned.

Emma clamped her hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him from rising to his feet. All he desired was a warm Toaster Strudel before heading down to the shop. Instead, he was role-playing and not in an attractive way.

"You have to be Regina because I am the one proposing to Regina," she explained for the tenth time. The corners of his lips tweaked. "Stop smirking. You know what I mean."

"In that case, I'll need a moment to get into character," he complied. If this proved to be the fastest way to earn that Toaster Strudel, he would go along with it.

He cleared his throat roughly and put on the fiercest glare he could muster. Gods, how did Regina's face stay this way without aching? Emma had to stifle a chuckle—from here, it looked like her husband had sucked on a lemon.

"Here goes nothing, sweetie. _I demand my son! You're all a bunch of idiots mucking about! I hate you all! Why is the sky blue? It should be black to match my attire! Burn, burn, burn!" _

Emma checked the antique clock on the wall. Just shy of seven. She leaned her hip against the kitchen table and waited for Gold to cease his acting exercises. Though, his impression of Regina was so close that he deserved an Emmy.

"Are you done?" Gold inhaled deeply through the nose, then slowly released it. His shoulders slumped and the energy rushed from his body as if something had forcibly sucked it from his lips.

"Yes. Best get on with it. It's rude to keep Your Majesty waiting," he drawled, pressing a hand to his chest. Oh, he had wanted to use that title for himself for a long, long time. Now he was simply exploiting his acting skills.

Emma brushed the stray strands of hair from her forehead and paced in front of him. She pictured Regina in Gold's place, but it wasn't an easy feat. If only he would stop staring at her so intensely. On the one hand, it induced a pleasing flutter in her stomach while disturbing her concentration at the same time.

"Right. So…well…here's the thing…"

"Witch got your tongue?" Gold pinched his fingers together. Emma stopped pacing and gazed down upon him with annoyance. A few seconds of silence passed before she deemed it safe to continue. Starting from the top…

"Regina," she choked out, weaving her hands together. Gold tented his fingers under his chin in anticipation of what she had to say. It made it harder to ignore the fact that he was obviously _not_ Regina. "We—"

"We?" Gold snorted, making it sound like a curse word. He was deeply embedded in his character, channeling Regina's sneer with impeccable flair. "You make it seem personal. What part of _I hate you all _don't you understand? Glare, glare, glare."

Well, she couldn't complain that he wasn't devoted to his role of Regina. He willingly embraced the challenge of it. Any minute now, he might be walking in heels in order to copy her rage-strut. Place him in front of Regina herself and it'd be like looking in a mirror. It irked Emma to no end.

"Okay…_You and I _need to talk about Henry." Gold lounged back in his seat, scrambling for a Regina-esque response. He folded his hands over his middle and tilted his head condescendingly. Emma groaned as he began to fluff his hair to emphasize Regina's narcissism.

"What's there to talk about? He's my son, even though you birthed him and honor better values than I do. I'll ignore that part for my own benefit. Where are my apples?" Emma wrung her hands together, one of her knuckles cracking. Gold eyed her expectantly. She exploded with a wretched sigh and dropped into the chair across from him.

"Yeah, I can't do this. But I need to do it for Henry. What am I supposed to say?" Gold immediately did away with the façade—such sweet relief—and leaned forward in his chair. He clasped her wrists and rubbed circles into her palms with his thumbs.

"The truth," he answered, squeezing her palms. "One of the countless variables that separates you from the likes of her. Be the better person. Just remember that her way of viewing the world, that mirror that she glowers into day after day, is a tad smudged and cracked. Have we finished with the impromptu acting lessons?"

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded. It was nearly time she headed out for the station, anyway. As he rose to his feet, she drew in close enough to place a chaste kiss on his lips. There would be plenty of time for longer exchanges later tonight—or three bottles of wine, depending on Regina's rage level.

Once he heard the door close, with Emma skating down the hallway faster than usual, he made his way to the freezer in search of that Toaster Strudel. Henry had introduced him to them not too long ago and it was the most delicious thing he tasted in the morning hours, next to Pop-Tarts and Emma's delectable flavor. He opened the freezer and ignored the vapor that seeped out in slithery tendrils as he scanned the contents, looking for the box…

Ah, there it was.

He grabbed it up, but it was much too light. There was something wrong here. He remembered there being another Toaster Strudel rolling around inside. He shook the box and then lifted it to his eye. And glared. This time he wasn't role-playing Regina. No wonder Emma was in such a hurry to escape the house this morning!

The last Toaster Strudel…was gone!

"_Emma!" _

…..

The phone call came out of nowhere, splitting across the silence of the shop.

The ear-piercing trill of the shop's decrepit phone startled Gold from his chair, so much that he landed on his funny bone on the floor. The impact ricocheted along his elbow and he growled in pain. Whoever was on the other end of that phone better have a good reason for the not-so-funny bruise he already felt sprouting.

He had been seconds away from an uneasy but much needed nap behind his desk. It had been impossible to get any sleep last night and it, disappointingly, had very little to do with Emma. _She_ had slept soundly. Combine that with his lack of a Toaster Strudel for breakfast and he wasn't in a very cheery mood.

Muttering curses under his breath, he limped his way through the black barricade and emerged into the empty front area of his shop. Honestly, he didn't know why he even bothered dragging his feet down here when there were never any customers. A tumbleweed should blow through any moment. The only people who came through that door were Emma, Regina during one of her emotional malfunctions, and Henry when he wanted to explore the wonders of his shop. Oh, then there were the people who complained and begged for an extra week in rent, their family pictures never too far from their pockets.

It was all for the sake of appearances.

"Yes?" He barked into the phone.

For what seemed like a century, there was nothing but silence. Gold gaped at the phone in his hand, wondering if this was an immature prank call. Who in this town would be daft enough to do that? He wished he possessed even an inkling of magic, so he could send a jolt of electricity through the phone and see if anyone was alive over there.

Gradually, the sound of heavy breathing invaded his ear.

"Boss?"

Gold winced as Danvers' abnormally shrill voice pierced the silence. The man didn't call very often, which meant his reason for calling now must be a dire, urgent one. Gold licked his lips in wary anticipation. Ten to one, it had to do with Regina. He recalled Emma practicing her proposal to Regina this morning. What if Regina had already made her move in claiming Henry?

"You're not going to believe this," Danvers continued, sounding quite nervous. Gold's nails scratched the glass of the cabinet as his fingers curled into his palm.

"A freak bolt of lightning set Regina's apple tree on fire? Shall I bring a bag of jumbo marshmallows?" If only. That would be one opportunity for s'mores that would never end. His voice lacked humor in exchange for cynicism. Danvers slipped back into uncomfortable speechlessness. "Can you hear me now?"

"You asked that I keep an eye on the hatter's 'daughter', just in case he decides to make contact with her," his bodyguard reminded him. He sounded guarded, holding something back. Secrecy was not included in his contract. The only reason Gold had divulged the hatter's "delusion" of Grace was to maintain that surveillance.

"And?" Gold's nerves tingled from the direction this conversation was heading. The hand that clamped over the head of his cane tightened until his knuckles hurt. He imagined running it through Jefferson's hat before impaling the hatter himself. "Has he?"

He restrained himself from grabbing his keys, locking up shop, and dashing down to the school. It was a good thing, too, since the next words out of Danvers' mouth were not the ones he expected.

"No, sir….but the Mayor has. She put a…looks like a playing card on the plate of the girl's bike," he explained dazedly. Obviously, Danvers did not know what to make of it, but he had enough sense to know it was suspicious behavior on Regina's part. It took all of two seconds for Gold to put two and two together.

"She's requesting a meeting with the hatter," he realized. Regina must know that Jefferson would keep close surveillance over his daughter. Of course he would—Grace was the only thing of value to him in this world. But why was Regina drawing him out of his hole? What did she hope to accomplish? What was she _planning_?

"Thank you, Danvers. Take the rest of the afternoon off. Enjoy a burger at Granny's, why don't you?" Gold ignored his bodyguard's cries of gratitude and disconnected, letting the phone fall into its cradle.

With purposeful strides, he burst through the curtain between the shop and the back room, nearly tearing it off its rings. He crossed the room and flung open the doors of a wooden cabinet. Inside was an assortment of items as he used this cabinet for personal storage. Matches, rolls of tape, extra suits folded in the corner should there be any accidents in his shop…

Gold's hand snaked inside and snatched up a pair of leather gloves. The pads of the fingers were a bit worn, but this was his favorite pair. He didn't want to risk getting his hands dirty. Flexing his elegant fingers, the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, he succumbed to the second skin of leather. He wiggled his hand to adjust to the restriction of the gloves.

Then he retrieved his cane and ventured toward the door of his shop, keys jingling in his pocket, a hint of urgency in his step. Jefferson might not have the foolishness to show up outside Grace's school, but his curiosity was always one of his weaknesses. Any concerned parent would demand to know why the town's deranged mayor was hanging around his child's bike. This was the next best thing, indeed.

Regina would cross paths with Jefferson and put whatever impulsive plan she concocted in her dark head into motion. The hatter would emerge from the shadows, once and for all. And when he did, he would have a nasty surprise waiting for him.

…

_**I have many readers to thank (mostly for their patience in waiting for this chapter): DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, Kim, Pommyth, csuecad, Revenessa, C.S. Tolkien, Lady-Shiroi, Nightshade's sydneylover150, liliesandroses, megumisakura, isara-love, deathbringer88, Newland Archer, la-stella-immortale, The-Writer2012, ParanormalMoonlight, discotimelord, sbcarri, The Auburn Girl, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Russian8once1psych7, reginamillz, FortunesFavour, PrincessofSea, SwanQueen4055, and Super-Twi-Harry-Heroes-Fan. Thanks, everyone! **_

_**For those reading my Rose Among Thorns story, I should have that updated early next week. I technically should be working on an English final, but I figured I would offer up this marvelous treat. **_


	54. Chapter 54

Jefferson stuffed his fists deep in his pockets as he shuffled out of Regina's office. His eyes were trained on the marble underneath his feet, but the whiteness of it blurred by until he barely registered it. His thoughts were frazzled, tangled, still stuck somewhere in Regina's office with her deadly smirk seared into his brain.

He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach—a rotten, bleak one that warned him of inevitably being set up by the Queen again. Some things didn't change, including Regina's compulsive yearning to make others suffer in excruciating torment for the sole purpose of a twisted mockery of happiness. Why should he even help her when he knew in his heart of hearts that there was only one way this story might end? He definitely didn't favor hurting Emma—he had put her through enough undeserved agony as it was.

He should reject Regina's demands and let Emma break the curse. It couldn't be far off now.

He absently passed through the front door and started down the path without turning back. But his feet slowed to a stop before he reached the end of the walkway.

He couldn't afford to reject Regina's demands this time. This was for Grace. If Regina was telling the truth—a big _if_ but not impossible—then it meant his story here would be rewritten to intertwine with Grace's. They could be together, even if it was under the implication of false memories. She wouldn't have to wake up with two sets of memories furiously battling for dominance inside her head. He could live with that.

But could he live with the price of trapping Emma, their savior, under a sleeping curse indefinitely? Of course, it would mean he was effectively taking her away from Henry with no certainty of a true love to wake her while he got his daughter back. And then there was her devoted husband, who already wanted his head on a platter…

It was funny that he was thinking about Rumpelstiltskin's legendary rage as he turned the corner of Regina's street, with the cemetery on his right. Regina had instructed that he meet her at the Mills' family vault in a half hour.

The only problem was that he suddenly felt his back slam against the wrought iron gate. Something solid pressed against his jugular, the pressure cutting off his air supply. A cane. Which meant…

"Ah, look who finally decided to show his face. What are you doing with Regina?" Rumpelstiltskin's menacing face loomed before him, his eyes glinting with fury.

Jefferson knew that wasn't the exact reason for Rumpel choking him with a cane, but the imp was always prone to curiosity and demanded answers on the heels of that curiosity. The cane made it impossible to speak; the only audible sounds flying out of Jefferson's open mouth were guttural, gargling noises. Rumpel loosened the cane a tiny bit, but not enough to warrant hope of escaping.

"You'll probably know soon enough. Regina never could resist gloating," he replied. Rumpel sneered at Jefferson's insolence, his teeth bared more wolfishly than Red's on a full moon. Had he ever been bitten? That might be a problem.

"Any last requests before this cane beheads you?" The cane dug into Jefferson's neck again, just for a second to remind him who held the aces here. Yeah, right.

"Yes. Let me go," he croaked.

It was worth a shot. Why did executioners insist on letting prisoners make last requests if there was only one of genuine importance? Besides owing a tearful goodbye to family members and loved ones, messages that he bet never truly went through. _Oh, yes, since I'm two seconds away from becoming your floor rug, might I have a spot of tea? With a lemon? Or how about a slice of Maine's finest fudge cake?_

Rumpel ground his teeth in annoyance.

"Any last requests…besides that one?" Point proven: when executioners ask for last requests, there are limitations. Executioners should be more specific.

"Let me live," Jefferson tried a different tactic. Maybe—with all ten fingers and toes crossed—Rumpel would only land him in the ICU. But that hope fled with all the others as Rumpel issued a deep-throated growl. The beast was terribly close to the surface tonight.

"Your privilege of last requests has been revoked," he snarled. Replacing his cane with his arm, he drew the cane back above his head, prepared to swing and ultimately crush Jefferson's skull beyond repair—

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jefferson rasped weakly, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably under the crook of Rumpel's elbow. The cane was still, hanging in the air without the cue to plunge. No blinding red pain in his skull yet. Jefferson started counting his blessings.

"Why is that? Give me one reason why I should spare your miserable life when you never extended the same courtesy to my child. I _dare_ you," he spat viciously. Was that rhetorical as well? Jefferson could barely think straight, what with the thin stream of oxygen traveling in and out through his nose.

"Because…"

No, he couldn't do it. It would be sacrificing the last hidden ace in his sleeve and he would probably be bludgeoned to death faster if he used it. Rumpel would assume he was pulling a fast one. It would also mean destroying Emma's happiness yet again. He deserved to die. He would be the first to admit it.

And yet…the words had a stubborn desperation of their own, commanding his tongue before his mind could prevent their release.

"Because Belle is alive," he gasped.

It was a long shot to think Rumpel might listen. For a minute that spanned centuries, those penetrating orbs of frozen earth scoured every inch of his face, searching for any indication of deception. The cane trembled in the air, uncertain of its target. And then, miraculously, Rumpel lowered the cane and dropped his arm from Jefferson's throat.

Jefferson could breathe! He could almost sing! He was alive, unscathed, and Rumpel actually believed him—

"_Whoo_! _Ah! Mother_ _of_ _Alice!"_ Every ounce of air in his lungs whooshed out, his body bent sharply at the waist before he helplessly fell to his knees on the pavement. Stars danced across his vision, fiery tendrils of pain shooting through his abdomen from the force of Rumpel's cane. Right where it hurt! "Hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hoo!"

That was it—that was what he was supposed to do, right? Breathe through the pain? Or was that…for…his wife's birthing exercises? She had done a lot of deep-breathing techniques when Grace was born.

Oh, gods, the world was upside-down! No, he was simply on his back, gazing unseeingly at the cloudy sky. Rumpel's shoe had connected with his stomach. Ugh, it felt like he needed his appendix removed. Or was that on the other side of his stomach? Could Rumpel even rupture his appendix? Jefferson couldn't hold onto a single strand of thought, though the pain down there was ebbing away.

The ringing in his ears—brought on by his own cries—subsided in time to catch Rumpel shouting.

"How _dare_ you use Belle against me! For that, your death will be all the more painful and slow," he threatened, his accent thick and voice strained raw from the sudden rise in volume. Just to prove it, he launched his foot back again. Jefferson had a fleeting thought of grabbing ahold of Rumpel's leg, but figured the imp would pry him loose with the cane.

"No, I'm telling you the truth! Belle is alive! The Queen has her locked up in Storybrooke and I know where she is!" He rolled over onto his side and coughed roughly, spittle flying over the cement. Rumpel's lip curled back from his teeth. He wasn't buying it, but maybe he was afraid to put his heart on the line.

"You're lying! Belle is dead! The Queen informed me—"

"And Regina has a perfect record of honesty, does she?" It was the exact card he needed to play. He stumbled uneasily to his feet and Rumpel let him. For once, his eyes were hazy but not from false memories. He studied Jefferson critically, calculating the odds that Regina had lied. About a 96 percent chance, right there.

"You're not exactly George Washington yourself," he snapped, though the danger had dulled. Jefferson detected the invading doubt just beneath the surface. No doubt Rumpel was replaying that moment of Regina's spun story, removing the trivial emotions from the equation, and finding more than one inconsistency.

"George who?"

Was that one of the cursed millions? Oh, he meant one of the presidents of this world that had his face presented on a coin. He was thankful their world didn't contain currency stamped with the kings and queens of their respective kingdoms. Who wanted Regina jingling in their pockets?

"Just think of everything Regina could do if she had your true love locked away for future reference. She has a sword hanging above your head and you don't even realize it. But someday that sword will fall and impale you worse than the day she convinced you Belle was dead."

The grimace on Rumpel's face deepened. His knuckles turned white around his cane. But all Jefferson was concerned about was the spark of intelligence smoldering in Rumpel's eyes. He knew Regina better than anyone; he knew what she was capable of.

Out of the corner of Jefferson's eye, a black shadow shifted. Oh, no.

"Duck!"

Jefferson latched onto Rumpel's tie and tugged him into a nearby bush. He pushed his hand atop the imp's head—how did he get his hair so feathery soft?—and shoved him down before burrowing into the greenery himself. Ooh, oh, thorns! From around the corner came a pair of sleek black stilettos that could only belong to one resident of this town.

Jefferson held his breath as Regina passed by their bush, squirming against Rumpel's body in a way he never wanted to repeat again. There was an ear-piercing creak of the iron gate, followed by a clang as it slammed shut again. Great; now he was late.

He kept his eyes closed and counted to one hundred in his head before poking his head from the bushes. Peering through the rails of the cemetery fence, he spotted Regina slipping into her vault. That woman would make painting her nails look suspicious, what with all the head-whirling.

"She's gone," Jefferson sighed and stepped from the bush. He plucked a few thorns from choice places where thorns should never be.

Rumpel tumbled out, his suit no longer perfect with the mess of leaves and twigs sticking out of the fabric. His hair was unkempt, his shoes splotched with dirt, and he sported a miserly glare as he brushed himself off. Jefferson wondered what Emma would make of her husband right now. Somehow, he didn't think 'playing in the bushes with Jefferson' would be a viable explanation.

"If you ever lay a finger on me that way again, I promise you'll regret it," Rumpel hissed as he corrected his tie. Jefferson cracked a smile, a funny thought coming into his head. It was that time of the day.

"That's what she said," he murmured. Rumpel's eyelids narrowed angrily. That cane turned a fraction of an inch in Jefferson's direction. Oops.

"You have the gall to make a quip? If you insist on such idiocy, I'm sure there are plenty of ways I can put that meddlesome tongue of yours to good use," he retorted. Jefferson bit down on the tip of his tongue to stifle another outburst. _That's what she said_, he cried out mentally. "Are you finished?" _That's what she said._ "I'll take your silence as a yes. Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes. Admiring the cane."

_That's…what…she…sa—ow!_

Just as before, Jefferson's back hit the wall and that cane blocked his throat once more. The imp was more graceful on his feet that he let on! He had to be faking. _Oh, not this nonsense again,_ Jefferson scowled silently. Or would have, if he could properly breathe. He gagged, which bought him a bit of space.

"Belle…is….alive," he repeated in slow spurts as he caught his breath. "Listen to me; I can reach her! I swear it." Jefferson would readily give his word, but he knew Rumpel didn't hold his word at much value. Still, there was that lingering doubt and the hesitation to make him kiss that cane.

"I'll humor you," he relented, though the cane maintained its position at the base of Jefferson's neck. "Where is she, then?" Jefferson rolled his eyes. The imp must really take him for a desperate fool.

"If I tell you where Belle is, you'll kill me and rescue her yourself. Consider this my bargaining chip. If you let me go here and now, I'll prove to you that Belle is alive. I can't return the unborn child I took from you, but I can return your true love. And if I'm lying—unlikely—then you'll still have Emma to please you and you'll kill me anyway. This town is a snow globe. I can't run anywhere."

Rumpel gazed into Jefferson's eyes, weighing the pros and cons. Then the cane dropped away and Jefferson's body slumped against the wall. He rubbed the soreness from his neck while Rumpel surveyed him as a hawk would observe its prey.

"Do not mistake that as a pardon, dearie. Your execution will be postponed by…shall we say…twenty-four hours? If you're telling the truth—unlikely—then I may reconsider mounting your head above my fireplace. But if you're lying, then I shall cross paths with you again. You don't know when, you don't know where, but I will. And with my fondness for you recently, your head may roll."

Jefferson's arrogance got the better of him now that he was more or less on borrowed time.

"Ha! Joke's on you. It already has." He hooked a finger into his cravat and tugged it down to reveal his grisly scar. Rumpel barely blinked.

"Yes, but have you ever been _nearly_ headless?" Jefferson gulped, imagining his head hanging by a thread. Rumpel turned and began to walk away, power cloaking his shoulders like a second skin. "Didn't think so."

…

Of all the conversations Emma did not want to have in her lifetime, this ranked at number three. Right underneath the conversation of how Gold was once mistaken for a woman from behind. She didn't even want to know which select few in Storybrooke were guilty of that one. Though, she always insisted his hair was getting too long nowadays. He didn't listen.

But this…this was bordering on uncomfortable. Any day now, she half-expected to hear Regina hissing '_my_ _precious'_ while rubbing Henry's head. The thought alone was disturbing. They were playing a rough game of tug-of-war with Henry in the middle and she was afraid his arms were tearing off at the seams. She had to fix it.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked on Regina's door. A second later, Regina opened it and stuck her raven head out into the sunshine. Her shining, ebony eyes inspected every inch of Emma, searching for a flaw, any flaw.

"Sheriff. Why are you wearing a skirt?"

Emma glanced down at the denim skirt hugging her hips and regretted wearing it for the fifteenth time. She'd gotten more catcalls on the streets than Ruby did in one hour of her shift. It was the only reasonable thing she had left to wear when her husband insisted on handling the laundry this morning. He still wouldn't let her near the washing machine ever since transforming his closet into Barbie's Fashion Extravaganza.

"Why are you wearing…?" Emma scanned Regina's body, but couldn't find one detail worth nitpicking. As always, the woman was dressed to perfection. She huffed in annoyance. "Regardless of what the magazines tell you, Regina, fashion police don't have any real law enforcement privileges," she retorted, dimming Regina's white-toothed grin. "I'm here to talk with you about Henry."

Regina stiffened visibly and it already gave Emma an answer about Regina's level of tolerance. This was going to go over swimmingly. "Can I come in? Or do you want this to be headline news in tomorrow's paper? Me visiting your house is as suspicious as the Joker going to confession."

It was with pursed lips that Regina consented enough to step aside and beckon Emma with sharp heels and a black glare into her cold abode. Emma mentally fist-pumped over her victory of convincing Regina to let her inside the sprawling manor. The mayor devoured it whole whenever someone's affairs were spread out over the headlines, but she never appreciated her own personal life being the talk of the town.

"Make this quick, Sheriff. I have something cooking in my oven and I am not in a pleasant mood," Regina declared coldly. She made the mistake of rubbing her palms down over her belly. Emma glanced at the mayor's abdomen with supremely wide eyes. "Not _that_ oven! I meant literally!"

"That's a first," Emma snapped back, bristling. "Here I figured pregnancy might explain your constant mood swings and I-want-to-kill-you-all attitude. But, no, that's just you." Regina clenched her teeth in anger. Electricity fired between them, a deadly duel of stares. Emma refused to blink and give Regina the satisfaction of winning.

"You mentioned my son?" Emma shifted her weight uncomfortably, biting back a harsh response. She had to be the bigger person here. The anger gradually dissipated, her muscles uncoiling under her leather jacket. Every word she practiced in front of the mirror and Gold vanished with it.

"You and I haven't exactly been on good terms. All we do is fight and Henry is dragged into the middle of it. Regina, our fighting needs to stop. The price will be Henry—he's only going to get hurt. We both want what's best for him, right?" The only answer was a firm crossing of the arms. Regina probably assumed _she_ was the best for Henry. "What's best for him isn't me leaving, despite what you think. It would be better for him emotionally if we were both in his life. To be honest, the world where I live without him no longer exists."

"My oven," Regina reminded her briskly. Emma tried to avoid looking down at Regina's belly again. The mayor made a swirling gesture with her finger: _get to your point._

"I'm proposing…shared custody," Emma finally blurted out. Regina's frown deepened. Not a good sign. "We share Henry. We're both part of his life, no competition on who wins him as a prize. You can have him every other day, every other weekend. During days I don't have him, I promise…" She swallowed the suffocating lump in her throat. This was harder than she thought it would be. Why did she feel like she was swearing fealty? "I promise not to have any contact with him. He's all yours."

Regina was silent for a long, tense moment. The air was heavy, humid, nearly choking off Emma's air supply as she waited for Regina's response. Her foot itched to tap on the marble floor. She willed the mayor to see reason—this was the most logical solution for Henry. A troublesome tic started in Regina's jaw and Emma felt the ship of hope sinking.

She was going to need a bigger boat.

"You mean, you and your _husband_ will have him every other day, every other weekend," she pointed out. Emma released her breath in a loud groan. Why did Regina have to be so difficult?

"Do you agree with it or not?" Regina reared her head back, having been struck speechless by Emma's verbal scorn. Her hands balled into fists, paling in their tension. God, she hoped she hadn't just screwed up any chance of making this work.

"Shared custody?" Regina spat it out, as if it tasted vulgar in her mouth. "I don't remember divorcing you, Sheriff. Or marrying you, for that matter." Emma cringed inwardly at the store of unsettling images in her mind. She wasn't so thrilled about joint custody with Regina, either. At least she wasn't paying child support to her.

Then something changed in Regina's aura. Her face lost its stony edge. Her fists blossomed, releasing the curled rigidity. Her chest heaved with angry breaths, but they were slowing in rhythm.

"But perhaps you're right. Perhaps this is best for Henry," she admitted.

A shrill beep pierced the air, coming from the kitchen. Regina spun on her heel and waved her fingers to gesture for Emma to follow behind. From the oven, Regina pulled out an apple turnover. She set it carefully on the island in the center of the kitchen before smiling widely at Emma.

And she always thought Regina's glares were enough to make children scurry under their covers. When she smiled…it was the stuff of nightmares.

"I changed my mind. I'm not as hungry as I originally thought. Feel free to have this, Sheriff," she offered, motioning to the steaming apple turnover. The aroma of freshly baked apples teased Emma's nose. "Consider it a token of my appreciation. I suppose you and I should start acting friendlier to one another for Henry's sake."

Regina retrieved a plastic container from one of her cupboards and plopped the apple turnover inside. She capped it with a plastic lid and held it out to Emma, who felt like she took a winding detour through Wonderland. Who was this woman and what did she do with the real Regina Mills?

"I do hope you like apple," Regina said.

Emma looked from the tempting turnover to Regina and back again. She wondered if this was some crude trick. But the realization kept resurfacing in her mind: she said _yes_. She had agreed to joint custody of Henry. This was going to work—Henry would be happy and she didn't have to run off with him. She could stay in Storybrooke, set down her roots, stay with Gold, be with her son.

Be happy.

It was an overwhelming battle waging inside her head. All she wanted was Henry's happiness. To do that, she had to allow Regina the chance to accept it. If she refused, it might shatter every inch of progress that may have been. It swelled in her heart to the point where she found her hands accepting the apple turnover.

"Thank you," Emma said. She meant it for more than the apple turnover and she placed enough emphasis on it so that Regina would understand. _Thank you for seeing reason. Thank you for letting me be with my son._

"My pleasure," Regina returned, flashing a pair of Colgate-commercial teeth.

Emma turned and swept from Regina's house, already preparing what to tell her son about the new arrangement. She wanted so much to make this true and finally bury the axe. Maybe she would leave some of this apple turnover for Gold. He always did claim that Regina's apple treats were to die for.

….

Gold was planning a trip.

His pen scribbled madly across the creased page of an old leather-bound journal that had gathered too much dust on the shelf. The ink flooded from the shaft and spilled fluidly with carefully constructed curves and dips, a decorative penmanship that belonged to another world. A swift river of thoughts poured from his active mind—the pen could hardly keep up.

First, he was going to find Bae. He didn't yet know how, but he would reunite with his son and do right by him. He had no idea whether he was going to be able to make up for the mistake he made in letting his son fall through that portal, but he was willing to try.

Then there was Belle. She had haunted his mind all afternoon.

Could it be true that she was alive somewhere in Storybrooke? For an instant, he closed his eyes, envisioned her sweet face as it was in that other land, and hoped. He shook his head, the image rippling away. No, he could not set himself up for that heartache again. He would give Jefferson his twenty-four hours and, when the hatter came up empty-handed, he would enjoy picking apart the fool piece by piece, thread by thread, limb by limb.

That chipped cup had been lost and forgotten. He had Emma and that was more than enough to lighten his heart. No, he had to keep the focus on his family.

Once stage one proved successful—finding Bae—then stage two would soon follow. A family vacation, of sorts. Just him, Emma, Bae, and Henry. It would be a good start to their future as a family. Oh, they would travel everywhere. Disney World, the Hershey factory, perhaps even overseas to Paris and Scotland. He would have his wife by his side, his two sons fidgeting in the back seat and bombarding him with the relentless question of _are we there yet?_ He would fly in an airplane for the first time since awakening from his cursed self, the engine rumbling beneath his shoes, the air pressure making his ears pop, the plane lifting off into the sky…

The chime of a bell interrupted his vision of flying over an endless ocean. The pen froze halfway through striking a line in a strict _t_, his body stiffening as it hunched over the book. He didn't even need to glance up to recognize the notoriously grating _click-clack_ of heels on the floorboards.

He resumed writing. The scratching of his pen was the only greeting she would get.

"No wonder the people of this town don't darken your doorway…among other things. I would say you're in danger of losing business, but you can't lose what you don't already have," her voice poisoned his ears with a slippery hiss, a rattlesnake poised to strike. He kept his eyes forcibly trained on what he was writing, his words slanting a tiny bit more than usual, but she kept on coming. Now her shadow was blocking his light. "I hope you bought travel insurance because no one's going anywhere."

Her lacquered cherry nail tapped the page of his journal, demanding his attention. His jaw locked painfully tight in irritation. Once he may have hoped that ignoring Regina would cause her to flee, but he learned a long time ago that she had no qualms about bugging him until he bit her hook. Regardless, he recorded a couple more notes involving the Tower of Terror.

"Oh, really? And why is that?"

Her smirk stank of deception and victory, the bitterest vinegar this world could offer. It hung above his head, penetrating his forehead in the hopes that he would be foolish enough to stare the dragon in the eye. He refused to meet her demands. This was his territory; she wasn't about to walk out with any satisfaction.

"I found a solution to my Emma problem."

Ah, so _this_ was the gloating period Jefferson was gagging about when his cravat was replaced with a curious cane-shaped object. He wondered if this was just another of the countless plans in her series of Plans A-F of Operation: Vanquish Emma. It was as probable as Wile E. Coyote catching that damned roadrunner.

But it was always amusing to humor and mock her while she thought herself on the winning team.

"And what solution would that be?" A ban on hot chocolate and cinnamon at Granny's? Using a crane to park her Bug on a roof? Raiding her closet and stealing her leather jackets? Doubtless that Regina could accomplish anything truly detrimental. It was why he would not grant her any consideration as he penned his list of vacation spots.

"An old, reliable solution." How very specific of her. Gold shook his head derisively, stifling a chuckle at her expense.

She had to be referring to something that once belonged to their world, if she was using Jefferson the Amazing Portal Jumping Extraordinaire. If she had tried reaching their land, it wouldn't work. There was no substantial quantity of magic here, if any at all. Besides, there had never been a reliable solution for Regina—she tried countless times to kill Snow White. The only time she ever came close to succeeding in being rid of her nemesis was—

No.

No, it wasn't possible. Not in a land without magic. This must be a conniving ruse.

She wouldn't _dare_.

"A sleeping curse," Gold muttered, finally lifting his head to gaze upon the Evil Queen. The triumphant gleam rippling deep inside those two black holes confirmed it. The journal and vacation plans were long forgotten; only the pen quivered in his ruthless grip as he fought to control his rising fury. "May I inquire as to how you obtained one in Storybrooke?"

She couldn't have. This must be a bluff or a delusion on her part. One too many screws knocked loose in her pretty head. Regina's spidery hand drifted to the hollow of her throat, where a chain ordinarily hung with that rusty scrap piece of metal her beloved stable boy had given her as a ring. Except the chain was missing.

"By sacrificing the last bit of magic I had left." It clicked inside his mind, the puzzle pieces fitting together to form a picture he did not want to visualize. This was Regina unabashedly choosing revenge over love yet again. The last token of her love for Daniel—gone.

"You made magic _from _magic," he mused. What a contradiction she had set up for herself. A dangerous move on her part, akin to fighting fire with fire. Regina would be burned beyond recognition. "Need I remind you that all magic comes with a price?" Oh, it was so close to the time of the curse being broken. He couldn't help but to complete his warning with his familiar arm flourish.

"Then you can pay it," she snapped impatiently. He grimaced. Oh, she would love that, wouldn't she?

But Gold knew that a world without magic would therefore not be very welcoming to the unnatural presence of magic. Magic would be different here, equipped with an unpredictable set of rules. Whereas Regina would have paid the price in their land by going bald or sprouting oozing warts or having her feet and hands rearranged on her body, in this world someone else would pay the price.

Either Emma would be expected to pay it…or Henry. His wife or his stepson.

"Let me get this straight, _dearie,_" he barked, to which Regina winced. The word _dearie _was anything but a term of endearment. Her eyes warily darted to the fountain pen still trapped in his unforgiving grasp. "You decided in that twisted little mind of yours that it was a brilliant idea to strut down here in your prim stilettos and gloat over putting my wife in a sleeping curse?"

Regina's glee faltered. Ah, so she did have a tiny bit of common sense, after all.

The mistake dawned on her, the fact that she had willingly and stupidly stumbled into the den of a fearsome beast. She took a hesitant step backward, as if he were about to lunge over the counter and tackle her to the floor. And yet, she was a defiant woman in thirst of power who never knew exactly when to quit.

"Are you afraid you'll fail to wake your precious wife with true love's kiss? You should be," she spat haughtily.

Faster than she could blink, he circled the counter and began to corner her. She retreated, but there was only so much space available to her. And the tip of that fountain pen was now aligned with her chest, thrusting forward like a sword.

"You threaten my wife, you threaten _me_," he warned icily, his feet matching her for every step. Fortunately for him, he had unnerved her so much that her way to the front door was now blocked. If she wanted to escape that way, she would have to get around him first. So she backed up until she collided with the desk. And still he kept coming, the distance between them shrinking. "All magic comes with a price. I'll let you in on a little secret. Your price in this world will be Henry. That means you're threatening my stepson. If you threaten my stepson, you threaten my wife. Which means, once again, you threaten me."

Regina gulped nervously, her skin tone fading to alabaster white. She arched her back against the desk, trying to put as much distance as she could between their bodies. An inch was afforded her, maybe two. But a cornered Regina was like cornering a werewolf—it would inevitably snap its jaws.

"_Please_, Rumpel," she retorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You and I threaten each other over tea time, rotten lemons and all. Hell, you and I threaten each other in our _sleep_. It's what we do. It would be suspicious of me _not_ to threaten you or your sacred family. A family, might I add, you don't even deserve."

With that, she hastily slipped off one stiletto and chucked it at his head. He reflexively ducked and realized too late that the heel was a guaranteed distraction from her real target. Her knee connected with his wrist, the fountain pen clattering and rolling somewhere beyond reach. Her bare foot shot out and kicked his cane out from under him, his body toppling to the floor. He landed on his bad leg and his teeth clamped down on his tongue until it bled to swallow the groan of pain. Regina leaped over his sprawled body like a professional hurdler, retrieving her lost stiletto. She didn't even bother stopping to slip it on, so she half-ran, half-hopped toward the door.

He'd be damned if he was going to let her get away.

Ignoring the brutal agony jolting through his thigh, he used the head of his cane to snag her foot and trip her. With the gold-filigree head still caught on her ankle, he dragged her back across the floorboards. An inch, maybe two, but it was enough to allow him access to her head as he crawled over to her fallen body.

Regina writhed and coiled beneath his weight, shifting around so that they were face-to-face. She yowled and bristled as he forcibly straddled her hips and his hands circled her throat, the muscles strung tight as piano wire from her cursing. Her nails attempted to gouge out his eyes, but his teeth threateningly snapped at the digits, forcing her to whip them away. She struggled to escape her fate, the pressure making her gasp, but Gold was nothing short of confident as he deliberately squeezed.

This was for his wife and stepson. Oh, who was he kidding? He should have done this a long time ago.

Her legs flailed wildly underneath him without being able to do any real damage; still, he tightened his thighs around her waist to stop her from squirming. Her arms rolled on the floor, her energy fading fast. Glossy red nails scratched his hands while the other one weakly batted the high heel at his side. He didn't care. He was winning.

That is, until the Queen had the smarts to launch the stiletto into the display case beside them.

Glass shattered as the shoe impacted it, sprinkling around their bodies. The hand that desperately clawed his fingers ceased fighting and shot out to reach something else inside the display case. It was the stuffed Mickey Mouse doll. Even something as childish as that was a weapon in Regina's hands.

Before he could react, she slapped him in the face with Mickey. Over and over again.

He coughed and turned his head but all he could see was a pair of googly eyes and an obnoxious smile as Mickey was shoved in his face. To remove his hands from her throat was to ultimately release her, but his grip was loosening now that she was thrashing his head with the doll.

"Will you stop that nonsense, woman?"

He couldn't help it. He tore his hands away from her throat to wrench the doll from her grasp. However, she stubbornly refused to be parted with her new weapon and tugged it down to her chest. He recoiled—there was not enough money in the world to make him touch _those._

A suspicious tearing noise overrode their heavy breathing and grumbling. A second later, Mickey's big-eared head came off in Gold's palm, the mousey body still clenched in Regina's cruel fist. Gold's body tumbled off of Regina, but he barely noticed landing on his funny bone. All he could do was gawk at Mickey's ravaged head and wave his hand underneath the exposed cotton stuffing. This was more frightening than Goldie's handiwork.

"You killed Mickey." _You bitch, _he thought cynically. Another of the countless millions Regina had destroyed. And this one didn't even deserve it!

Regina was never one to show remorse. Instead, she tossed Mickey's headless body over her shoulder as if he were nothing but a crumpled-up ball of paper. From the display case, she grabbed her shoe, dusted it free of glass, and slipped it on. He hurried to his feet, but Regina had other plans in mind. She seized the delicate tea set and began throwing tea cups at his head. It was an improvised game of dodge-ball. He scrambled, ducked, and dived. Not his tea set!

"Stop breaking my cups!" He roared on the top of his lungs.

"Stop trying to kill me!" She thundered back, pitching the whole tea kettle in his direction. He lurched to the left and the kettle was transformed into thousands of tiny shards and fragments. He glared darkly at her. Even though he didn't throw anything her way, she crouched. Then he noticed the object of her desire: his cane.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

Without his cane, he couldn't limp more than fifty feet before his leg gave out on him. He hobbled after her, but she dashed for the door, cane in hand. He swore audibly as the bell jangled, his leg cramping fiercely from the overexertion. Regina was gone. She'd probably be courteous enough to give up his cane—by selling it in a public auction.

He would kill her for this. But first, he needed a new cane. There was always an extra one in the ancient cabinet in the back room. Who knew whether his cane would splinter or break or go missing or otherwise face unexpected circumstances that would compromise its original use?

That ridiculous, infuriating, stiletto-wearing troll! His leg would likely hurt something fierce tomorrow. He teetered unsteadily on his feet and accidentally crashed into the display case, knocking a few more shards of glass loose. He planned to forward the bill for replacing the glass to her office.

Oh, there was a lot of damage Regina would pay for.

Before he did anything out of spite, however, he needed to get ahold of Emma and warn her about Regina's latest destructive plan, even if it meant revealing the truth about his nature. Would he be so forthcoming to her? Yes, he would, if it meant protecting her and Henry tonight. He wasn't prepared to lose them to the Queen.

Over his dead body. The Queen didn't have much chance of that.

He knew he should have killed the hatter when he had the opportunity.

Gold frantically dialed the station, but all he got was that message Ruby had installed on the answering system. He hung up and tried her cell phone, but it must have been dead. He called the house phone, but got the answering machine. He even tried Granny's in case she had stopped for food, but he received a verbal whiplashing from Granny herself about whether he thought she was a blind old bat when he asked _'are you sure?'_ And, no, he didn't need her to demonstrate her aiming skills.

He had nothing, no way of reaching Emma. Was she in the shower? Did he somehow miss her by a second and the answering machine picked up? Time was not on his side. He couldn't sit here and waste time playing phone tag. There was only one thing to do: he would have to run home and pray he got there before Regina reached Emma first.

"Ow, ooh, ugh," he moaned as he limped to the door, his new cane supporting his weight. It wasn't as sturdy as the other one. He cursed Regina's name the entire way.

…

Emma had taken extra measures to prepare for her upcoming serious talk with Henry. She had indulged in a long, hot shower until every inch of bare skin was redder than a lobster, if only to soothe her nerves. In front of the steamy mirror afterwards, she practiced what she would say to make him understand. She even tried using Goldie as a stand-in for Regina, a living breathing thing she could talk to, but the dog turned tail the minute she'd been cast for the role.

Now, she was just waiting for the kid to arrive. Time and again, she checked the clock on the wall. She called him twenty minutes ago and still no sign of him lurking anywhere. It usually took only five minutes to get here.

Finally, her shoulders slumped in relief as the doorbell rang.

"Took you long enough, kid. Was there traffic on the sidewalk? You know Archie never puts his blinkers on when he's walking Pongo," she teased as she flung open the front door to let her son inside. He greeted her with a relaxed smile and swerved around her body, his backpack hitting the ground as he rushed past.

"Sorry. The Queen came home earlier than she usually does. I think she got in a bar fight. One of the heels of her shoes was broken, her hair is worse than the Bride of Frankenstein, and there are red marks around her throat," he said. Even though he shrugged it off, she detected a hint of concern. It was still his adoptive mother, after all.

Emma couldn't say she was surprised over Regina's predicament. _What do you know? I figured one day she was going to get her ass royally handed to her in an alley. That's what she gets for stealing married men and throwing erasers at the people who sleep through her town meetings. Gold has plenty. _

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Henry looked up at her expectantly, innocent and pure. "Are we planning Mr. Gold's birthday party? I drew up sketches of the backyard and everything we could do with it. Do you think he would approve of a shark tank?"

Only if he could dangle Regina on a rope above it with a remote in his hand that would lower and raise it accordingly. Emma immediately shook the amusing scenario away. Thus was not the reason she had asked Henry to come over at all. This was supposed to be the time where she agreed to tolerate Regina, not mince her into shark kibble.

"Henry, there's something serious that you and I need to discuss," Emma said, wringing her hands together until the knuckles cracked. She still had no idea how Henry would take this news. Knowing Regina, she didn't mention a word of it yet; no, she would just wait for Emma to handle the dirty work. _Oh, so _now _I'm his mother, right? This is starting to feel more and more like a divorce to me. _"You might want to sit down."

The color drained from Henry's face. He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, his hands gripping the edges like a kid at the highest point of a roller coaster and bracing himself for the plunge.

"Did something happen? Is someone dying? Is my stepdad dying? He once told me that I could help write his will!" Henry's face twisted up in despair. Emma perched on one knee and caught him by the shoulders. She wondered if she was included in that will or if he planned to give everything—house, car, shop, suits, riches—to Henry. With Gold's sense of humor, he'd leave her their marriage bed and his cane.

"Henry, no one is dying, least of all Gold. Trust me; he's bound to outlive the entire town population, except for Granny. I guarantee those two will be the last to go." The only two people left in Storybrooke—how would Gold feel then? Alone in a town with Granny? Granny would devour him whole. _Come here, Scotsman. Your cane vs. my gun. _

"Are you moving? There aren't many places for sale in Storybrooke. You and Mr. Gold could live in the clock tower, but I don't think he'll like the clock waking him up every morning. And if he trips on the stairs, that's a long way down," Henry said.

"No, Henry, we're not moving. In case you haven't noticed, Gold is a teensy bit protective of his property. He even barks at the mailman more than Goldie."

Henry's face contorted with confusion as he scrambled to come up with other possibilities for a serious talk. The silence grated on Emma's nerves. The best way to go about this was to come out and say it.

"Henry, I visited Regina this afternoon and I think she and I have reached an agreement on how you should be cared for. Regina and I have agreed to have shared custody of you," she announced. She rocked back on her haunches while she waited for his response. The confusion flowered into thoughtfulness, his hands relaxing on the edges of his chair.

"So, you're not planning on divorcing my stepdad and leaving Storybrooke? You're…kind of…divorcing my adoptive mom?"

Emma hung her head. It was not a divorce! Two people with emotional problems could share custody of a child they both called their own without signing divorce papers! She could only imagine how Sidney would paint this picture in his newspaper.

"It's the best solution for you. I'll have you every other day and keep you every other weekend. During the days and weekends Regina has you, I just won't be able to see you. You're hers. This is serious, Henry—this means you don't skip school, you don't try to clone yourself, and you don't climb out your bedroom window to spend time with me when you're supposed to be with her."

But Henry was already shaking his head negatively.

"You're giving in to her! You can't trust her! She is the _Evil Queen_. She would never agree to share me with you. Emma, she wants you dead, remember?" Emma shot to her feet and groaned to the high heavens. This was going to be harder than she first assumed.

"Do you want me to make Gold write up an official contract for this? I'm pretty sure he would abuse his power and put in some loophole about how we get you _every_ weekend and every documented holiday including Smile Day. Then he would claim it was a slip of the pen or a trick of the ink and Regina's hair would frizz worse than Princess Merida's in her rage."

Henry was adamant. He jumped to his feet and threw his arms around her middle, nearly knocking her over.

"You can't listen to her! Please, Emma!" She rubbed a hand across his back to calm him down. Her kid was really hung up on her impending doom. All of a sudden, he straightened up and ceased his embrace. That was fast. "Where did you get that?"

He was staring fixedly at something past her body. She turned and instantly spotted the apple turnover, still sealed in the plastic container. Emma had momentarily forgotten about it. Why was Henry eyeing it so intensely? It wasn't in the manner of licking his lips, exactly; it was something far more serious and alarming.

"From your mom. I was saving it for Gold and I to share, but you can have a bite. Just don't ask me to deal with Gold's temper tantrum when he hears someone else had the first bite," she said.

Henry was beyond listening, stuck in some unexplainable, captivating trance. He slipped around her and approached the container with caution. Flipping off the lid, his nose hovered an inch or two above the turnover and he inhaled deeply. Emma watched a few paces away, wondering what was going on in her son's head to make him act so odd. Another generous inhale…and then he spun around, eyes wide as tennis balls in what could only be panic.

"Apple!" Emma was glad to see Henry wasn't susceptible to allergy season. His nose was working properly, anyway.

"I forgot you have a vendetta against apples," she murmured. Another staple to Operation: Cobra. In fact, that was rule number one of the operation and something he had stressed to her ever since the day after she agreed to stay in town: avoid apples at all costs.

Ignoring everything she said, he observed the apple turnover as he would a deadly snake in a box.

"You can't eat that! It's poison!" _And here we go, _she thought miserably. This was about Snow White again. Here she thought the Evil Queen only poisoned others with an apple, not an apple turnover. This must be the new and improved rendition of the Evil Queen. "I was right. Don't you see? The only reason Regina agreed to your idea was so she could get you to eat that! It's one of her tricks, I know it."

Henry whirled and snatched up a ladle, preparing to bring it down over the dessert. Emma reached his side in a split second and grabbed the wooden spoon from his clenched fist. He pouted in disapproval.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You are not murdering a perfectly good apple turnover." Besides, Gold would sense it and he'd be as broken as that turnover. The man had a sixth sense for more than just deals in this town. Henry scoffed at her, his mouth falling open and gaping.

"Good? Emma, this is her way of getting rid of the savior. In case you've forgotten, that's you!" Like she needed the reminder. She shoved the ladle in a drawer and closed it more forcefully than she intended. This nonsense about evil witches and curses had to stop. She had known for a while that it had reached a dangerous level and it caused Henry undue distress.

"Henry, come on! Why would she poison me when I just assured her that I wasn't stealing you away? I told her that she could still be part of your life. How is that threatening?" Henry's eyelids narrowed in sharp irritation. He seemed to be at the end of his rope, same as her.

"Because as long as you're alive, you're a threat to the curse. Shared custody is not going to change that."

Emma kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. The kid refused to back down, ultimately bringing them to an impasse. There was nothing else to do except show him the truth, show him the faultiness of his fantastical logic. He wasn't like her so much that he required cold-hard evidence to believe in something—hence the curse—but if she showed him that there was no harm to the apple turnover, then he would have no choice but to drop the matter. Or use his allowance to hire Danvers to trail her and make sure she didn't drop dead on the job.

"I'll prove it to you," she stated, striding to the apple turnover. She took it into her hands, but Henry became frightened enough to take it from her. She was not in the mood to play _Hide the Dessert. _Henry kept his distance, the turnover precariously close to his mouth. Even better—if he ate it, he would realize first-hand that there was nothing wrong with it.

And yet, the way he looked at her tugged painfully on her heart. Disappointed, sad, determined. In that instant, he was far beyond his ten years of life, having been unfairly shaped and molded from the loneliness he had spent in this town.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. You may not believe in the curse, or in me. But I believe in you."

There was no turning back now. He opened his mouth and ferociously bit down on the apple turnover. Chew, chew, chew…swallow. Emma remained still as stone, watching him as he blinked. She knew he was sensing around for any distinct change. No damage from what she could tell. No ruptured organs, no strange discolored lumps, no instant zombie…..

Nothing.

"See? Now, do you want to dip into Gold's stash of ice cream? I promise not to tell him it was—"

The effect was instantaneous. One minute Henry was looking back at her with lucid, if not frustrated, eyes. In the next breath, his legs crumpled beneath his body, his knees buckled, his small form collapsed against the floor. The apple turnover tumbled from his limp hands.

"_Henry!" _

It was the only external response she could give. Her legs refused to answer to her brain's commands, no matter how hard she willed them to move. Her nerves grew numb as if coated with impenetrable black ice. All she could do was stare in horror at her son's unmoving form. From here, he was hopelessly tiny and fragile. _No, no, no. _

The front door burst open, followed by Goldie's sharp nails on the stairs as the dog bounded across the floor to sniff at Henry's nose. Not even a twitch of an eyelash. Was he even breathing?

The cacophony of noises—the door bouncing back against the wall before slamming closed, the rush of footsteps in the hall, Goldie's insistent yapping—awoke Emma to reality.

In the span of a second, she was kneeling next to Henry and gathering him up in her arms, the safest place he could ever be in Storybrooke. Water dripped down onto his cheeks, but it wasn't raining inside; how ridiculous was that? Then she realized she was crying and the skin under her eyes was sore from the salty moisture. She swept his hair off his forehead, silently willing him to open his eyes. God, he was so pale! He might have been a porcelain doll instead of her son. And it was all because…because…

Because of that apple turnover. The one Regina had so kindly offered her.

"Talk about three centuries later! Who needs to listen to Taylor Swift when there's an emergency? I need an ambulance sent to my house immediately…for my stepson. What do you mean: who is this? Who the hell prank calls the hospital? You owe rent to me once a month and you don't recognize my accent yet? Idiots."

She didn't know how much time passed. She wasn't aware of anything but Henry. Firm hands clasped her shoulders, which she realized were trembling. A sob caught in her throat, thick and hot. She didn't notice her husband kneel beside her. It was something he never did because it always hurt his leg too much. Gently yet insistently, he guided her into his arms with Henry cradled between them.

Their son. She had already lost one child; she instinctively knew that her heart was not built to withstand that torment a second time. This was _Henry_. Gold placed a hand on Henry's head and closed his eyes, silently mourning. This couldn't be the end. _No, no, no…please. _

Emma couldn't think about moving, even though her knees were starting to ache from pressing against the kitchen floor for so long. She couldn't think about anything except the apple turnover. She should have let Henry smash it to pieces. _Do you believe now, Emma? _Her green eyes locked with Gold's never-ending dark ones, a newborn fury burning. It matched the ache in her chest.

"_She_ did this, didn't she?" Emma never had to acknowledge the slight dip of Gold's head to find the answer. _Damn you, Regina. _

…..

_**I want to thank DaesGatling, Huntress4455, discotimelord, FortunesFavour, Revenessa, megumisakura, BundyShoes, Newland Archer, DragonRose4, ParanormalMoonlight, sbcarri, The Auburn Girl, SwanQueen4055, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, yuiop, Nightshade's sydneylover150 and reginamillz for their great reviews last chapter. **_

_**What have I got cooked up for the S1 finale? Oh, you'll enjoy it, I promise. (-; **_


	55. Chapter 55

Tonight.

The curse would be broken tonight. Either that, or early tomorrow. Sometime within the next twenty-four hours.

He may not possess the foresight via mind-consuming visions in this world, but he was still able to sense changes in their little bubble called Storybrooke. It had been happening with increased frequency lately. A fleeting notion would pop into his mind—pure instinct, perhaps—and he never doubted its validity. Opening his mind, as Jefferson called it. Getting in touch with his inner self, Archie dubbed it.

It hit him out of nowhere.

Maybe it was the sleeping curse-spiked apple turnover or the fresh rage scorching Emma's glistening green eyes that suggested she was inches from picking up a pitchfork and going out on the warpath…but he felt it deep in his bones. Tonight was the night everything changed. This was the beginning of the final act of a play that had carried on for 28 years.

He wondered morosely if this was also the night he would have to say goodbye to Emma. Not because there was a chance the final battle with Maleficent would take her life, but because of his true identity. If she were to become a believer, it meant she would also realize who he was and what he was capable of. Over the past few months of their relationship, she had embraced the role of being Gold's dear, darling wife. There was no questioning her attraction.

But would she consent to be the wife of Rumpelstiltskin? He didn't know for certain, but he prepared his heart for the worst, anyway. He'd suffered through too many empty relationships and broken hearts to hope for anything remotely promising. Emma was capable of love, there was no doubt about it, but did he deserve it? Or would she still stand by him as his wife with tender kisses and crumbled walls?

He didn't know. And that uncertainty scared him worse than if Death knocked on his front door.

He miserably watched as medics rushed through his door with a stretcher and placed Henry on it. A sterile blanket was tucked around his limp body, his hands snow white atop the already too-white fabric. An oxygen mask was strapped over his nose and mouth, the oxygen assisting him to breathe where his natural instincts failed.

Emma barked questions at the medics, waving the apple turnover in their faces, her hand never leaving the rail of Henry's stretcher. The medics zipped the turnover away in a plastic bag for consideration, but Gold could tell they weren't putting much stock in the _Madame Mayor poisoned my son _theory. Emma had to insist three times that Henry didn't have a food allergy.

He wondered if Regina had generously lined the medic's pockets recently.

"Are you coming?"

Gold removed his eyes from the back of the medic's head that was currently loading Henry in the back of the ambulance. Could he possibly jostle that stretcher any more than he currently was? He might as well do it himself.

He reluctantly met his wife's stony gaze. Emma's tone had been sharp as a razor's edge, demanding, implying that there was no time to be wasted. _The voice of a savior, _he thought wryly.

"You go on ahead with Henry," he insisted, flicking his wrist toward the ambulance. Emma narrowed her eyes accusingly. He would have liked to accompany her and comfort her…maybe hold her back from Regina so he could lash at her himself…but time was precious. There were many preparations he needed to undertake for Emma's sake. "My bedside manners leave something to be desired. You need to be there for Henry. I'll grieve in my own way."

Emma latched onto the crook of his elbow, her gaze burrowing into his own. He wished he could tell her that Henry would be alright, but he never liked to lie to Emma. At this moment, Henry's fate hung in the balance. On the outside, he was calm and calculating as always, never breaking Emma's stare. On the inside, he was fearful and ready to curl into a ball in woe for his stepson.

He had a powerful urge to inform her of the sleeping curse, but figured it would do more harm than good. Emma was stuck in the state between believing and denying—the truth had to be discovered and accepted on her own terms. If he reinforced it, shoved it in her face, the spell would break and Emma would surely slip into denial once more.

And then he would lose her for good. Henry would die by Regina's hand and there would be little hope of retaliating against her wrath.

Emma must have realized he wasn't budging since her hand fell away from his arm. She sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth and started for the ambulance.

"I'll call you when I know more about what's going on with Henry," she tossed over her shoulder. If his instincts were correct, he would bet every cent of his name on it. He murmured a solemn _thank you _to show his gratitude; he could tell she heard it by the small shift of her head.

"Emma," he called her attention back. She half-turned, one foot on the inside of the ambulance as she prepared to jump into the back with Henry. There was a moment of tense silence as he chose his words carefully. This time, it was his stare that remained unbroken. "Would you still prefer I not kill Regina?"

Emma held her tongue, but he read the answer easily in her eyes—a dark vow of vengeance for her child. A deadly strength writhed through her muscles that Regina had no idea how to anticipate. He remained standing on the street until the ambulance's lights faded around the corner, confident of the newly awakened fire he had glimpsed.

Asking whether he was liable to kill Regina was the wrong question, regardless of the thirst for revenge he nurtured. If Regina was smart—doubtful—then she would steer clear of the hospital tonight. If Emma crossed paths with her, there was a chance his wife would do the town a favor and kill her first.

Now, he just had to remember the last place he used Charming's sword…

…..

"Magic…"

The word slipped through Emma's lips before she could stop it.

It was ridiculous, insane, impossible. Yet, Emma was somehow unable to quit burning holes into Henry's leather-bound storybook with her eyes. Part of her insisted that there must be a logical explanation for Henry's crisis, maybe Regina poisoning him, but she knew deep in her heart that Henry was only collateral damage. That apple turnover was meant for her.

Something extraordinary took root in Emma's mind, a kind of openness that she had been hesitant to possess before. Henry had been trying to tell her….

She took the heavy storybook into her arms, her nails tracing the elegant gold script on the cover. _Once upon a time…_Something flashed inside her head, consuming every lobe of her brain until she no longer existed in that stuffy hospital room.

It was an image of a woman with delicate features cradling her newborn baby to her chest, small crystalline tears sliding over her flushed cheeks, willowy black hair spilling over her shaking shoulders. A woman whose face strongly resembled Mary Margaret's. The baby was wrapped in a knitted blanket, purple thread spelling out the baby's name: _Emma. _Long-lost words whispered in her ear. _You have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe. We have to give her her best chance. We have to believe that she'll come back for us! _

The flashes increased in speed and frequency, speeding by before Emma could concentrate on them. Her legs were numb—no pins and needles sensation or wobbling Jell-O weakness. They just weren't there. Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding against her skin. She had no idea which way was up or if that falling sensation that descended upon her was simply her stomach plummeting.

All she could do was witness the memories unfolding before her eyes.

A prince—no, her father—defending himself against several guards with funny-looking helmets. Swords clanged together, her father swinging his impressively while holding her as a baby in his arms. Another flash: this one of an elaborate wooden wardrobe and her father placing her inside. A kiss on the forehead, a trail of tears staining his cheek. _Find us…_

The departure of the flashes was like a mental shove, causing Emma to stumble back a few paces. She blinked a couple times, fighting through the foggy disorientation that had temporarily plagued her senses. The storybook still pressed to her chest and she studied it with renewed awe.

It was real. Everything Henry had told her was real. The curse, her parents, the wardrobe…She was the savior. Her son had been poisoned because of the threat she posed to the curse. Poisoned by—

"Where is my son?" An irritating clacking of heels, matched with a brutal iciness that no winter could hope to bring about. _Her_. This was all because of her. Emma knew it now, without a shadow of a doubt.

And Regina was going to pay for it dearly.

"You did this," Emma grumbled. The book was thunderous as it slammed down on the table. Whirling on her heel, the color black flooded every corner of her vision. It was the only thing she could recognize: black, black and more black. Regina was the epitome of darkness.

Emma didn't even bother to give her a warning—she was done playing Regina's mind games. She harshly latched onto a limb and dragged Her Majesty off to a supply closet. Regina struggled in her grasp, but Emma's strength might as well have been inherited from the Hulk. The door burst inward under Emma's touch and Regina followed suit, her body slamming into a shelf of medical supplies. Syringes, bandages, and tongue depressors scattered the floor among Regina's black stilettos.

Then the tables officially turned. Emma became Regina's worst nightmare.

It was devastating enough that Henry lay unconscious in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask required to help him breathe, but her newfound belief only fueled her fury. Before Regina could even turn around, Emma's hands clamped onto her shoulders and launched her into a metal cabinet. Regina wriggled aimlessly in hopes of balancing on her feet, but Emma generously supported her by gripping her shoulders, pinning her to the cabinet. Regina scowled.

"This is the second time today!" Emma ignored the red marks and darkening bruises on Regina's neck. Her fist connected with the space directly next to Regina's ebony head, making her jump. "What the hell are you doing? My son—"

"—is sick because of you," Emma shouted furiously. Her nails dug into Regina's shoulders and her muscles quivered with rage. Everything that went wrong in this town was because of her. "That apple turnover you gave me? He ate it!"

The breath was released from Regina's lungs in one powerful whoosh, her body deflating under Emma's hold. Raw fear darkened her eyes as it never had when Emma was throwing her around this closet. For a moment, she did not seem like a benevolent Evil Queen, but a shell of the tyrant she was.

"What?" Regina blankly stared at the linoleum tiled floor, unable to compute what Emma was shouting at her. Though Emma might appreciate the emergence of emotion for Henry, she had no time or patience for it.

"Fix it! Wake him up!" Emma shook Regina's shoulders violently, that dark head lolling against the cabinet. Regina blinked at her dazedly, cheeks flushed with shame. If Emma had her way, Regina would never live this failure down.

"I can't," she admitted, reclining her head with a dull _thunk_ on the cabinet. Emma's fingers tightened on Regina's shoulders until the mayor squirmed. "I used the last bit of magic I had in order to obtain that sleeping curse. Besides, he wouldn't wake up even if you dumped ice water on him. Magic is different here; it's unpredictable. It doesn't belong in a world that is built to survive without it. It was meant for you, not him."

There it was—the plain, hard truth. Everything was real. Henry had been right.

As quickly as it had come, the fight rushed out of Emma. Her grip on Regina's blouse loosened until her hands dropped limply to her sides. She began a restless pace within the tight perimeter of the storage closet, mentally translating everything Regina hadn't had the courage to say aloud. Her hand shook worse than a caffeine addict who missed their morning cup of coffee.

_Henry…no…_

"You mean…Henry could actually…" _Die? _

The last word peppered her tongue, but she clamped her lips shut to prevent its escape. It would be the equivalence of opening Pandora's box. Maybe it was superstitious at best, but she was genuinely afraid that voicing that heart-wrenching possibility would solidify it and seal Henry's fate. Water pricked her eyelids and her throat constricted.

And Regina nodded.

No, she refused to let Henry slip through her fingers without a decent fight. Not after everything they'd been through since he first knocked on her door in Boston. She hadn't known it then, but that night turned out to be one of the best nights of her life.

"We need help," Regina decided, pushing away from the cabinet. Her hand was pale and folded in front of her as though she were clutching an invisible string of rosary beads. "There's only one other person in this town who is aware of the truth."

Emma froze in the midst of her stride, the answer hitting her with the force of a wrecking ball. There was no question of the identity of the person swimming in Regina's mind. Her husband. She hadn't even stopped to consider his true nature. There were never any pictures or concrete details about his character in Henry's book, either.

"Gold," she heard herself whisper. Regina pursed her blood-red lips.

"Actually, he goes by Rumpelstiltskin."

Of course. That was exactly what Henry always insisted every time he visited their house or snuck out of his room late at night to visit or watch a movie with them with Regina unsuspecting. Then Emma's brain did somersaults as she began to understand the implications of this curse.

"I'm married to Rumpelstiltskin. I am the _wife_ of _Rumpelstiltskin_," she exclaimed in disbelief. For the first time since Emma had dragged her off, there was an old hint of menace in the depths of Regina's eyes.

"You have my condolences."

…

Emma never remembered the walk to Gold's shop being so dreadfully long. It wasn't simply the fact that Regina was forced to accompany her, either, though it seemed Regina had a lot of pent-up issues about how this world worked. It was _expensive transportation _this and _total lack of fashion sense _that. _Nauseating air _this and _ridiculous holiday traditions _that. Apparently, she had a thing against ironing boards, too.

She didn't know which she preferred: Regina's jabbering or the discomforting thought of confronting her husband. Henry had once told her a theory that she was married to Rumpelstiltskin—his codename the Limping Imp—but she had scoffed at it along with everything else.

But now…it was tough to wrap her mind around, yet there was no use denying it. As much as it shocked her, it hardly altered her feelings for him. Even as she pictured his familiar face, she felt the corners of her lips lifting. All those months and precious moments had been real for her. There was no forgetting them just because the truth came out. He was still her husband, the man she fell in love with. She would have to get used to the change of events.

After she saved her son.

Regina reached the entrance first. She pulled the door open and glided through as if she owned the place, her dark eyes scanning the shop for its mysterious owner. Surprisingly, Regina's palm lingered on the glass of the door, propping it open as Emma approached it. The alarms rang in Emma's head. There was no way Regina was suddenly experiencing a change of heart.

"Thank y—" Emma didn't have time to finish before Regina abruptly released her hold on the door. It connected with the side of Emma's head, shoving her forward into the shop. She groaned in discomfort and glared daggers into the center of Regina's back.

"My mistake," the mayor snidely shot over her shoulder. Emma slammed the door closed, the disgruntled sound of the bell screeching through the shop.

"I thought you and I were going to start acting nicer to each other. Oh, right, I forgot. That was before you plotted to get rid of me and before you put my son under a sleeping curse," she retorted, grinding her teeth in irritation.

She despised Regina's everlasting collectiveness while she had a demanding urge to punch the wall until her knuckles bled. But for all her deadly self-control, Regina was bothered enough by Emma's accusations to pause and rotate in her direction. Those vile lips were twisted in a frown and a vein threatened to pop from her forehead. In the blink of an eye, she was in Emma's face, violating the contours of Emma's personal bubble. She was so close that Emma noticed a faint groove above Regina's upper lip when she sneered.

"I must have hit you with that door harder than I assumed, Sheriff. He's _my_ son, remember? Not yours." _Still holding onto that security blanket, I see, _Emma thought cynically. She barely flinched under the imposing danger of Regina's tone. For so long, she held her tongue and stifled her remarks for Henry's sake. No more.

"You forfeited your claim to Henry the minute you offered me that apple turnover, Madame Mayor," she hissed. Regina did flinch. Maybe she sensed the awakened power churning through Emma's veins as richly as her own blood. In any case, she took a careful step back.

"Did you ever consider that this is _your_ fault, not mine? If you had accepted that apple turnover as I thought you did, if you had eaten it as intended, Henry wouldn't be in that hospital bed. It should have been _you_."

Emma came supremely close to introducing Regina to her little friend, Right Hook. How did this nonsense even amount to logic to Regina? If it weren't for Regina's insecurity and sociopathic nature, Henry wouldn't be in that hospital bed. It wasn't her fault, it couldn't be.

"Don't make me drag you back to that supply closet," Emma muttered.

Regina opened her mouth wide to protest, but her words were immediately silenced by the terrible scream of the metal rings as the black curtain slid aside to reveal Gold in all his elegant glory. It was about time. Was he standing behind the curtain and eavesdropping?

"Ladies, ladies. No need to argue over little ole me," he purred. Regina pretended to stick a finger down her throat, but he ignored her dramatic air.

There was a noticeable spring in his step and he was leaning a little less on his cane. Even so, Emma sensed there was an internal struggle waging just beneath the surface, a blunt pang of ache ricocheting through his brown eyes for Henry. This was an act, a mask to shield his emotions.

His fingers danced over an unfamiliar, slender black box that rested on the counter. The placement of it—front and center—warned her of its importance; there was a reason it was presented here before them so directly. Everything Gold did had a reason. His eyes sharply locked with hers and it was incredibly similar to the early days of their relationship. He was doing that soul-peering thing, the chill of his stare seeping into her bones. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, though his eyes reflected a deeper message: _finally. _

"Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?"

He spread his palms on the counter and loomed toward her with the swiftness of a snake. There was no way to break his powerful gaze as he studied her smoldering eyes. She had a feeling he was searching for the spark of life that only belonged to the Enchanted Forest and his fingers gently grasped her hand when he found it. Only for a moment and then his touch had disappeared, almost as if he were afraid she would recoil first.

"So, it's true. You're Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed in childlike wonder. The corners of his mouth rose an inch, though he was anything but happy.

"The one and only, my dear," he whispered. Regina brusquely cleared her throat to draw his attention, interrupting before he could touch Emma again or exchange another mournful look. Unforgiving coldness swept into his brown eyes as he sharply switched his focus to the Queen.

"Shall we get on with it? Or would you rather reacquaint yourself with your husband on top of the counter?"

Deliberately, Gold veered most of his body toward Emma and his fingers deftly caught the zipper on her leather jacket. He tugged it down an inch or two to expose Emma's milky flesh underneath, much to Regina's horror. Emma's cheeks heated as he licked his lips hungrily.

"Don't tempt me, dearie," he warned the Queen, complete with a suggestive wink. The zipper descended another inch.

Regina grimaced, her lips curling back from her teeth in pure disgust. As much as Emma would enjoy fantasizing about her intimate activities with her husband—stretching out atop the counter with Gold straddling her hips and his mouth on her throat—she swatted his hand away from her jacket. It was time to get down to business.

That was before she spotted the disfigured Mickey Mouse doll on the counter. She gestured to it wordlessly, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

"This is your way of grieving? Ripping Mickey's head off?" He was obviously spending too much of his time with Goldie. She gaped openly at her husband while Regina snickered.

"Correction: it was the Evil Queen in the pawnshop with the stiletto," he quipped, thrusting a finger at Regina. Emma gawked at Mickey's headless body, then Regina's shiny black stilettos, then the shattered display case she had ignored previously. She couldn't blame him for smashing his cane through a glass case, but Mickey? Regina whipped her hair and snorted in disagreement.

"In my defense, the _wench_ tripped me," she spat.

"Oh, look at that. Your mother decided to join us," he announced mockingly. Regina's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and she spun toward the door. There was nothing there. However, when she angrily whirled around again, she found Gold's finger directed at her chest. Regina growled. "Ooh, now I see the resemblance!"

"How dare you! I am nothing like my mother!" Gold remained unconvinced. Emma personally never wanted to meet Regina's mother. If Regina was this bad, what was her mother like?

"Have you glanced in a mirror lately? Specifically sometime in the decade before the curse?" Regina leaned over the counter, scowling. She made a grab for his suit, but he easily flitted from her touch.

"Are you insinuating that I'm no better than my mother?" Gold looked offended. Emma rubbed her fingers over her temples.

"No, of course not. I'm not insinuating anything. I'm _saying_ it."

"Enough!"

Even Emma appeared surprised by the command that bellowed from her lips. It was spoken in a way that demanded to be heard, issuing forth in the tone of a mighty ruler. Regina eyed Emma up and down, as if just realizing the extent of the threat she posed. But Gold looked upon her with something like pride.

"Ah, yes. Where are my manners? I forgot we were standing in the presence of a princess," he drawled, capturing her hand and sensually bringing it to his lips. A tingling sensation fluttered through her stomach, but she took her hand back from his mouth.

No more distractions. The longer they stood here arguing, the more they gambled with his life. Besides, there was no way in hell she was wearing a corset.

"Gold…uh, Rumpelstiltskin…or whatever your name is—" Emma found it difficult to attach a new name to the man she'd grown close to over the past few months. It was like discovering he had a hidden identity as a superhero, like Spiderman or Superman. He silenced her confused rambling with a teasing touch to the lips.

"Call me whatever you wish." His finger traced her upper lip delicately, if only to annoy Regina more profusely.

This was a test, she sensed. It was the final hurdle of becoming a true believer, the final stretch that would allow her to do away with the denial implanted in her mind. If she chose to call him Gold at this moment, it meant she had some remaining doubt or otherwise retreated from this new side of him. If she decided to use his true name, it implied that she accepted every part of his being including those that he did not want her to see. And she did love him still, despite any name he took.

"Rumpel," she conceded, much to his amazement. He cradled her chin in the palm of his hand and she could feel him trembling with relief. "We came here because we need your help," she stated, pleading with her eyes.

How many times did he have the answer to what seemed impossible to solve? She silently prayed that he had the answer now. And, alas, there was a wise gleam being brought to life before she even finished her sentence.

"Indeed, you do," he agreed.

And so, he informed her of True Love's power to transcend realms. He told her how he happened to have bottled true love by taking strands of her parents' hair. Just as easily, she read between the lines: this might very well be her only hope to save Henry. _I'll do it, _she vowed. She didn't care where the potion was or the kind of mad obstacles that stood in her way to obtain it.

But while Gold looked very pleased by her acceptance and headstrong willingness to do what was necessary, the Queen was not happy. She angrily drummed her nails on the counter, a series of shrill clicks that dug under Emma's skin.

"He's my son. It should be me," she argued hotly. Throughout their entire visit, Gold had exchanged only a brief glance with her, never giving Regina more attention than what he deemed worthy. Even now, he never removed his focus from Emma's face, though his jaw locked tensely.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, he's _her _son. It must be her, no one else," he begged to differ. Emma claimed the obligation without complaint. It was amusing to witness Regina become increasingly ruffled. Suddenly, Gold snapped his fingers. "Almost forgot. You'll need this, Emma."

His fingers commanded her attention toward that questionable black box, the contents yet unknown. Emma's curiosity peaked and she instinctively leaned farther over the counter, the anticipation dominating the movement of her every muscle. Regina glanced suspiciously at the box as the lid creaked, scurrying backward like a nasty critter trying to avoid being squashed by a falling shoe. Emma stared at the widening crack in the box's lid until her eyelids burned.

What was so crucial inside that box? Harry Potter's magic wand? Emma was sure she would blast a hole through Gold's wall. But it wasn't a wand, replica or otherwise.

She recognized the item immediately, even if she had never beheld this particular version before. Her hand curled and unfurled at her side, itching to claim it while her brain misfired in the struggle to perceive what she was seeing. There, nestled snugly inside a womb of crimson velvet was a sword.

"Your father's sword," Gold clarified, as if correcting her unspoken thought. Maybe he was a skillful mind reader, too. It wouldn't surprise her, what with all the fantastical circumstances in store for her tonight. Was that why he was so fond of her more intimate dreams, beyond the invasion of his personal space in bed?

She challenged him to a staring contest, of which he always won. _Can you hear me now? What number am I thinking of? Hint: it's not seven. Or is it? How about this: tomorrow, I shall announce to all of Storybrooke that Gold has a pink fetish. As a matter of fact, I'll hire Leroy and Archie to trail you and take notes on everything you do, to be reported in the town square! And I mean _everything_. _

A beat of silence passed.

Nope, he wasn't a mind reader. Ugh, she blinked!

All Gold did was watch with immeasurable patience, waiting for her to accept his gift. Emma's hand wrapped around the sword's hilt, a shiver skating up her spine from the cool touch of the metal. With a quiet sigh, the velvet casing released the blade into her care. It was heavier than she expected it to be. Unbalanced, her arm swung downward and the blade nearly chopped off Regina's foot.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Is this your attempt at assassination?"

Regina screeched like a banshee and leaped out of the way, knocking over one of the artfully painted mugs on the far display case. It crashed to the floor and shattered into several thousand pieces at her feet. At the rate Gold's shop was going, it wouldn't be far-fetched to host a Greek party, smashing plates and all.

"Regina, if I wanted to assassinate you, I think I would aim higher than your foot," Emma retorted coldly. It took a second to adjust to the blade's weight, but then its sharp end was leveled with Regina's neck. It was only for a moment and only as a warning not to cross her tonight. Gold had the audacity to casually examine his manicured nails and chuckle.

"Perhaps I should call the Ghostbusters and rid my shop of your mother's pesky ghost," he tossed in Regina's direction.

He winced upon giving Emma one of his classic once-overs, but she had no clue why. Was he implying a similarity to Regina's mother? Her? That was one comparison she didn't want to dwell on, unless she lose the contents of her stomach. Wasn't it bad enough that Regina was technically her step-grandmother?

Regina must have decided that her nemesis wasn't worth her anxiety, since she bluntly ignored his pokes and jeers. Or maybe that was another portion of this world she disliked—she had no idea who the Ghostbusters were. Emma wondered if the Queen was suspecting a new business in town. David, Archie, and Leroy, perhaps?

"Sheriff, you are to meet me outside the public library in no more than thirty minutes," Regina demanded, tapping the face of the watch on her wrist. Just for that, Emma seriously considered arriving in thirty-_one_ minutes…at least, she would if Henry's life didn't count on it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to say goodbye to my son once more before we go parading down to the library," Regina said snippily, making a beeline for the door.

"You're excused," Gold remarked, waving her off. Regina stopped for a moment in her tracks to send him a deathly glare over her shoulder. Then, she vanished through the door, a shadow that immediately blended in with the rest of the night.

When she was gone, Emma rubbed a hand across her forehead. That woman was a walking migraine. She felt her husband's lingering eyes on her back and she turned to meet his gaze. Without Regina's grating presence, he was noticeably less tense and resembled the man she loved.

Appearances were vital.

Still brandishing her father's sword, she tackled the obstacle of the counter between them, coming to stand inches apart from his body. He watched her every move with unabashed curiosity, though he did not try to touch her. So Emma made the first move in placing her hand on his chest. Gradually, his hand rose to cover hers; it was improvement from the previous lack of touch. He handled her in the manner of delicate china, breakable at a moment's notice.

"You have to tell me what it is I'm walking into. I feel like a child whose wooden sword was just replaced with a real one and is being sent off to battle. I'm not prepared for this," she unleashed the frustration that had been bubbling since she had become a believer. She could not understand the meaning of this distance between them when what she most needed was his arms around her. But all he proceeded to do was smile faintly for her benefit and stroke her palm.

"You'll know precisely what to do in time," he murmured. Her brow furrowed in dismay. This was his way of deflecting, of cleverly avoiding the subject. Whereas the sword had been entrusted to her care, words were always his weapon of choice. Well, tonight she would not allow it.

"That wasn't what I asked. What is Regina keeping underneath the library? How am I supposed to head off to fight if I don't know what kind of person or creature is waiting for me?"

There had to be a reason why Gold offered the sword instead of instructing her to use her gun. She had a foreboding inkling about the truth, but shook it off as she waited for his answer. By the way he stalled and took an interest in a worn patch in the floorboards, she sensed he was debating on revealing everything he knew.

Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"The creature in question…is a dragon," he relented.

Emma felt the blood drain from her face and neck. That was exactly what she had been afraid of hearing. A dragon. A real, scaly, fire-breathing dragon. How the hell was she supposed to fight that? The most knowledge she possessed about sword-fighting was that the pointy end went in the other guy.

"I take it you're not referring to Mushu," she sarcastically replied. The regret written on his face explained it all.

"Maleficent." Emma winced as she recognized the name. It made her take an involuntary step back, her mind attempting to process the new information.

"Wait…Maleficent? As in the green-faced, black-horned witch who got miffed about not being invited to a party or something and put Sleeping Beauty in a coma? _That_ Maleficent?" Gold shrugged in apology. Oh, sure, he was perfectly calm and logical about this. He wasn't the one that was going to face a dragon with a sword that the dragon could use as a toothpick.

"It's not a very common name, is it?"

Emma examined the sword in her hand, the blade gleaming under the shop's dim lights. It was the same one her father had used to defend himself against those guards. No way could she fight the way he had in that vision—and he'd been holding a baby!

"Got any last minute advice for slaying a dragon?" She took a deep breath in and out. She needed the step-by-step manual. Somehow, she doubted it would be in stock at the library. Suddenly she regretted not bringing Henry's book. At least it had pictures of her father slaying a dragon.

"Hard to say; I myself have never fought one. All I would have had to do in our land was snap my fingers and we would've had the biggest turkey in the realm for Thanksgiving," he said, snapping his fingers in demonstration. Her husband…actually had magic? On their first anniversary, she fully expected a heated pool to drop out of the sky in their backyard. "Try to stab its foot—it might fall over. And when it starts to feel like a sauna in there, I suggest you duck for cover. You don't want to be in her line of fire, so to speak. Try not to make her sneeze, either. You'll just get the same effect. It's too bad you don't have a spare unicorn in that leather jacket. I hear she's rather fond of them."

Emma cocked an eyebrow dubiously, but Gold remained serious as ever. If she and Henry lived through this night, she was going to request a crash course on the Enchanted Forest.

Gold must have sensed the flux in her confidence since he removed his hand from hers long enough to caress her cheek.

"Relax, sweetheart. You can do this. It's in the blood that runs through your veins at this very moment. Your parents were natural-born leaders. You have inherited their goodness, strength, intelligence…as far as your mother is concerned, anyway. Are you familiar with the phrase 'can't find his way out of a paper bag?' I tested that theory on Prince Charming. Granted, it was in this world and he was taking a nap at the animal shelter, but I'm sure the result would have been the same if he were awake."

Emma gave him a stern stare. He waved it off.

"Point is: you are the savior and the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. You alone possess the ability to do this, to save your son. I have faith in you," he assured her.

Emma heard the sincerity in his voice and she felt the tenderness of his touch as his hand brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The coil of sunshine-shaded hair slipped through his fingers like molten gold. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him, her face burying into the soft warmth of his neck. His hand tentatively pressed against the small of her back, holding her close.

_Please, don't let this be our last moment together, _she begged silently to whichever higher power was listening. She didn't realize a tear had leaked from her eyelid until his neck grew damp.

"I'll do everything I can to save Henry…but if something happens during this fight and I don't…I…" The words got clogged in her throat, her voice brittle to the point of breaking. The grief in his eyes reassured her that he understood. "Promise me you'll be there for Henry. And if he's saved in time, keep him with you."

It shook Emma to the bone to even consider that the consequences of this fight would be fatal, but she was not one to ignore the possibility when it was looming over her shoulder. For once, Gold was rendered speechless.

"Me? You would want me to raise Henry?"

He made it sound utterly ridiculous. In truth, Emma was nothing short of confident about her decision. She supposed she could place Henry in the care of Mary Margaret, but it was unbearable to think of Gold losing both a wife and child tonight. And it meant Henry might lose a mother—it was worse to imagine him losing his stepfather as a result. She was merely taking precautions.

"I can't leave him with Regina. I need to know that he's safe. I know you would do right by him and that you might need him as much as he needs you. Turns out I have faith in you, too." She entwined her hand with his and gave it a light squeeze. He weakly nodded in agreement.

"I promise. But, believe me when I say you'll come out of this alive. This will not be our last goodbye. Call it my special instinct," he declared proudly. _Alright, then. Not only is my husband a magical being who spins straw into gold, but he can see the future, too. Has he ever tried playing the lottery? _

Emma started to take her hand back, but he clasped it tighter. She looked to him questioningly.

"Just so you're aware, what you're planning to do in your son's name is exceptionally brave. Not many women can say they've slayed a dragon to save their child." Emma would eagerly place bets that Regina never achieved that award, either. She was still trying for Mother of the Year. _One point for Emma!_

"It's like my…mom once told me," she reminisced. It was surreal to call Mary Margaret her mom after those days of sharing an apartment and forging a friendship, truth or not. Oh, dear….she was best friends with her _mom_. How sad was that? "If I don't fight for Henry, who will?"

Certainly not Regina, not in a good way. God forbid if her precious heels got scuffed in the midst of fleeing from a dragon or her "meaningful" life was in jeopardy. Then another thought hit her. She had been struggling with it for the past half hour or so, sorting through it in her mind, but the reality sank into her stomach like a stone.

"I have parents," she breathed in awe.

She had been alone her whole life, searching endlessly for any detail of whom her parents were and why they decided to give her up. It astounded her to think she had held conversations with them for months and didn't put any stock into Henry's claims about there being something more. _I'm sorry I doubted you, Henry. _

How was she supposed to adjust to these awkward circumstances, though? It would be creepy to watch Mary Margaret and David share sweet moments together like hugging or cuddling on the couch or kissing…Not to mention the parental responsibilities. Could she still be grounded if she was 28? Could she be denied dessert at the dinner table? If Henry mocked her for being sent to her room or having her Bug confiscated, he'd be in big trouble.

Well, there went her freedom. After the curse broke, her parents would be trailing her across Storybrooke like paparazzi on Justin Bieber.

"I have parents," she repeated glumly. Gold half-smiled reassuringly. Either that or he was amused by the fact that she would be hugged to death after the curse broke. He'd suffered through enough hugs from Archie and Leroy both.

"Yes, you do. Just what you've always wanted, darling. Fortunately, I've already met them," he boasted. Emma doubted her parents would be open with the idea of her being married to Rumpelstiltskin if he was anything like this in the Enchanted Forest. Or worse.

"Does this mean you'll win their approval?" Gold opened his mouth, only to close it again. He trained his eyes on everything but her accusatory expression. He fidgeted with his tie, which was a sure sign of his discomfort.

"Don't you have a dragon to slay?" Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling and rested the blade of the sword on her shoulder as she made her way to the door. _That's what I thought. I won't be looking forward to Mary Margaret's Taco Night. _

…

_Ring…ring…ring…_

"Hell…o?" A drowsy voice invaded Emma's ear. It seemed someone just had their sleep interrupted. Whoops. "Emma? Is that you?"

Warm water blurred across Emma's vision and she rapidly blinked it away. It didn't stem solely from Henry this time. It was hearing that honeyed voice, a voice she had heard countless times yet somehow sounded different tonight. _Mom? _

"Mary Margaret," she forced the name forward. "Sorry to wake you. I wanted to call you sooner, but everything's been so hectic and I'm not even sure I'm capable of thinking straight right now…" She trailed off, wincing as a dull throb thudded through her skull. Damn Regina and that door.

"Hectic? Emma, what's going on? You sound worked up. Are you alright?"

With every syllable, she sounded less liked a concerned friend and more like the concerned parent Emma never had, motherly intuition alerting her that something was wrong with her baby. Emma gripped her cell phone tighter and sliced the sword cleanly through the air.

"I'm…fine," she lied. Far from it. This night was turning out to be a trip through the Twilight Zone. "But Henry isn't. He's in the hospital and he's not waking up. I tried to get Regina to agree to share custody of Henry, but she gave me an apple turnover. Henry ate it and he collapsed to the floor afterward—he can't even breathe on his own!"

Emma didn't realize her voice had soared several notches until Mary Margaret was forced to soothe her down with words like 'it'll be okay' and 'take a deep breath.' The sword quivered in her grasp. She held it close to her chest and raked a hand through her tangled hair in frustration. A couple of the bigger knots snagged on her fingers and she cursed more than before.

A soft sigh indicated Mary Margaret's remorse.

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry. Henry, that poor child…How could Regina bear to hurt him so heartlessly? Her own adopted son…"

Emma paced back and forth, the clapping of her boots the only echoing sound on the darkened street. She checked the time on the clock tower above. Speaking of Regina…where the hell was she? Re-applying her lipstick?

"Technically, the apple turnover was meant for me. In her head, I should have been rolled into the emergency room on a gurney, not Henry." Another muffled gasp crackled through the phone; Mary Margaret must be going for the Kleenex. "There's something I need to do to save his life. Someone needs to watch over him, keep him company while I'm gone. Someone with decent bedside manners."

"I'll sit with him," Mary Margaret instantly replied, sniffling. By the tone of that sworn promise, she wouldn't leave Henry's bedside even for a bathroom break. Emma was grateful for her loyalty all of a sudden, her heart swelling painfully.

"His book is there with him. Maybe you could try reading him a story like you did with Dad—uh…um…_David_. You might wake him up," Emma rushed onward, praying Mary Margaret hadn't caught that slip-up. The dilemma of her parents had floated around her mind for the past hour, refusing to be ignored. It was a wonder she hadn't called Mary Margaret 'mom' yet.

"Maybe," Mary Margaret agreed, though neither of them sounded convinced of an unexpected miracle happening twice. According to her leprechaun of a husband, the only thing that would wake Henry was true love, but it didn't stop Emma from wishing for divine intervention.

"Thanks, Mom," Emma said with relief. Then she smacked the heel of her hand to her forehead. Why hadn't she knocked on wood earlier? She had cursed herself and now it was too quiet on the other end.

"What…was that?" _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _Emma mentally berated herself. _Okay, no worries. Just play it cool. _

"When?" Maybe the curse's effects would still make Mary Margaret hazy-minded. Emma crossed her fingers.

"Just now," Mary Margaret persisted. "Emma, you called me—"

"Mary Margaret. I called you Mary Margaret like I always do. You were dead to the world ten minutes ago; for all you know, this is a dream within a dream. Haven't you ever seen _Inception? _You know, I've been thinking. The name Mary Margaret is such a mouthful. Have you ever considered shortening it to Mary or a nickname like MM?"

Emma knew she was rambling and that it had little chance of working on Mary Margaret. Quiet as Mary Margaret might be, it only made her more attentive to her environment.

"I suppose…but Emma, a moment ago I could have sworn you called me Mo—" Oh, how Emma wished she had a bag of potato chips stored in her leather jacket. She was desperate enough to crumple it in front of the phone. Still…

"Hello? Hello, Mary Margaret?" Emma took the phone from her ear and held it away from her mouth, trying to make her voice sound like it was fading.

"Emma?"

"I can't hear you! Must be a bad connection. I guess I stumbled into the wrong part of Storybrooke. You're breaking up…can't…hear…you…" Emma coughed into the phone and stuttered a few times for effect before punching the button that would end the conversation. If she really did break this curse, she hoped her mother wouldn't hold this over her head.

"What's the matter? Your dear, sweet mother neglected to pack your chocolate pudding for your field trip?" Emma turned to meet Regina. That lipstick looked too fresh. A key dangled from her finger, her eyebrows speculatively raised as she awaited Emma's response.

"I'd take pudding over an apple turnover any day," she snapped. Regina's smugness faltered and a red nail hooked over the key. Emma pocketed her cell phone and readjusted her grip on the sword's hilt. "Let's get this over with."

….

_**Big thanks go out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, stephanie101, Sup25, DragonRose4, JayJ1, Fairy Demon26, onceuponanevilregal, Deathbringer88, Newland Archer, sbcarri, RainMirror, john smith, reginamillz, Nightshade's sydneylover150, PrincessofSea, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, The Auburn Girl, The-Writer2012, and SwanQueen4055 for the wonderful reviews and support. **_


	56. Chapter 56

_**A/N: Here it is, the chapter you guys have been waiting for. It has loads of good stuff for you to enjoy (hopefully). Plenty of surprises, not to mention that it's my longest chapter since the Christmas one. (-; **_

Anyone who claimed they deserved an award for sneaking up on Regina clearly lacked a few vital brain cells. Then again, most people in town weren't capable of treading quietly on their feet like Gold.

Why, the repulsive hag didn't even hear the door open. She was too busy examining her lacquered nails. As he watched, she used the tip of one nail to scrape out dirt from under another. He fought the urge to snort decisively. It was amazing she didn't let the elevator plunge to the bottom.

Hooking his cane over the crook of his elbow, he relied on his short supply of strength to cross the room swiftly but silently. The distance between their bodies shortened before Regina was even done picking out that speck of dirt. _Eenie-meanie-minie-moe, catch Regina by the toe, if she hollers—_

He was a mere foot behind her when her muscles stiffened. Under the dim library lighting, her hair seemed to bristle apprehensively. Maybe she caught a whiff of his cologne. Before she could turn around, he used the gold head of his cane to strike her and render her unconscious. He caught her body before she collapsed to the floor.

_I win, _he thought dryly while he dragged her slumped body into a chair. His leg screamed by the time he adjusted her on the seat. Her head kept lolling and banging against his forehead, her breath hot on his skin.

He used rope to secure her wrists and ankles to the chair, knotting each cord three times. He made sure it wasn't tight enough to cut off her circulation. A strip of duct tape went over her mouth. Not only did he need her quiet for when Emma returned, but he also didn't want to hear her call him every name in the book when she awoke.

Now all he had to do was wait for Emma. He glanced blankly around the interior of the library. Despite all his centuries of living, the waiting game had never been one of his favorites.

…

_Blip...blip...beep..._

It was the monotonous rhythm of noises that stirred her from the black slumber of unconsciousness. For a moment—as her eyelids fluttered only to squeeze painfully shut by the flooding bright light—she thought she was back in Henry's hospital room. Had the whole _Savior-Emma-slash-dragon-slayer_ thing been a dream? A dull throbbing nagged at the back of her head. The odor of must clogged her nostrils. Nope, this definitely wasn't the hospital.

Finally, her eyes adjusted to the light enough to open.

The first thing she saw was _him. _Rumpelstiltskin, leaning against the wall opposite where she was...sitting? Yes, she was sitting straight-backed in a chair. She didn't remember grabbing a chair.

His earth-brown eyes trained on a handheld videogame, his brow marred by concentration. He looked like he was trying to pass the time, waiting...waiting for what? Waiting for her to wake up? Waiting for his dear wife to return from battle? Did he have a bouquet of roses stuffed in that suit, too? A congratulatory cake in Emma's honor for her first dragon slaying?

_Blip...beep-beep...blip..._That sound was getting on her nerves fast. Did he even notice she was awake? What was she thinking? Rumpelstiltskin noticed _everything_. Either he noticed and was expecting a stronger reaction...or he just didn't care.

"What—"

She tried to protest, but it came out muffled. Her lips were covered by a sticky strip of duct tape; her limbs were bound to the chair by rope. _What the hell is this, you sick little imp? A mad tea party? _

Regina thrashed like a wild animal and squirmed in the chair until it was on the verge of tipping over.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned in sing-song manner without removing his eyes from the screen. Regina usually ignored his advice, so why should she start listening now? The chair rocked back and forth, side to side. "It'd be a shame if Her Majesty fell flat on her face, wouldn't it? Just know that I shall not be picking you up off the floor. Perhaps the rats will be generous enough to chew through your bonds."

Regina momentarily stopped rocking. Rats? There were rats scurrying in this library? Just because she had transformed into a rat once or twice in their land for the purpose of surveillance didn't mean she particularly enjoyed the rodents. Rumpel smirked and she wondered if he was lying. _Let me go this instant! I demand it! I don't care if you say please one thousand times over until your tongue falls out! Once I get out of here, it'll be off with _your _head!_

Rumpel growled at the videogame, pouting like a ten year old. At last, he lifted his eyes to scour over her, though they were cold and unsympathetic as usual. It was hard for her to believe that he could muster up enough warmth or tenderness to satisfy his wife. Not that Regina wanted the details. In any case, she expected the divorce papers to be signed soon after tonight. What kind of woman wanted Rumpelstiltskin for her husband?

He pocketed the videogame inside his suit and stalked toward her, a cobra descending on its prey. His cane tapped her leg and he chuckled darkly as she furiously tried to kick it away. Unfortunately, her leg was too restrained to warrant more than nudging it. She could tell by the slippery grin crawling across his face that he was enjoying this. It was too bad he was immune to her murderous glare.

He pointed a long finger at her chest and she was suddenly grateful there was no magic left in this world.

"You know, I've been trying for the past half hour to beat Henry's score in Pac-Man. Even in a sleeping curse, he refuses to be bested."

He snickered at her outraged expression. Was that supposed to console her? Give her hope that Henry was a fighter? Or did he just relish mocking her about her inability to hold a handheld videogame in her current position? Yes, that had to be it.

A condescending _tsk-tsk _forced her to glance directly into his eyes. Amused as he was, there was nothing but searing hatred reflected deep in those pools of frozen chocolate. The library had become his personal torture chamber.

"Something tells me you're not happy, Madame Mayor. Come now; let's put a smile on that face."

From his inner suit pocket, he revealed a thin Sharpie. Her eyes bolted wide as he uncapped it and knelt before her to scribble across the strip of duct tape. She struggled and turned her head, but his other hand cupped her chin. She could feel the tip of the Sharpie dragging across the tape—he was definitely adding more than a smile. The sensation of the Sharpie poking the tape made her wince. Was he making her into a freckled little schoolgirl or something?

This had to be a product of his boredom and scorn. Rumpelstiltskin was like an infant that required constant attention, entertainment, and gratification. Combine that with his thirst for vengeance for Henry and the Mickey doll might come out looking better than her by the end of tonight.

_Just kill me and get it over with, _she mentally moaned. But she knew Rumpel for many years and therefore knew how much he appreciated theatrics. The smug imp was going to drag this out as long as he possibly could.

Capping the pen, he stepped back to observe his handiwork and nodded once in approval. He passed behind her and her nerves thrummed with anticipation of his next move. What was he up to back there? She heard a crack of glass and her hands strained against the rope, burning her skin.

"Ta-da," he exclaimed, thrusting a shard of glass in front of her face. The duct tape was covered with black ink—a jack-o-lantern smile, a puny mustache, and thick dots that she assumed were warts. "You've never looked better, if I do say so myself."

Regina closed her eyes to block out the terrible artwork and rocked the chair back and forth violently. She'd take the company of the rats over Rumpelstiltskin. At least they didn't run around armed with Sharpies.

_Emma, how long does it take to slay a dragon? Someone desperately needs to squirt Rumpelstiltskin with water for misbehaving! _

…

After twirling Regina's fake mustache a bit and driving her mad with his countless heart-warming memories of Snow White and Charming, he took to exploring the dust-ridden shelves of books.

In the cooking section, he tore out a recipe for a dessert called Black Magic Cake—a type of dark chocolate cake oozing with fudge and topped with swirls of white icing. He ignored all the recipes that called for apples. He was half-tempted to brutally cross those recipes out with his Sharpie, but figured Belle—wherever she was in the afterlife—would strike him down with lightning for vandalizing the book.

In the Gardening section, he found an advertisement for something called Topsy-Turvy, which featured growing tomatoes by hanging them upside-down. Who ever heard of growing tomatoes upside-down? Plants always seemed to die by his hand, anyway.

There was a children's section as well, where he found a picture book with a little puppet sticking out of the cover. He stuck his finger in it and worked it a little, imagining himself reading the story to his child had it been born. Just to annoy Regina further, he rushed over and used the puppet to tap her on the nose. Her eyes held a message of their own: murder.

He lingered longest in the Travel section, studying pictures of Scotland in one of the atlases. Ah, so that was what Scotland was like. His cursed memories foretold how he originated there, but his true self had never stepped foot on Scottish soil. He looked up a few more places that he added to his family vacation list—the Mall of America being one of them. Clark's convenience store certainly didn't have a roller coaster built inside.

With Regina rocking back and forth like a teenager head-banging at an Ozzy Osbourne concert, he switched his attention to the Romance section. It wasn't his type of section at all, but one book caught his eye. It was in fairly good condition for sitting in an abandoned library for 28 years. No dust, no spiders, though it had plenty of dog-eared pages. In fact...

He snatched up the book and trekked back to Regina's side. He dangled the book in front of her face and watched her cheeks flush with recognition. Her ebony eyes scrolled over the title: _Fifty Shades of Grey. _

"Have you been venturing down to the library on your lunch breaks, Madame Mayor? I never pegged you for an avid reader. Judging from the summary on the back, it was either right before or right after Graham died. Is that how you spent the two weeks of my honeymoon?"

Regina looked ready to chuck up her guts. Guilty as charged.

He observed the cover for a moment. It was a seductive, smoky blue shade with an enlarged image of a tie. Huh, that sort of resembled one of his favorite ties. He cracked the book open and flipped curiously through the pages. He paused on one early in that outlined a contract. What type of contract was this?

He skimmed it over, with Regina watching him all the while. The more he read into it, the more his eyebrows sky-rocketed in bemusement. A few times he glanced at his cane as if it were about to come alive and devour his hand. Heat pooled between his legs and...and..._Oh, my._ This was worse than being confined with Emma in the close quarters of her Bug on their honeymoon. He shifted uncomfortably.

Snapping the book closed, he fought to escape the line of view of Regina's gaze. Her eyes darted down and she realized what was wrong with him. This time, she jolted in her chair so hard that it toppled backwards. Very slowly, he limped over to her side and looked down on her. He carefully placed the book beside her head, earning another stormy glare in the process.

"If you'll excuse me, dearie," he muttered as he headed straight for the door. Ooh, it was tough to walk. "I need a moment of privacy."

That was the last time he heeded one of Regina's book recommendations.

…

The first indication of Emma's return from the dragon's den was the clomping of her boots as she boarded the elevator far below. The second was her heavy panting, having endured the toughest takedown of her career as Storybrooke Sheriff. Gold cranked the lever as if he had done it every day of his life in this town, barely breaking a sweat as he aided their savior. The metal box clunked and grinded as it ascended to the surface. Or halfway to the surface; Gold deliberately stalled the elevator's progress, leaving it floating between the floor of the library and the cavern stories under Emma's boots.

If he allowed Emma to reach the surface, he would have had to wrestle the egg from her grasp, which was not a favorable feat with his leg. Still, rolling across the floor with Emma, the round egg pressed between their bodies as if it were her pregnant belly, pinning her beneath him or vice versa while Regina spectated...

No, he had to keep his thoughts clear and focused. He would only have so much of a head start and the tightening heat of his suit would only slow him down.

He counted to ten as Emma cried out. To Regina, he held a finger to his lips and whispered the word _please. _Her charcoal eyes roved over him wildly from where she lay on the floor, glaring daggers into his forehead. He held the eraser end of a pencil to her pointy nose and rubbed it back and forth with just the slightest tease of a touch to her skin. Her nose scrunched up, but the duct tape on her mouth prevented her from bursting out audibly, her hands unable to slap the pencil away.

"Don't make me do it," he warned in hushed tones.

During their time alone in this library, he had come to learn every one of Regina's tickle spots. The eraser brushed her nose a little more, enough for her to get the idea. Her back arched against the chair in her efforts to escape it, the urge to laugh building inside her chest to the point of explosion, with silver tears streaming down her cheeks.

Here he figured there wouldn't be a single sensitive spot in Regina's body, Ice Queen that she was.

"Regina?"

His wife called again from the shaft of the elevator. She didn't sound worried or afraid in light of Regina's absence, but frustrated and ready to kill. He peered over the lip of the hole and spotted Emma with her head tilted toward the light. The golden egg was cradled to her chest, a precious bundle she refused to part with.

"Emma?" He hoped he sounded just as surprised and confused as she currently looked. Maybe he should add a furrow to his brow and a dip in his frown, just in case. "I came to check on you. It's a good thing I did. Regina abandoned you."

"What?" Her gaze traveled beyond his shoulder, searching for Regina. He resisted the temptation to glance at Regina behind him. There was no need since he heard her struggling against the rope. "Why would Regina do something stupid like that? This is the only way to save Henry. You said it yourself."

He waved a hand aside impatiently.

"Regina never listens to anything I say. In fact, she does the exact opposite. If I tell her to step right, she steps left for the sake of my annoyance. Perhaps she suspected that if she ever got her hands on that golden egg, she'd fall through a hole in the floor like Veruca Salt down the garbage chute."

If ever there was a rotten egg, it was Regina Mills. He sensed her unspoken curses from here.

Emma examined every corner of her box, wracking her brain for an escape route. The egg must have weighed one hundred pounds in her arms in that instant, judging by her soft moans every time she studied it.

"I'm coming up," she announced. That remained to be seen, what with her hand patting each wall without being able to find anything remotely supportive for her weight. Plus, she was forced to awkwardly balance the egg...

Then she did something he truly did not expect: unzipping her leather jacket, she tucked the egg inside and stubbornly zipped it up as much as she could, her hands free. The swell of the egg under her jacket gave off the illusion of her being at least six months pregnant.

He watched her with growing uneasiness. _Please don't do this, sweetheart. Don't make this harder for me than it has to be, _he silently begged. If she decoded his prayer, she did not heed it.

"Your theory is that a heavily pregnant woman is capable of shimmying out of an elevator shaft?"

Her feet slipped off the wall and she tumbled back unsteadily, crashing into the opposite wall. The egg rocked inside the leather nest, dropping an inch or two deeper. By her third attempt, she'd be giving birth.

"Do I look pregnant?" Did she really expect him to answer that? You could never tell with women. "I'm just...it seemed like a good idea to...stop distracting me!" She snapped up at him, preparing for another climb. He had to reason with her somehow. He needed her to give him that egg.

"You know, darling," he relied on the allure of his terms of endearment to soften her up, "This would be so much easier and faster if you simply toss up the egg. As far as your boy's life is concerned, time is precious."

One of her hands snatched the end of an elevator cable as she jumped and she lifted her knees around it, yanking on it like she was climbing a rope in gym class. His eyes rose, impressed. He never appreciated how athletic she was. She growled as her palms slid along the cable and whipped out of her hold, making her fall flat on her butt. The egg popped out of her leather jacket. He coughed to hide any traces of a chuckle. _It's...a...boy? _

"See what I mean?" She narrowed her green eyes at him, her cheeks burning under his mockery. He extended his hands into the empty air above the elevator. "I'll hold onto it while you climb up. Trust me."

He fought the cringe that threatened to crinkle his left eye. Those two words were the key to Emma's agreement in bestowing the egg in his custody: _trust me. _His stomach lurched and knotted bitterly. He despised himself for taking advantage of her trust, especially since it was hard-earned.

Emma stared up at him uncertainly, her focus faltering between his extended hands. The egg earned her attention for a moment as she mulled over the prospect of relinquishing her hold. He knew the exact second her defenses lowered when her fingers traced the engraved designs on the egg's shell, memorizing each one before sailing it through the air and into his waiting arms.

Gold rolled the golden egg from one hand to the other, the shell still warm from Emma's jacket. Impulsively, he raised it to his lips and kissed the top of it, thinking of the bottle of true love stowed inside. Then he turned to leave, the seconds of his head start already ticking away. His wrist blindly flourished in Regina's direction, a sardonic farewell that had her eyes boggling.

"Gold? Gold!" Emma's desperation made him pause with his hand on the cold handle of the library's door. A transparent string of spider's web teased his knuckle. "Rumpelstiltskin!"

Maybe it stemmed from assuring Archie of his support for Archie and the Crickets complete with a band T-shirt or those morning walks in which Goldie always found Pongo faster than Charming ever found Snow, but his conscience reared its saintly head. It hadn't spoken this crystal clear in years.

_How could you do this to Emma? She's your wife. Did you see the way she tossed up that egg? It's because she trusts you._

His feet shuffled over the discolored, aged floor, his mind torn between the two options. Leave or stay, left or right. Fleetingly, he turned back toward the elevator, anticipating a sunshine-shaded head rising from the darkness. The egg, the elevator, the egg, the elevator...it was a demanding choice.

_I don't want to leave her...but I must. She already has everything she needs to save Henry. What I am about to do, I will do in the name of my son. Emma would do it for Henry in a heartbeat. She'll understand,_ he mentally countered, stuffing his conscience back into its drawer. At least, he hoped Emma would understand. She of all people should be familiar with the torment of losing a child.

Regretfully, he made his decision and rushed through the library door with Emma pleading his name from the shadows of the elevator shaft. _Forgive me, Emma. Tonight, you and I share a common goal. I have to save my son, too. _

…

Having to endure her childhood alone, sans parents or any constant supportive adult figure, had cost Emma many luxuries in life. One of those luxuries was being able to trust another human being. Always guarded with walls higher than Mt. Everest, it generally took her a long time to even _consider_ trusting someone. That included Mary Margaret, who refused to swat a housefly no matter how much it bothered her, instead being generous enough to trap it between a mug and a paper plate and set it free outside.

There were only three people she trusted to be closer than arm's length in Storybrooke: Mary Margaret, Henry, and Gold.

So when Emma finally emerged from the elevator shaft, having shimmied up the cables easier without the egg's pressure on her stomach, and found Gold inexplicably gone, something inside her broke. Even after he lured her in with those two words, _trust me..._he was gone. The only hope to save Henry in the form of true love...gone.

"Gold?" Her voice splintered as she called out tentatively, as if expecting his head to pop out from the stacks of books and casually ask: _what took you so long, dearie? _

White-hot anger scorched her veins until she could barely feel anything else. As with her insecurity of trust, she neglected her surging emotions and bottled them deep inside like lava in a volcano that would inevitably erupt. Just not right now.

Movement from the left caught her eye, disintegrating all thoughts of Gold's betrayal. A chair was flipped on its back, with human limbs tied down to each of the chair's wooden limbs. It pained her more to realize that Regina, in all her evil, had not chosen to abandon her, after all. Only Gold did.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Emma exclaimed without thinking after crossing quickly to Regina's side.

There was a shiny strip of duct tape covering her mouth, adorned with black Sharpie. How long had Gold been waiting here? If this was how he handled Regina on a normal...ish...day, what was he like on April Fools'?

"Oh, please tell me he did _not_ read that."

She pointed to the book lying conspicuously close to Regina's head. If she decided to forgive him for running off with the egg, she had a feeling their next trip to the cabin in the woods would be more intimate than the five rounds at the end of their honeymoon. If she forgave him, of course.

Regina mumbled something incoherent behind the tape—probably a blindness-inducing, mind-shrinking hex—and writhed in the snare of the ropes. Angry red lines circled both of her wrists from rope burn. Emma figured it would be better for Regina to curse out Gold instead of their whole marriage altogether and untied her. She ripped the tape off Regina's mouth and Regina yowled like a cat in bathwater.

"Not so hard! My lips are one of my best features!" _That list of positive features must be a short one, _Emma mused silently. Regina rubbed her wrists to ease the discomfort. Her hair seemed to stand on end in her fury. "That filthy, childish, smarmy—ugh!"

It seemed Regina didn't even have a title worthy of her distaste for Gold. She was content enough with shuddering and rubbing her palms up and down her arms to ward off the lingering scent of eau de Rumpel. Then her hatred homed in on Emma.

"How could you give him that? You of all people must realize what kind of man he is. Congratulations, Sheriff—you've chosen your husband over Henry," she spat viciously. Emma's knuckles cracked as her fingers curled into her palm by her side. Regina had a nasty habit of rubbing salt in an open wound.

"It's not over. He's a cripple balancing a cane and a metal egg. I doubt he can outrun both of us," she retorted, starting for the library's door. He probably wasn't even halfway across the street yet.

Before Emma could prop open the door with her hand, her cell phone began to ring. She might have let the other person on the line wait a moment, if Regina's cell phone didn't start going mad in her pocket. Both of them checked their devices; both paled simultaneously.

"It's the hospital," she heard herself whisper. Her heart sunk straight into the pit of her stomach. And then she and Regina started to run in the opposite direction of Gold's pawnshop.

…

There was a key hidden away inside an ancient mahogany chest in the pawnshop. It had never been used in this world; it was always waiting and gathering dust like everything else in that shop. His cursed self had never known its purpose, nor did the curse allow him to question it if it were discovered. It was just an old brass key, another of the pawnshop's many secrets.

But his true memories declared that it was more than just an ordinary key. Without it, his hope of opening this golden egg was very slim. Its ornate shell was difficult to crack; it would require brute force such as the swing of a sharpened axe. That way, the bottle of true love tucked inside would be absolutely safe.

It was a lucky thing he still had that key lying around. He didn't think the rumor mill would churn out good news on his part if Granny was spotted heading toward his shop with an axe swinging from her hand. They might have assumed he escaped from the diner without paying for his pickles one too many times.

He set the golden egg carefully on the counter and claimed the key from the chest. A flume of dust swirled in the air as he snapped the lid closed. The key slid smoothly into the lock, as perfect as two lovers reuniting with open arms. A twist here, a jimmy there...and the golden egg sprung open to reveal its contents. Encased in the deep purple velvet was the most powerful magic in all realms. The shimmering lavender liquid enticed him, urging him to take the vial into his eager hands.

True love.

At last.

This was what he required to bring magic to Storybrooke. He would need to be prepared for the consequences of Emma breaking the curse, to face a world of people that did not belong. With this magic at his disposal, he could properly protect Emma and Henry in the best way he knew how. Perhaps there would even be a solution that would allow him to stay beyond the limits of Storybrooke with his wife and sons without the necessary desire to return. They could be together; they could be happy.

Maybe these were excuses he formed inside his mind to shield the core reason for his intentions. Of course, he needed magic to develop a way of seeking out his son beyond the town line—this world was massive after all and it would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

But a part of him longed to feel that old magic pumping through his veins again.

He would be able to provide Emma and his family with anything they ever needed. He would do away with this mangled mess of a leg once and for all. Furthermore, he would be paying Jefferson a visit in regards of his repulsive lie about Belle being alive. With magic at his fingertips, the hatter wouldn't know what hit him. He would find Jefferson, trap him in a sheet of ice from the waist down, conjure a fireball in his hand, and say—

"Excuse me. Are you Mr. Gold?"

He nearly dropped the vial of true love, startled as he was by the sudden female presence. He didn't even hear the bell ring! It was a good thing he had his back turned to the door and was able to shield the golden egg with his body.

Quickly, he stuffed the bottle into his suit pocket and closed the golden egg. He dropped and kicked it under the counter where this young lady wouldn't see it. The first thing he was going to do with magic was maximize that Closed sign to obnoxious proportions. That way, not even the giants—or Charming—could miss it.

"Yes, I am, but I'm afraid the shop's clo—"

He turned to give whoever it was his infamous evil eye to drive them out and encourage them to tell scary stories about him by the campfire, but he never stood a chance. He felt his jaw drop to the floor and he grabbed ahold of the counter for support before he fainted away.

It couldn't be.

Perhaps he was overtired or dehydrated and this was a mirage. It could very well be a product of his guilt taking the form of a hallucination. Or was he being haunted by a ghost like Scrooge in _A Christmas Carol? _

There was no way Jefferson had been telling the truth.

And yet, there she stood in the doorway with the same chestnut hair and the same cornflower blue eyes...Granted, she desperately needed a brush and a shopping spree through Modern Fashions, but there was no mistaking her. His brain short-circuited as he blinked uncomprehendingly. She never disappeared from sight.

This was real. As real as flesh and blood and bone and everything else he was made of. His lips tried to form her name and failed. _Belle? Wha...? Wha...? Wha...?_

Oh, gods, she even chewed on her lower lip the same way she had in his castle when she submersed herself headfirst in a book. It was too much for him to bear thinking about. His feet moved of their own accord, leading him around the counter. It was like trudging through mud, each step gradual and taking up all his energy.

_Wha...? Wha...? Wha...? _

"I was told to find you," she murmured hesitantly, as though not entirely sure of the meaning of the message she was sent to deliver. "I was told you'd protect me. Oh, and he asked me to give you this."

There was no doubt in his mind who "he" was. Delving into the pocket of her sweater, Belle plucked out a hastily folded note. Her hand trembled as she offered it to him and he meant to ease her nervousness with a small touch to the wrist. It only made her shake more.

He took the note and unfolded it, recognizing the handwriting immediately. Just in case he somehow didn't guess the identity of the sender, it was signed with a smiley face wearing a top hat. Six words, a subtle message that made his teeth grind together behind his lips.

_I told you so. Love, J. _

…

There is no greater suffering than the kind that comes from losing a child. War may wage, fires may burn, every bone in the body could fracture and splinter, but it would never overcome the emotional pain of a broken heart or the empty feeling of falling without a parachute.

The minute Emma saw Whale and Mother Superior appear from Henry's private hospital room, with tired faces and remorseful words of _I'm so sorry _practically floating in the air above their heads like the smoke from the caterpillar in _Alice in Wonderland, _she knew. It was over. The worst had happened. It punched her square in the gut and ripped the tiled floor from under her boots.

Everything she had done tonight—believing in the curse, battling a dragon, setting out to obtain true love—had been for nothing. Henry was...He couldn't be...

Emma didn't spare a glance for Regina to see how she was coping with the news. She was too concerned with her own grief to care.

With her mind frozen and numb with distraught, she somehow managed to pass by Whale and Mother Superior and into Henry's hospital room. She didn't even know if she was breathing, but she didn't care about that, either. Everything that once came natural to her—breathing, feeling, even blinking—required all her strength to accomplish.

_Henry...oh, Henry..._All she could do was chant his name in her mind, as though sending it out like a prayer would be enough to erase this horrible situation.

He was lying terribly still in that hospital bed, same as when she left his side only hours ago. Oh, he looked so small and pale. It wrenched her heart, but she was unable to tear her eyes away. The machines were blank and silent, no beeping, no jagged green lines indicating a single heartbeat. The shades above his head blocked out the brightening sky, casting the room in dim shadows. A nurse removed his breathing mask; he no longer needed it.

"Henry," she moaned aloud this time. A tear escaped from underneath her eyelid, trailing across her cheek. She didn't have the will to wipe it away, but she found herself looming over the bedrail.

Her hand reached out to brush the unkempt strands of hair out of his closed eyes. Her knees buckled as she realized she may never again witness that precocious intelligence sparkling in his brown eyes. _Henry, I never thought to tell you this, but I should have said it a long time ago. You were the best thing that's ever happened to me. I need you. _

"I love you, Henry," she whispered. Bending her head down, she laid her lips gently on his forehead to kiss her son goodbye.

The second her lips touched his icy skin, a wave of energy exploded through the room. For a minute, everything seemed to grow brighter and thrive with a life of its own. The force of the energy pulsed around Emma, breezing her hair off her shoulders and almost knocking her backwards.

"M-om?"

Weak as it was, it was the sweetest sound Emma ever heard, apart from the sudden intake of breath beneath her body. Her eyes shot open wide, granting her a beautiful sight she was convinced moments ago was lost to her forever. Two lively orbs staring back at her, glimmering with moisture and disorientation. Pink color pooled into Henry's neck and cheeks, transforming him from the porcelain puppet to a real boy.

_Henry! _She didn't know if she voiced his name out loud, even though it sounded high-pitched in her head, but she happily lifted his body into her arms and cradled his head on her shoulder. She squeezed until he patted her back as a sign to loosen up before she suffocated him. She couldn't help it—it was so hard to let him go after almost losing him.

"I love you, too," he whispered in her ear. Her shoulders caved with shock as she realized he had heard every word.

"What happened?" She pulled back to study his face, the majority of it dominated by a vastly spreading grin.

He glanced around the room like Dorothy waking from her wondrous dream of Oz to find her friends gathered by her bedside. He looked upon the Blue Fairy lingering over Emma's shoulder, who was sneering at her bland high-collared nun's outfit and eyeing Emma with newfound respect. Then there was Whale, rubbing his throat and making odd sounds like a singer that had lost their voice for a week. Whatever he was listening for, his disappointed expression proved it wasn't there.

"The curse. I think you broke it."

…

August's respect for the talking trees in _Wizard of Oz _shot up a few notches every five minutes he was forced to stare up at the cracked ceiling of Granny's Inn without being able to blink. He didn't know how those trees stayed inhumanly still for so long or if they ever experienced the pleasure of moving freely below their trunks.

His legs cramped up first, followed by the rigidity of his arms. The pillow under his head was no longer comfortable, but it was impossible to move his head by an inch. Even worse than that, he gave whole new meaning to the phrase "putting lead in one's pencil."

All he could do was think and look and wait for someone to come to his rescue. Is this what Sleeping Beauty and Snow White felt like? Lying alone in an unrelenting stiff posture and counting the seconds until Prince Charming swooped down with a magical kiss to break the spell? Come to think of it, was this how people in vegetative states in hospitals felt? Having no control over their limbs or muscles, unable to respond to external stimuli?

If he ever got out of this, he would willingly hop on his bike, visit every hospital in Maine, and comfort the people trapped in those catatonic states. Would they acknowledge it if he told them he knew how they felt? Or would they be envious, the rage filling them like a capped bottle until they burst out of their comas?

Maybe he would be doing them a favor.

Oh, hell, his nose itched! There were odd splinters of wood jutting out where he didn't need wood to jut from. His eyes seemed to be made of glass and it felt odd to have them rolling inside his head.

Would Granny and Ruby think it odd if he didn't come out of his room? Or would they chalk it up to a writer's unpredictable behavior? Would they care? Or would he be doomed to listen to Ruby bounce up and down the stairs while practicing her vocals?

At least she had a better singing voice than David Nolan. Replacing him was the best move Archie and the Crickets ever made.

Something changed in the room. It wasn't the sunlight leaking through the blinds and chasing away the shadows. It wasn't the creaks and groans of the Inn as Granny and Ruby went about their morning. It was the air.

A whoosh of it brushed over his body, chilling it, giving him the unwelcome sensation of having a raw egg cracked over his head with the runny yolk dripping down his forehead. It made his nose itch ten times worse. Sneezing was beyond his ability, too. That dwarf had no idea how lucky he was to be pestered by allergies and release it into a wadded tissue.

What the...?

"_Snow!" _

"_Charming!" _

He heard the cries through the closed window, the cries of two loves reuniting at long last. August would have frozen in disbelief if he hadn't already lost all feeling beyond his eyeballs.

The curse...was broken? Emma...did it? Finally!

If only this punishment wore off, though he had his doubts it would at all. Not without external help. Bad boys always earned their comeuppance eventually. He wished he could at least open his mouth and shout half as loud as those two lovebirds out there. If he had to hear the words "You found me"one more time...

He focused all his energy on the jagged crack in the ceiling and envisioned the wood transforming into soft, flexible skin. He imagined his jaw covered in early morning stubble, his fingers flexing as though wrapped around the handlebars of his bike, his legs pumping in flee from Rumpelstiltskin...

It wasn't working.

He had to have hope. It must take more than simple wishing. What did the Blue Fairy say all those years ago? Oh, right—he had to be selfless, brave, and true. Maybe if he could convince himself...but that wasn't being true, was it? He thrust the image of the floating fairy from his mind.

_I am a real boy. I am selfless, brave, and true. I am not Pinocchio, I am August W. Booth. The W stands for Wayne as in Bruce as in Batman...oh, someone help me! _

…

"Ruby, you are not moving in with Dr. Hopper," Granny argued in her "what-I-say-goes"voice. A speeding freight train would likely halt in its tracks if confronted by Granny.

Long-time rebel that she was, Ruby stomped her foot defiantly on the ground. She only just discussed this possibility with Archie the night before. It wasn't set in stone yet, though Ruby was leaning toward it. The only words she managed to get out to Granny were "Archie and I were thinking" and Granny jumped all over it.

Why did Granny have to know everything?

"It's not like I'm moving to Boston! In fact, I'll be right down the street from the diner. His office is right across from the diner! Feel free to sit at your window with your high-tech night vision goggles. I'll wave to you before bed if that's what will make you happy. I won't be late to work, promise."

Ruby leaned over the desk in the foyer of the Inn and tapped her nails impatiently. Granny barely looked up from the books, though she was paying attention enough to huff in annoyance.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. If I allow this new arrangement, you'd be tardier than you are now," she remarked, slamming the lid of the book closed. She eyed the stairwell that led to the guest rooms, only one of which was occupied by August Booth. He hadn't come out of his room for a while. Secluded himself off like a small-town recluse. Writers.

Before Granny could change the subject, Ruby slid into her line of sight and paraded on.

"Are you implying something about my personal activities?"

"No. Your skimpy choice of attire does that for you."

Ruby gaped down at her clothes: a crimson jean skirt that ended a few inches above the knees, ankle-high wedge heels that any reasonable woman in this town would kill for excluding Mary Margaret, and a shiny black top that...admittedly bared her midriff. But it was mostly hidden under a crème pea coat. It wasn't anything so severe that it demanded a call to the Sheriff for borderline streaking.

"Aren't you one to talk about fashion sense? You're dressed like—"

"Norman Bates' mother?" Granny intercepted in a bored voice. She strode past her granddaughter as if she were one of the dying potted plants meant for decoration. Ruby fixed a hand on her hip, displeased beyond words.

"Actually, I was going to say you dress like Maria from _The Sound of Music _if Maria were a secret assassin by night." If Granny ever uttered the lyric "The hills are alive with the sound of music," it would be her code for "I'll be waiting on a hill with a radio to pass the time as I wait to cross another one off my list."

Granny whirled with the sternest stare Ruby had ever seen.

"Criticizing my wardrobe is not going to change my mind. You moving in with Dr. Hopper will turn out to be a serious mistake on your part, mark my words," she declared. After a moment of thought, Granny whipped on her coat and wrapped a scarf around her head. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to discuss this with him over his morning coffee."

Ruby felt the color drain from her face as she realized Granny wasn't bluffing. _Oh, how do you solve a problem like my Granny? _

Granny charged through the Inn's door faster than a raging bull racing after an elusive red flag. Ruby tried with all her efforts to hold Granny back, but her hold loosened once her heels began to drag along the pavement. Trying to stop Granny was like standing in front of an avalanche and saying _no._ It was all downhill from here.

"Granny, would it kill you to let him wake up first?"

"The more unsuspecting he is, the less of a fight he'll put up," she answered, eyes glittering with determination. She spoke of Archie as though she was the sly hunter and he was the innocent deer munching in a peaceful, flower-filled meadow, blissfully unaware of his impending doom.

"But, Granny—" Ruby trailed unenthusiastically behind her grandmother. Granny held up a hand to silence the protests.

"Nope."

"Granny, he's the one! I know it!" Ruby practically heard the rattle of Granny's eyes in her head.

"Where have I heard that one before? The last time you professed love to an individual belonging to the male species was Boyfriend #47," she tossed over her shoulder. Ruby wished Granny was exaggerating. The only ones not included in that round-up of males were Mr. Gold, August, and David Nolan, mostly due to the fact that David had been stuck in a coma for as long as she could remember.

Oh, no, they were almost there!

She tugged insistently on Granny's arm, digging her heels in. When that didn't work, she hopped in front of Granny and spread her arms wide to block her path. It was already too late; Archie was crossing the street toward the diner. He spotted Ruby at the same instant that Granny spotted him.

"Ruby?" He waved cheerfully in her direction from the middle of the street, his umbrella swinging on the crook of his arm.

"Hopper!" Granny growled, a feral wildcat lunging for the kill.

"Granny—"

Without warning, something passed over all three of them, a powerful wave that rendered them speechless. For once, Granny stopped dead in her spot, her eyes reflecting a glassy unawareness that hadn't been there a moment ago. One heartbeat later and those eyes flooded with critical perception.

The umbrella fell from Archie's grasp and he patted his chest as though searching for something that was missing. He gazed perplexedly at his bare palms and crouched a couple of times at the knees, performing exquisite pliés. Ruby pinched her crimson-streaked hair with unfamiliarity and tied her pea coat tighter around her waist to cover her exposed skin.

"Red?" Granny was the first to recover the use of auditory speech, her hand extending out to reach her granddaughter. Shakily, Red grabbed it before throwing her arms around Granny in a massive bear hug.

"I remember everything," she cried out, wiping the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand. "My name is Red, not Ruby. I'm a wolf...oh, gods, I ate my boyfriend! And I'm dating a cricket."

Archie—no, Jiminy—bent to retrieve his fallen umbrella. A sheepish smile brightened his face as he observed Red with newly awakened eyes.

"Does this mean that you and I are...over?" The Enchanted Forest housed many oddities, but a match between a werewolf and a cricket was yet unheard of.

Slowly, Red detached from Granny's embrace and wandered to Jiminy's side. She lightly touched his jaw and sensed a spark of excitement flash through his body from the contact. Her lips met his in a chaste kiss, with Granny radiating her iron stare. It didn't necessarily feel like true love's kiss...but it still made Red's heart race as much as running in her wolf form.

She pulled her head back and placed a warm hand over his.

"We could give it a shot...if you don't mind having a werewolf for a girlfriend, that is," she suggested, shrugging. She looked up at him hopefully from beneath her eyelashes. His fingers threaded through hers.

"It doesn't matter what form you take. I like you for who you really are, Red. I'd be honored to...uh, give it a shot," he agreed. Her hopes soared even as she checked over her shoulder for Granny's approval. The old woman fixed her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and gave Jiminy the longest once-over of his life.

"I suppose you could've done worse. It could've been someone like Whale. I have no clue who that guy really is, but I bet he isn't a saint," Granny grumbled, cracking her knuckles fiercely. Red shuddered at the thought of Whale. Jiminy barely had time to sigh with relief over Granny's apparent blessing before a knobby finger pointed at his chest like the barrel of a rifle. "One warning, Hopper: my granddaughter has endured enough tragedy in her life. So if you do anything to hurt her, I'll—"

Jiminy held up his hands in surrender. The umbrella hit the ground again, this time springing open and rolling over the cement.

"I'm a conscience incarnate, Granny. I don't think I'm programmed that way, any more than Regina is programmed to be a prima ballerina," he replied hastily.

Red beamed up at Archie as Granny's face softened with reason. What more could she ask for than a conscience personified? Suddenly, he frowned.

"Does this mean I have to forfeit my Ph.D.?" Red giggled and patted his chest reassuringly.

"We'll always have Archie and the Crickets."

…

"Wait," she called out in her silvery voice, tinged with the same Australian accent and just the tiniest bit raw from years of disuse. Her sneakers crunched atop the dry, crisp leaves and twigs scattering the forest floor, but her steps had begun to slow in pace. No doubt her curiosity had peaked, her lips forming questions he could not answer yet.

This false form of Belle would not understand.

"No, no, we're very close," he replied over his shoulder, carrying onward. They had started uphill and his sore leg tackled it in aching determination. The vial of true love tumbled and rolled inside his suit pocket, ready to serve its purpose.

"Rumpelstiltskin, wait," came her voice again, carried with the slight morning breeze. This time the tone was pleading, holding a bit of that willful essence that could only ever belong to Belle.

Feet inexplicably rooted to the spot, he attempted to process the abrupt miracle of Belle regaining her true memories. A torrent of relief, surprise, fear, anxiety, excitement, and curiosity overwhelmed his brain.

Belle remembered.

This could only mean one thing for certain. Emma broke the curse. Finally.

Gradually, he revolved in place to face Belle. At first glance, she still resembled that unfortunate, tattered young woman escaped from the psych ward. Upon further speculation, he registered the small significant changes.

Confidence had squared her shoulders, her chin raised high unlike her counterpart's timid posture. The tangles in her hair seemed to lift in the breeze, the sun making them shine with that old chestnut hue. She was no longer tentative toward him, but yearning and drawn forth like a gentle moth to a flame.

All the while, he could barely breathe properly for anticipation of her reaction. His fingers numbed over his cane until he was unable to perceive the gold-tipped head grasped in his palm, an extension to his shaky hand.

Would Belle still harbor that fiery resentment over a broken heart? Or would it not matter now that they were reunited once more?

"I remember everything," she breathed in wonder, her fingers dancing across her forehead as a battalion of lost memories invaded her mind. Quenching its thirst, making it stronger, wiping away the traces of her false self and storing those pieces somewhere in the back where it would only serve to be a small itch instead of a spreading virus. She took a few careful steps forward, a generous smile gracing her rosy lips. "I love you."

Three enchanting words that should have ultimately been his undoing.

At the announcement of those delicate words, he should have fallen to her feet, cradled his head amidst her gentle abdomen, kissed the sorrow from her brow until there were none left to give. He should have swept her up into his arms, stroked her hair, whispered words of love into her ear, never giving her reason to doubt his affections again.

But as his lips readily formed the reciprocating words—_I love you, too_—something stopped him with the force of iron chains.

No, not iron chains exactly—those were too formidable to describe what he was feeling. More like...a seeping warmth that eclipsed his heart and prevented him from extending it in Belle's direction. The promise stalled on his tongue, his lips clamping shut to deny its release. His head throbbed with a powerful, startling realization. He was having some sort of epiphany.

He was unwilling to return Belle's promise of love...because it simply would not be true. Once it might have been, but something had changed throughout the past few months of his life. The chipped cup had shattered. He had moved on.

The sight of Belle faded from his immediate focus as bittersweet memories of his own rose to the surface.

When he closed his eyes to the world and imagined weaving his fingers through a woman's silky tresses, that hair was not rich and chestnut in texture. It was golden, seemingly embedded with rays of sunshine in the morning and sparkling with the diamonds of moonlight at night. When he inhaled a breath and conjured the memory of the invigorating scent of his lover's skin, it was not the subtle fragrance of roses and pages of books he smelled, but cinnamon and the earthy pine aroma of the woods surrounding his home. When he heard himself whispering _I love you_ into his beloved's ear, it was not a set of cornflower blue eyes that he drowned in headfirst. They were fiery emeralds he hoped would never cool.

The promise of reciprocated love could not be given freely to Belle...because this was not the woman who held his heart, anymore.

"Rumpel...did you hear me? I lo—"

"Yes, yes, I heard you," he intercepted, harsher than he intended. Despite all her bravery, she flinched. This was not the reunion she had expected. He swallowed the lump forming thick in his throat, already fearing the anguish that would inevitably mar her beauty. "I heard the first time, dearie. And I'm sorry to say...I don't."

Belle's brow furrowed with confusion and she swayed on her feet, having wavered from approaching him. He could tell she did not entirely fathom his meaning yet. She was still under the impression that they were star-crossed lovers, fated to thrive in their passion until the end of their days, unless tragedy tore them apart. It was what she desired. Desire was not the same as love.

He wanted to turn his gaze to the sky or the fringe of trees, but he could not glance away. He would not remind her of his cowardice; he owed her that much. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

"What? You...don't?" He felt his mask crumble, his usually controlled expression twisting with grief and remorse. He was about to break her heart a second time. But pretending his love for her was intact would only end in greater tragedy.

"Belle...I don't love you, anymore. I've loved you nonstop for thirty years. Emma—" It was the magical key that unlocked the well of emotions inside his chest. Emma.

He thought of her face, her feisty attitude that always entranced him, the way she kissed him in the dead of the night—the kind of passionate kiss that was never meant to be viewed in public territory. He thought of the gift she had given him in helping him rise above his longtime misery and granting him the pleasure of calling Henry his son.

Belle's cheeks flushed violently, her head inclining with understanding.

"You're in love with someone else," she said quietly. It did not sound like a bitter accusation spurred on by scorn. It sounded like a fact taken from one of her books, recited after intense studying. "What about true love?"

"True love?" He uttered the old-fashioned phrase with skepticism. He shook his head inquisitively. "I don't believe what we had was true love, Belle. Perhaps...you and I were only fascinated by what may be than what truly is. I love Emma. To insist on offering my love to you would only end in hurting you further. That is the last thing I would ever want. I hope you can say the same of me."

Instead of any tearful outpouring of the feelings that must be building inside her, which Belle was more than entitled to after his unexpected rejection, she finished crossing the space to his side. Every inch of his lean frame was devoured by her intellectual gaze. Her arms wrapped around him in a final embrace, her head burrowing into his shoulder. He was almost afraid to touch her, as though she might fade into wisps of smoke through his fingers.

Then she tenderly placed a hand on the side of his face, cupping it so that he would look at her straight-on.

"Rumpel...you honestly think I would resent you for having the courage to find happiness? After waiting so many years grieving for me? You silly man. I may be torn over hearing such unhappy words now, but my wounds will heal. As long as you are happy, then I will be happy," she reassured him kindly. She was much too virtuous for his own good—he did not even deserve to stand in her presence. "I hope this Emma person takes care of you forever. I hope she values your heart and recognizes a good thing when she has it in her possession."

With that, Belle removed her hand from his jaw. Closing the distance between their bodies, she clasped his shoulders firmly and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek where her hand had been previously. It was her token of farewell.

"I suppose there is nothing left for me in these woods, then. Unless you wish to have me accompany you for whatever you need to do," she wondered, raising a speculative eyebrow. Dipping his hand in his pocket, he traced the edge of the vial containing the liquid form of true love. He waved her on.

"No, no. Please, I'd prefer it if you head into town and become familiar with it. Find your father. I'm sure he is out there scouring the streets for you."

At the mention of her father, Belle's spirit restored itself. She smiled gloriously before turning on her heel and retracing her steps along the path that would lead her back to the heart of town.

Only once at the edge of the bend did she pause to glance back at him. He didn't miss the gentle tears that welled under her eyelids.

"Goodbye, Rumpelstiltskin," she bade him one last time. He watched her figure fade into the mass of trees with a heavy heart. She would always have a special place in it, even if Emma was the one who held it in the palm of her hands.

"Goodbye...Belle," he whispered after she was gone and out of earshot.

After a minute or so, he carried on his way uphill to the spot where the ancient well stood—the one that connected with the waters of Lake Nostos. There was one last thing he had to do before returning to Emma and verifying his love for her. He was bringing magic to Storybrooke.

The vial of true love dangled between his fingers, hovering above the seemingly everlasting darkness of the well. Then he dropped it, demanding that which he had lost be returned to him.

…

It turned out that Mother Superior was the Blue Fairy, much to Henry's delight in guessing her identity right. The only thing she was missing was her wand and a pair of wings. Regina had dashed from Henry's hospital room in a flurry, but Emma didn't have the mind to deal with an evil queen after absorbing the change that fell upon the town of Storybrooke like winter's first snowfall. Plus, she was running on very limited sleep at the moment—her batteries needed to recharge before storming into another heated battle.

No one had a clue who Whale really was and he refused time and again to divulge that secret. For some unfathomable reason, he kept trying out different accents.

"Are you Robin Hood?" Henry paged through his book, growing frustrated with failing to guess Whale's storybook character. Emma didn't think Whale was the steal from the rich type of guy—only Moe French had ever stolen from Gold, though his intentions were not meant for benefitting the poor. Whale shook his head roughly.

"No, I'm not. My true self is my personal business, kid," he replied tersely. Henry flipped another page, ignoring Whale's off-putting remark.

A nurse offered Emma a seat and a Styrofoam cup of water, but she declined. She was too busy watching the tennis match between Henry and Whale. She gazed distantly out the window every few minutes, wondering where her parents were right now. Were they searching the streets for her? Calling her name?

Her stomach took a violent turn—from nervousness about officially meeting her parents, she assumed.

"Are you...King Midas?"

"Henry, if I were King Midas, don't you think I would order something better than a hamburger at Granny's? Or dine on steak and caviar every night? I don't even have a speck of gold on me," he pointed out, dusting off his clean white lab coat. There was a pause.

"So, is that a no?" Whale sighed tiredly and scanned the room for somewhere else to sit.

The queasiness in Emma's stomach increased, a wave of nausea making her hand fly to her abdomen while her eyes squeezed shut. She hadn't eaten anything in hours. She breathed in and out deeply—in through the nose, out through the mouth—trying to quench the discomfort.

It was just her luck to battle a dragon and succumb to a pathetic stomachache in the same night.

"You have to be in this book somewhere! Otherwise, what are you even doing here in Storybrooke? Okay, are you Peter Pan, Prince Eric, or the whale from _Pinocchio_?" Whale gawked at Henry for a full minute before answering.

"One: I hate flying. Two: who? And three: you assume that just because my cursed last name is Whale that I must be an _actual_ whale?" Henry blinked nonchalantly.

"Yes." He thumbed through another page or so, pausing only to let his finger hover over a colorful illustration of seven mermaids. "How about King Triton? From _The Little Mermaid?" _Whale tipped his nose up at the illustration.

"I don't have seven daughters! For the love of God, are we done yet?" he muttered. From the corner, the Blue Fairy whipped her head around and cast him a severe look. He coughed into his hand, his neck flaming up. "Go—Gold. For the love of Gold." She shook her head pitifully.

Black spots obscured Emma's vision. The room swayed beneath her feet like she was standing on a moving carousel. Henry's small hand landed on her wrist, which was pink with color compared to her own. She couldn't hear a single word that matched the movement of his lips.

Oh, it rushed up hot and thick in her throat, burning the roof of her mouth...

"'Scuse me," she mumbled, already halfway to the bathroom adjoining Henry's hospital room.

She didn't care how many heads swiveled after her; she just needed to _find that toilet. _Or something close to the toilet. The bones in her legs rattled as her knees collided with the linoleum floor, her head thrust forward over the bowl, and she emptied her hollow stomach.

She didn't know how long she hacked and gagged while sprawled on the floor. Time was nonexistent in that bathroom. Someone held her blonde hair back—the Blue Fairy, maybe.

The acid stopped rushing through her esophagus, the nausea subsided even though it left sweat running down the curve of her back, and her vision no longer looked splotched with black paint. She had enough strength, at least, to flush the contents of her stomach down the drain and acknowledge the concerned stares of the people gathered in the doorway. She was right; the Blue Fairy stood tall behind her with a fistful of blonde waves. She graciously released her hold on her hair.

Whale pushed through the crowd, encouraging the observers to give her some space. Emma suddenly felt like throwing up again. _I knew you weren't a real doctor, _she condescended him in her mind, only because she didn't trust what might come out of her mouth.

"Sheriff? How are you feeling?"

Oh, yeah, here it came again...it was coming up...no...yes...Emma let her head hang over the rim of the toilet until she was sure that she could talk without losing her lunch. Or in this case, pre-breakfast.

"How do you think? I'm ready to jump in a hot air balloon and fly to Oz," she said sarcastically. Whale lowered his eyes in humiliation. "It's probably just a stomach bug." It certainly wasn't a hangover or food poisoning. Her cheeks puffed and her stomach convulsed as she remembered Henry and that apple turnover. A stomach bug seemed appropriate.

But Whale's follow-up question stunned her.

"Tell me, Emma: when was the last time you had your period?" Her head reared back from the toilet as the weight of his implication hit her. Was he seriously suggesting...that she might be...?

"I don't know. It's been..." She fell quiet as she calculated it. The last time she and Gold made love was...and the last time she had her monthly gift...Without her even realizing it, her hand fell to her belly, which hadn't even begun to swell. "I...I'm..."

Whale nodded as the truth sunk in. Henry's eyes flew open wide, a mixture of surprise and joy.

"You might want to consider the possibility that you're pregnant," he finished the thought for her.

A floodgate opened in Emma's mind, unleashing a rapid stream of emotions. Bewilderment, amazement, happiness...she and Gold were going to have a child. She vowed she would protect this one the way she never protected the one she lost. The pleasure pounding through her body was so powerful that it almost conquered every ounce of anger she previously harbored for her husband.

A child...

"I have to tell him," she mumbled mostly to herself, hastily rising to her feet.

She stumbled against the sink, but pushed away all those that tried to steady her. She had to tell Gold the news as soon as possible. The matter with the egg seemed a small detail alongside the realization that an unborn baby was steadily growing in her womb.

"If you let me run a test, I can confirm—"

Whale tried to stall her, but Emma shrugged off his unwanted touch. She didn't need a test; somehow, she felt it in her bones. It was true. Like the magic beans sprouting miraculously into a towering beanstalk, the baby inside her belly seemed to radiate a special aura of its own.

With Henry following at her heels, she hurried back into the hospital room. She stopped in her tracks as the sky outside the window darkened.

"Henry, what is that?" It was unlike any thunderstorm she had ever seen. Instead of rolling black clouds and streaks of lightning, a wall of swirling purple fog engulfed the town of Storybrooke.

"Something bad," he murmured, his eyes glued to the window.

Every person in the hospital room was doing the same, frozen in their spot by the unexplainable sight. A feeling of dread skated down her spine, though she couldn't really explain why. Something about that cloud...this was no ordinary storm. It was..._magic, _Emma's mind supplied without hesitance.

She wondered where Gold was at this moment, as Storybrooke succumbed to the violet fog. She wanted so much to tell him about his unborn child, but it was too late. Her arms wrapped around Henry's body and she pulled him tightly against her as the wave of magic descended over their heads.

…

_**Shout-outs! I have to thank DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, liliesandroses, Guest, Ouatfan150, Revenessa, PrincessofSea, megumisakura, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, sbcarri, SwanQueen4055, The-Writer2012, Nightshade's sydneylover150, jhon smith, Pommyth, discotimelord, FortunesFavour, Newland Archer, reginamillz, and stephanie101 for their reviews. It's so good to read all of your comments! **_


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Here it is, at long last. It all starts with a much-awaited Charming family reunion. Of course, I have a few other surprises as well. Enjoy, everyone!**

Emma was a nervous wreck as she floated to the elevator and navigated her way from the elevator to the entrance of the hospital. She barely even heard the trill of the elevator when it reached the first floor, her mind elsewhere. Her mind was a blank white slate, unable to perceive a single logical thought except for one: _I'm going to meet my parents._

It didn't matter that she had forged a friendship with Mary Margaret over the past few months or interrogated David Nolan while investigating Kathryn's disappearance. That world seemed millions of miles away and the one born of its departure was one where she was meeting her true parents for the first time. Her stomach tumbled and heaved, her legs wobbled like Jell-O. She was climbing steadily to the top of that frightful rollercoaster, the wheels cranking under her seat, her head peering over the metal safety rail to view the steep drop...but she had yet to make the plunge. Anticipation was worse than reality.

"Don't be nervous. They'll love you," Henry piped up beside her, his feet matching her for every stride. _Will they? _Emma mentally answered, all her inner fears swimming to the surface.

The minute Whale approved discharge for Henry, the kid had unwaveringly insisted they seek out her parents as soon as possible. In child language, that meant _now. _Faster than the medical term _stat. _Emma was considerably more disinclined, almost to the point of dragging her heels.

What if it wasn't how she always pictured it would be when she finally found her parents? What if it was worse than she imagined? What would she say, now that she was brimming with that old resentment of being abandoned at birth? Would they be the type of family that went to eat out at Chinese buffets and indulged in personal table talk during dinner? Or would they make idle small talk about the weather, hands awkwardly stuffed in their pockets and faced turned down to hide their discomfort?

Emma had no idea what to expect. Breathing in deeply through the nose, she burst through the hospital doors before being able to talk herself out of it.

They didn't have to go very far along Storybrooke's main street. She and Henry barely passed the clock tower when Henry stopped and pointed out a young couple hugging and kissing madly in the middle of the street. Emma grimaced. Two seconds and she was already facing traumatic childhood memories. Minus the childhood part.

"Emma?"

Mary Margaret—no, scratch that. _Snow White_ drifted dreamily over the cement to meet them halfway, green eyes alight with wonder. There was something else there, too. Love. How could they love her when they didn't really know her? Being a mother was a whole different playing field than being a friend.

It was so difficult transcribing this improved image into her brain; it competed ruthlessly with the memory of Mary Margaret, now dearly departed from Storybrooke. And yet, Emma found herself categorizing the differences between the two women.

Confidence exuberated in this woman's gait, a deep strength and self-awareness that Mary Margaret never possessed. The skin around her eyes crinkled slightly, wisdom of one who has seen too much of the world cloaking her shoulders.

Then there were the tears. Mary Margaret had always hated crying in front of Emma because she tried relentlessly to maintain that easy-going, optimistic nature that meant the difference between an okay day and a supremely crappy one. But the tears welled up freely, overflowing with the gentle touch of a hand to Emma's chin.

"Emma...my daughter. My beautiful baby girl," Snow sobbed, pulling Emma into her warm embrace that radiated the tenderness of motherhood. Charming must have felt left out since he mirrored Snow's movements, wrapping his arms around them both. Henry was content to watch the reunion from the sidelines, though Charming reached out a hand to tousle his hair.

Emma was frozen, speechless, and unable to comprehend her warring emotions.

Suddenly, Snow's head reared back.

"You're _married_ to _Rumpelstiltskin_?" So this was to be Lecture #1. Her parents weren't ones to beat around the bush. Charming wiped his forehead with his sleeve in exasperation. In fact, he was rubbing hard enough to warp his entire hard-drive.

Emma squirmed out of Snow's embrace, putting a good foot or two between them.

"I hate to break it to you two, but arranged marriages are extinct in this world. In other words, I married Gold because...well, I was drunk that night, but I am staying with him because I want to. You're not interfering with some other suitor. You'll just have to accept that," she fired. Snow and Charming exchanged bewildered looks.

"Of course they will," Henry insisted, directing everyone's attention downward. "You're family. You're not going to let anything tear you apart, right?" Snow gasped, a hand flying to the spot over her heart.

Emma envied the innocent bubble that was Henry's world. Everything inside it was black and white, good or evil. Even though he'd grown up lonely, he somehow remained untainted by the selfishness and complexity of fate. Emma wished it were that simple.

"Right," Snow murmured in agreement. Her eyes flickered to Emma, who was adamantly avoiding any such eye contact. The barest of touches only made her pull farther away. "Emma, you have to understand. Rumpelstiltskin is the darkest being in the Enchanted Forest."

"If I had to write a list of the five people I'd never want my daughter to marry, his name would be at the very top," Charming declared brusquely. "Followed swiftly by Regina."

Emma didn't know whether he was simply venting his frustration or if he actually penned this list before she was born. It gave the term 'arranged marriage' a whole new meaning. As with any unanswered question in this town, Henry had to egg him on.

"Who are the other three on the list?" Charming glanced down at Henry's fairytale book, clutched tightly to the kid's chest. His expression became pensive as he sifted through his true memories. He ticked the subjects off his fingers.

"Well, under Regina's name was King George, Dopey, and Regina's valet. You know that guy has six fingers?" Henry stared at his own small hand, trying to compare it with the image of six fingers. Emma wished the street would swallow her whole like a black lagoon. She was sleepy, grumpy...hell, by this time she was the embodiment of all seven dwarves besides Happy.

"So, who were you two going to marry me off to? Jiminy Cricket?" Snow and Charming exchanged glances again.

"Yes," they admitted simultaneously. Snow took Emma by the shoulders. "Sweetie, listen to me. If you're being held against your will...if for some reason you're afraid of leaving him...we understand. It won't be a problem once I find my arrows."

If ever Charming looked murderous, it was now what with Snow speaking of using arrows against Gold. Emma couldn't even believe what she was hearing. It was clear that Snow wasn't listening to her Mary Margaret memories at all.

"Mary—uh, Snow. If you appreciated how Gold treats me as his wife, you'd realize how ridiculous that is. If he even dared to raise a hand to me, he'd have to arm himself with his cane to defend himself. Trust me, I'd become his worst nightmare." There was nothing like a raging hormonal pregnant woman to put her husband in his place.

Apparently, that was hard for her parents to believe. Emma sighed.

"Come on, he can't be the worst candidate in the Enchanted Forest! Aren't you over-exaggerating a little bit?" She squeezed her fingers together to show how much they might be throwing this out of proportion. Charming stepped in front of Snow.

"Emma, your mother and I have stories about Rumpelstiltskin that will surely make your hair curl. Well, _curlier_." Charming gestured to the spiraling waves of gold cascading over Emma's leather clad shoulders. "In fact, he used to pull your mother's hair!" Snow spun and backhanded him on the chest.

"One time!" She blushed furiously, patting the short strands of her coal black hair. "He's not one to be trifled with." Emma scoffed.

"Oh, believe me, he and I are _way_ beyond trifling," she muttered under her breath. She resisted the urge to bring a hand over her belly. With all the awkwardness going on at the moment, she didn't want to make it worse by revealing to her parents that she was pregnant again.

"Snow, let's go stand by that brick wall," Charming suggested, pointing to the alley alongside Granny's Diner. Snow tilted her head, a sure sign of her perplexity.

"You think we'll be holding up traffic?" _What traffic? _Emma shielded her eyes from the morning sun and surveyed the empty street. Charming put his arm around Snow's shoulder and guided her off.

"No, I think I need to bang my head on it. Very hard," he said. Snow gaped openly at Emma as they headed for the sidewalk. It was like she was admiring a famous painting, allured by it so much that she couldn't help studying it for long periods at a time.

"I can't believe you were pregnant," she whispered in awe. Charming's head snapped around. That brick wall was looking friendlier by the minute. _Oh, what the hell. Since they're insisting on traveling down that road, _she relented.

"Funny you should mention that..." Both of them glanced down at her flat belly. One and one clicked together to form two in their minds. Henry giggled at their stupefied expressions. He was no help whatsoever. He was cheering for a little brother already.

"Emma," Snow exclaimed, not in a scolding matter but one of pure surprise.

"You mean you two...actually...horizontally..._vertically_..." Charming failed to complete his thought, shuddering violently in his spot. New tears welled up in Snow's eyes—whether from joy or horror, Emma didn't know.

"We've been married for nearly six months. Let's see, how many times did you two do it on your wedding night? Multiply that by ten and you should get an answer for our nighttime excursions," she said. Her parents fell silent as they worked out the math. Emma bit her lip and started to regret casting that line. What if they ended up saying one hundred?

Charming's eyebrows skyrocketed.

"Thirty times? Not in one night, I hope!"

Emma debated whether to protest about the intimacies of her personal life or not. Sometimes it _felt_ like thirty times, especially in those early days when she and Gold confessed their attraction for one another and threw caution to the winds. Now it was Charming restraining her by the shoulders.

"Emma, if you want to divorce him, I fully support your decision," her father added. Snow was still wrapping her mind around the possibility of another grandchild. Her face contorted like those old theatre Comedy/Tragedy masks—happy one instant, sad the next.

Enough was enough. Emma furiously stomped the heel of her boot on the pavement. Her impatience was coming to a head and these two made her revert to childish antics. What she desperately craved was one of Granny's iced teas to clear her head.

"I'm _not_ divorcing him. Believe it or not, he makes me happy," she cried out. Besides, she definitely didn't fancy marrying a cricket. He already belonged to Ruby, otherwise known as Little Red 'Touch-Him-And-You-Die' Riding Hood. Charming shook his head.

"You're right. I don't believe it." Emma sunk her head into her hands, her fingers gnawing into her tangled blonde hair. She gave Henry an accusatory sideways look. So much for a smooth family reunion.

"I blame you for this."

…

Granny's Diner was officially the family waiting room of Storybrooke.

The place was crowded more than usual with sobbing parents hugging their children to the point of suffocation, their noses blowing like trumpets into napkins. Then there were the true loves. Honestly, didn't they ever come up for air? It was supposed to be True Love's Kiss, not True Love's Make-out Session.

Jefferson nearly got pummeled and steamrolled twice by couples racing into each other's arms. It was a good thing Cinderella no longer had that blimp of a belly.

He decided it was much safer to stay out of the middle of the diner, otherwise known as 'no single man's land.' He managed to grab a free stool at the bar. Granny was filling out orders faster than a drill sergeant commanding soldiers to drop and give her fifty, yet he still had trouble placing an order for one drink. He hoped that woman had extra alcohol in the back because it was selling out fast.

"Excuse me! Granny! Could I just...Hello? Would it matter if I said I only wanted water?"

He gave up on ordering a drink and reclined on his stool to observe the ongoing reunions. He thought of Grace out there with her false family, but he couldn't gather up enough strength to seek her out. He was still worried that she might resent him for leaving her and getting stuck in Wonderland. Maybe he would send her a letter first.

His eyes swept largely over the crowd before landing on a familiar head of tousled brown locks one stool over. He eyed the stool that separated them, but it didn't appear to be reserved. She was the only one not celebrating, excluding him, of course.

"Where is he?" Jefferson asked without warning. Mostly, he wanted to know if he would end up being tackled to the floor if he chose to sit on the stool next to Belle. Two glimmering blue eyes locked with his curious gaze, the whites near her corneas faintly red from weeping. "Rumpelstiltskin," he clarified. "Surely, he wouldn't leave his lady love unattended. Where are his manners?"

Jefferson made a low, condescending _tsk-tsk_. Belle's lips lifted an inch, not enough to reach her eyes. Her eyes faltered to her lap where her fingers melded together like the teeth of a zipper. She sniffled once, her shoulders straightening as she tried to get control of her emotions.

"Technically, his 'lady love'...is waiting for him at home. He ended up choosing to stay with his wife, Emma. He's in love with her. I'm happy for him, but it begs the question: where do I go from here?"

Belle tilted her head and surveyed the four corners of the diner. He could tell by her sorrowful frown that this wasn't exactly the Emerald City at the end of the Yellow Brick Road. He traced his tongue over the inside of his cheek, slipping into his awkward silence as he struggled to find the right words to say.

He wasn't very good in the department of comforting crying females.

"Well, it's not like it's the end of the world, is it?" He tentatively offered, hopping across the synapse between his stool and the one directly beside her.

It only led to him being further dismayed by the deepening crease of her brow. Okay, so that was clearly the _wrong_ thing to say. He should know how a broken heart felt—he had suffered years of its torture after his wife passed.

He swept his hand over his forehead and found it slightly damp.

"This isn't easy for me to say, but I know how you feel. Some people tell you it gets easier with time, but those people are either hopelessly naïve or extraordinary liars. There's no way to describe the pain of a broken heart. It throbs, it aches, it burns five times worse than heartburn...in the dead of the night you can almost hear your heart cracking and crumbling with every wheeze of breath, like some morose lullaby. Your chest constricts at the most inconvenient moments; your lungs deflate until you can barely draw in a breath. You reach out beside you, but your hand passes through empty air. The tiniest things remind you of that person you knew—the color of a stranger's scarf matches their eyes or you hear a laugh in the distance that sounds too much like theirs. After a while, people expect you to be strong and move on, so you try to smile only to have that smile become your mask to hide the torment underneath. It feels...like half of you is missing, floating around the universe somewhere with no guarantee of being returned to you. It's the worst feeling in the world."

He didn't realize he was full-forcedly crying until Belle held out a fresh napkin. He slurred a weak_ thank-you _and blew his nose terribly loud, causing several heads to turn. Belle leaned over and patted him on the back, murmuring _there, there._ She was a natural at comforting someone that was hurting, lulling him down gently with whispered promises of hope and soft clucks of her tongue.

"I take it you lost someone you love, too?"

She craned her neck to peer up at his face, his head hanging inches above the bar. He dabbed his wet eyes. From the other end of the bar, Granny shot him a strange look. He decided to blame his watery eyes on the smell of frying onions if she asked.

"Yes. My wife. I lost her in the Enchanted Forest because of my work. In our land, I was a portal jumper. I could jump into different worlds," he explained. He slipped his hands under his cravat and rubbed his throat to get rid of the rasp. "There will never be another puzzle piece that will fit perfectly with yours, but I always thought there was a chance of finding happiness elsewhere. Maybe you should keep your mind open. It might happen in the most unexpected place," he advised her, inadvertently leaning into her touch. She nodded thoughtfully.

"You've been to other worlds?"

Ah, so she was an adventure-seeker. The complete opposite of Rumpelstiltskin, who had to sleep with dozens of lit candles in his castle after visiting Oz through Jefferson's hat once. To this day, the imp swore he wouldn't go near the monkeys in a zoo.

Jefferson recognized the spark of excitement in Belle's eyes, her elbows propping up on the bar so she could inch closer to him.

"Please, I was the best portal jumper in the Enchanted Forest," he boasted. Belle's eyes widened with awe. He didn't mean to toot his own horn, but..."I've been to worlds you couldn't even imagine in your dreams. Oz, Wonderland, The World Without Color—"

"There's a world without color?" Belle eyed him skeptically. She was suddenly reduced to the age of a child being told a thrilling story around the campfire. Jefferson found himself feeding off of her interest, unable to stop the flow of words from his mouth if he clamped an iron plate over it.

"It's one of the more unsettling worlds. The lack of color messes with your vision after about an hour of being there," he admitted casually. "Every time I go there, Frankenstein insists that it's filled with marvelous color and that _I'm_ the one in black and white. If you ask me, his career as a mad scientist went to his head a long time ago."

Belle's mouth dropped open, hanging unladylike. He shrank back as she stared at him. Was there something crawling on his head?

"_Frankenstein_? Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_?"

Oh, right. Rumpelstiltskin once mentioned Belle's intense love of books. He always complained about having to restock the library shelves in his castle every week to keep up with her reading habits. There were even stories that he fabricated with the help of Jefferson and a barrel of ale. And people wondered who wrote the popular _Tales from One Thousand and One Nights_.

"Yeah, he and I...what's that popular phrase in this world?" Jefferson snapped his fingers. "He and I go way back," he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. Belle had to bite her lip to contain her amazement. It was kind of cute. "I have plenty of stories to share. That is, if you'll let me buy you a drink."

If Belle thought anything suspicious of Jefferson's flirtation, she didn't say so out loud. Instead, she dipped her head in agreement. He flagged down Granny. It took waving his tear-soaked napkin wildly above his head to do just that.

"What can I get for you two lovebirds? A milkshake with two straws?" Belle and Jefferson exchanged shell-shocked looks. It was even more startled coming from Belle since she had no clue what a "milkshake" was. A pool of light pink color rose to her cheeks.

"Wait," Jefferson muttered. "You think that she...and I...that we're...together?" Were they being that friendly?

Granny planted her fists on her broad hips impatiently. Time was money, after all. Since they weren't being sucked out of this world yet, the old woman apparently wanted to make the best of it.

"You're caterwauling over here one minute and giggling like schoolgirls the next. What am I supposed to think? Now, are you going to order something or should I just refill the napkin dispenser?" Belle swallowed down a laugh over Granny's irate attitude.

"I'll have..." Belle picked up a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser and skimmed over the list of drinks. Her lips mouthed out the names—hot chocolate? pina colada? martini?—with her expression becoming more confused. The menu might as well have been transcribed in hieroglyphics.

Jefferson quickly rushed to her rescue.

"I'd recommend the iced tea," he said, pointing to it on the menu. Belle gave him a quizzical look. Then she slapped down the menu and nodded pleasantly to Granny.

"One iced tea, please," she ordered. Jefferson raised a finger before Granny could head off to fill the order.

"Make that two. My treat," he insisted, smiling shyly down at Belle. Granny studied the two of them over the rims of her glasses. The message was impossible to miss: _are you sure you two aren't together? Looks like it to me._ But she wandered off without voicing her two cents.

"I've never had tea iced before," Belle admitted, smoothing down the rumpled jacket hanging loosely on her frame. Even in shaggy clothing with tangled hair, she looked better than half the women in this diner.

Jefferson figured there were a lot of things on that menu Belle had never tasted. Hamburgers, waffles with chocolate chips, hot dogs, ice cream...oh, the ice cream. With extra toppings like Oreos, M&Ms, Reese's peanut butter cups...

He was making himself drool. Not very attractive.

"You'll love it," he promised. And Belle smiled.

…

"Emma, shouldn't we talk about..._it?"_

Snow was trying desperately to be discreet, but she was doing a terrible job of it. She and Charming dogged Emma's heels with Henry in tow, even though Emma thought she made it clear she needed some space. She couldn't deal with all this overwhelming emotion right now.

Reluctantly, she whirled to face her mother.

"Okay, I know you're technically my mother, but isn't it bad enough that I gave you dating advice and listened to the details of your love life when you were still Mary Margaret? Even worse, you two walked in on me and Gold in the cabin on our honeymoon!"

All three of them shared horrified looks at that memory. Emma rushed on before Henry could ask what she and Gold were doing in the cabin. It was peppering his little tongue that instant; she could almost pluck the words right out of his mouth.

"Besides, I don't think it's helpful to give batting tips when the candy's already popped out of the piñata, if you know what I mean." She rolled her eyes in Henry's direction.

"That's not the _it_ I was talking about," Snow objected.

Emma felt heat crawl up her neck. Oh. She meant the other unspeakable 'it'. The one dealing with her parent issues and hard-knock life. Emma wasn't ready to discuss that, either.

"And are you comparing your womb to a piñata? How hard do you and Mr. Gold...uh, Rumpelstiltskin..." Charming started making gagging noises behind Snow, his hands clutching his stomach. "You know what, never mind."

"Emma says I'm getting a piñata on my birthday," Henry interrupted, beaming up at his mother. The three adults of the group shifted uncomfortably. Not only did Emma not want to have this conversation with her parents yet, but she didn't want Henry to hear it.

"Snow, I don't think it's appropriate to be discussing this in public or in front of people who should not be privy to it," Charming practically read his daughter's mind. His head tilted to Henry as a hint. Soon they would be speaking in tongue-in-cheek code like in_ Beauty and the Beast _and saying things like _there's something there that wasn't there before. Wink, wink. _Oh, how true that line was. Emma stroked her belly.

"Actually—" She started to protest, but Henry beat her to the punch.

"Guys, I'm not clueless. My stepdad already tried giving me 'The Talk,'" the kid announced, hooking his fingers into air-quotes. Emma didn't think it was possible for Snow to pale any more, but her skin lightened by two shades.

"Emma, you let Rumpelstiltskin educate Henry about sex?" Emma shoved her hands deep in her pockets. She chewed on her tongue to prevent any sticky words from falling out. In her mind, Rumpelstiltskin giving Henry the Talk was far better than Regina doing it. Snow eyed Henry miserably. "Wonderful. Our grandson's going to grow up to be a womanizer. He'll probably even develop a taste for leather pants."

Charming's face twisted up bitterly.

"Snow, there are some memories I can wait to relive. That's one of them," he murmured in her ear. Meanwhile, all Emma could do was blink. What...was that...her mother said? Leather...pants? Seriously? First Jefferson, now them?

"I'm sorry...leather what?" She pictured her husband strutting into their bedroom with leather pants that were skintight and required peeling off. It was...a strange image, at best. Snow smiled sympathetically and patted her daughter's hand.

"I keep forgetting you never grew up in our world, where you belonged. Those tight leather pants rock stars generally wear in this world? Your husband set that trend," she confirmed.

"Not that anyone's thanking him for it. Least of all me," Charming mumbled.

Emma's brain fizzled. This was going to be one of the dire questions she asked her husband when she found him: was he really that fond of leather pants? If Gold mimicked Steven Tyler and wore those things around the house, she didn't know whether she'd find it to be a turn-on or disconcerting.

Now she really needed some space.

"Speaking of my husband, why don't you two bond with your grandson while I find him? Keep him for a sleepover at your place?" She thrust Henry toward her parents. Maybe the kid would be able to keep them satisfied in their thirst for parenthood for a while. Henry seemed perfectly fine with it, the wheels turning in his head as he easily stumbled into Snow's arms.

Before Emma could make good on her escape, Snow stopped her with a touch to her shoulder.

"How about if we have dinner together tomorrow night? Our first as a real family. It'd be just me, Charming, you, Henry...and you can bring your husband as well," Snow suggested kindly. Charming faltered, but Snow's serious gaze stopped him from complaining. _You're family. You're not going to let anything tear you apart. _

Emma nodded. Then she wondered how she would break the news to Gold that he would be sitting across from Charming at the dinner table tomorrow night. _Take one thing at a time, Emma. One thing at a time, _she repeated the mantra in her head as she walked away.

When she was gone, Snow held Henry to her chest and looked down on him in sheer amazement. So many things had happened at once—the curse breaking, reuniting with Charming, finding her daughter—that she struggled to breathe it all in. It was exciting, surprising, joyful, saddening, and nerve-wracking all at the same time.

"Charming...we're grandparents now," she mused fondly, ruffling Henry's brown hair. Her grandson returned her embrace and smiled brightly. Charming groaned.

"Don't remind me. In my head, it was just yesterday that I was sword-fighting with Emma in my arms," he replied. He shook his head glumly. "So this is what getting old feels like."

…

Emma found him in the kitchen with a grin on his lips. She didn't need to witness it to know it was there; she could _feel_ it. His hands waved lithely and power crackled through the air. He was actually experimenting with magic. It sent a shiver down her back.

She half-expected him to shout out, _"It's alive!"_ But he was Rumpelstiltskin, not Frankenstein. Frankenstein wasn't even a fairy-tale character.

He must have heard her there, for he turned around to face her. Oh, yes, the Cheshire cat would have made a run for his money. She noticed then that he was standing strongly on _both_ his legs, his cane discarded near the wall beside her. The magic must have healed his bad leg. _Lucky him_, she thought as he carried ultimate power on his shoulders like a second skin.

"Hello, Emma. Shimmied out of the elevator shaft, I see," he drawled, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. Emma crossed her arms. It felt like a shield to ward off an opponent.

"Yeah, no thanks to _you_," she shot back. The only thing he did was collect the stupid egg and run like hell. Gold—_Rumpelstiltskin_—ignored her verbal lashing.

"And the curse is broken. My, my. I am impressed...if you know what I mean," he continued, tilting his head at her. Her eyes briefly darted downwards, but she had yet to detect any change. Was there a spell to make arousal not so noticeable? "Please..._sit."_

He pointed in the direction of a chair and it slid out for her without him laying a finger on it. It rubbed her the wrong way.

"Stop," she murmured icily. Magic wasn't supposed to exist in this world. And what were the consequences? According to the infamous dealmaker himself, magic always came with a price. What if it hurt her children? Henry, the one she was currently carrying...

"Stop what?" Rumpelstiltskin swiftly stepped toward her, his steps graceful as always. "This?" With the wave of a hand, the lock on the front door clicked. "Or _this?"_ Another simple wave and the curtains closed over the windows, shrouding them in dim shadows.

"Stop doing that," Emma repeated more insistently. Somehow, he'd gotten ahold of his cane and forced it against her back, trapping her body tightly against his. He peered down at her with glee as she had no choice but to rest her hands against his chest.

"What's wrong, dearie? You don't like the real me?" He was mocking her, flaunting his renewed power. Emma shoved her palms against his chest in an attempt to squirm away from him, but the cane held her at bay.

Giving up, she frowned pointedly at him instead. He chuckled at her bemused expression.

"Today has been...insane. I can't even begin to swallow it. I would appreciate it if you lay off the...magic," she choked the word out. Two days ago she would have laughed heartily at the idea. It was frighteningly real now and she didn't like it.

Rumpelstiltskin urged her closer with the cane, a pinched frown finally crossing his face. Clearly, this wasn't the reaction he expected from her.

"I've waited twenty-eight years. Ignoring this power would be futile. And yet I'm still the same man, darling. I haven't changed. Not one bit," he assured her, his thumbs rubbing into her back. Emma tipped her nose up at that.

"Really? In the matter of one day, my husband has transformed from a small-town pawnbroker to...to...Rumpelstiltskin, who seemingly created this curse and had me fight a dragon. And that was a _big_ dragon! And now you're using magic like Houdini."

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head slowly, his tongue tasting the right words already to negate her claims.

"I'm the same person I was yesterday and the day before. The only difference is you have finally acknowledged my real name. I'm still the man you married." Emma huffed out a breath of air to keep a strand of her hair from falling in front of her eyes.

"Prove it," she challenged him boldly. Rumpelstiltskin dug the cane into her back to press her forward and caught her lips with his. It was a simple kiss that lasted no more than a minute, yet Emma's stomach fluttered. "Hmm...Tastes the same, anyway."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes became increasingly dark and he lowered the cane to release her.

"Emma, I need this power. I need magic," he pleaded with her to understand. How could she when magic did not exist for her until today? It just seemed so...unpredictable. Regina's words haunted her mind: _magic is unpredictable here. _

"Why?" That one word was filled with so much stark confusion and demanding.

A variety of emotions transpired across his face—like he was fighting an internal battle. It was the timid look he got when starting to shut down, when he told her not to worry about anything he was planning. Not this again.

"Don't start shutting me out now," she warned him. "You once promised me that you wouldn't ever shut me out again. You're a man of your word, right?" Lips dipping into a tight line, he nodded.

"I need magic...to find my son. He is the reason I created this curse. He exists in this land, somewhere beyond Storybrooke," he explained carefully. Even though he turned away, she could plainly sense the pain etched on his face. The subject of his son was a tender topic for him. "I've given up hope of finding him here...or getting a second chance for another," he sighed, motioning his head to her belly.

Before he could wander out of reach, Emma darted forward and caught his hand in hers. He paused to gaze back at her inquiringly.

"You shouldn't," she said lightly. Rumpelstiltskin studied her with pity, but she refused to release his hand.

"Why is that? Because it'd be the right thing to do? Because of Henry? At least you managed to regain claim of your child," he muttered. Emma wished he'd stop being so over-dramatic sometimes. He had accepted Henry as his stepson long ago; he was only doing this now to gain sympathy points.

"No, _this_ is why." Gripping his hand, she dragged him forward and pressed his palm against her flat belly. There was nothing to feel yet, but that was not the point. It was a means of telling him, of making him see that not all hope was lost.

As his fingers freely splayed over her belly, realization brightened his brown eyes. Emma smiled encouragingly.

"That night when we made love again. You may have lost your son, but that night you made a new one," she told him as he caressed her belly. Wonder spread over his face. Water pooled up from beneath his eyelids.

"Oh, Emma," he breathed as he pulled her close, meaning to kiss her passionately. They were being given a second chance. Maybe their situation in this cursed town would start improving, little by little. "I still need to find my son. I have to at least try."

"I know," she agreed readily. If it were Henry lost out there, she'd do everything to find him. "You realize Regina will probably have magic, too." He was already nodding solemnly.

"Not to worry, dearie. I've always been more powerful than her. I will protect you," he promised as he gently laid his hand over Emma's belly once more. "Both of you."

…

_**Shout-out time! Big thanks go to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, Wandz, discotimelord (almost put you down as Guest—silly me), Lady-Shiroi, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Newland Archer, orthankg1, reginamillz, The-Writer2012, SwanQueen4055, sbcarri, Revenessa, and liliesandroses for all their reviews! **_

_**I'm glad so many people liked the way I handled Belle's involvement in the last chapter. That was one of the toughest scenes to write last time. But even the Rumbellers reading this story found it satisfying, which pleases me immensely. And see? I didn't leave her hanging, either! Any Mad Beauty fans out there? (-; **_

_**If anyone is interested (Rumbellers?), I am working with a new idea for a humorous Rumbelle story that is in the vein of Sunshine. Hopefully, it will be up soon. Until then, thanks for reading, everyone!**_


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Ta-da! Two chapters in one week. It's a special surprise for my readers. Most of this chapter was actually supposed to be in the last chapter, but I ended up holding off. It was easy that way for me to finish this chapter early, too. (-; Enjoy. **

He had something to tell her. Something so serious that he was characteristically holding back until there was nowhere left to run.

She knew him so well now that she sensed this inner struggle in the subtlest of mannerisms—the way he was unable to meet her gaze for more than three seconds at a time, the movement of his hands as he tried to keep them busy with the dishes in the sink despite his restored magic, the constant licking of his lips and weave of his fingers over his tie.

Oh, there was definitely something troubling on his mind.

Finally, Emma couldn't take it anymore. She was far too impatient to wait for him to break.

"Alright, what is it? Is this some tearjerker chick flick where I find out I'm pregnant again only to have you croak in my arms by some fatal disease?" Could a magical being even die under normal circumstances? Even as Mr. Gold, the small-town pawnbroker with a lame leg, he always seemed invincible in her eyes.

The sudsy plate slipped free of his fingers and clattered noisily in the sink. Hanging his head, he pivoted on his heel in her direction. His brown eyes dragged from her boots to her midsection, from her breasts to her throat. He managed to lift his eyes the last few inches to her face, though he appeared to age ten years in doing so. Knots coiled viciously in her stomach.

Storybrooke wasn't going to explode now that magic was here, was it? Or was there an asteroid hurtling straight for the clock tower, prepared to wipe out their entire existence like the meteor did for the dinosaurs? The grimness and fear written on his face unsettled her. It was fear for her reaction, she knew.

"You might want to sit down, sweetheart," he advised, using his magic to make one of the chairs wobble in request for her bottom.

A stone sunk into her belly, nestling right there with the baby. _I knew it. I'm going to be a widow at twenty-eight. A single mother with two kids. He better have included me in that will or I'll pull him back up from the grave and slap him silly._

She ignored his advice to sit; depending on the news, she'd probably leap to her feet, anyway. His hand dropped back to his side as he absorbed her stubbornness, the chair becoming lifeless once more.

"Or not," he sighed dryly. He stalled a bit, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. Every second he failed to form a coherent sentence, the stone in her belly grew to the size of a boulder. A mountain. A planet. "I have to warn you because I know how you are, Emma. Do not get the wrong idea when I tell you this."

She fought the urge to narrow her eyes threateningly. This should be lovely, sarcasm intended. That was just the kind of thing a wife wanted to hear when her husband had something to confess. _Don't be mad, sweetie, but..._

"Belle is alive," he blurted out. _And...now I'm glad I decided not to sit down,_ she thought cynically.

Those three words made her heart stop beating, though not out of joy or the satisfaction of a wish come true. Quite the opposite. Disbelief coursed through her brain, numbing it until even her feet refused to obey her command. It was followed swiftly by raw anger, for the first time getting a glimpse beyond his carefully constructed shield.

So that's what this was. A going-away party. An exchange for the latest version of the fanciful housewife. The final, brutal drop-kick of a football.

"Screw you," she hissed, whirling away from him. She planned to put as much distance between them as she could.

A lump lodged in her throat, but she despised the thought of letting it prevail. No sob could ever hope to get past her lips that were practically welded shut. How could he do this to her? When she was off battling a dragon, saving her son's life, and learning the truth of the child growing in her womb, he was prepared to send her packing. The idea of his true love cuddling and moaning blissfully in his arms, in his bed, _in her place_ made her want to vomit.

Did he honestly prefer _her?_ The woman he fancied thirty years ago? The woman he thought was dead?

"I warned you not to jump to conclusions! Let me explain. Please, Emma," he pleaded, his hand dancing along her arm. She whipped away from his touch, her own arms crossing defiantly under her breasts. Reluctantly, she turned and gave him the coldest glare she could muster.

"Is this your latest scheme? Wait for me to come home so you can personally inform me that you're running off with your true love? How considerate of you. Or were you hoping I never got out of that elevator? Maybe you would have been generous enough to drop by with the divorce papers," she snapped.

Every word she fired off unleashed a torrent of pain in his face. Good. Suddenly, she wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting her.

"Emma, stop. You don't understand," he protested, but she was having none of it. For every step he took, she scrambled two steps back, always just out of his reach. She knew that eventually she would hit the wall and he would be able to trap her, but still she darted away from his fingers.

"No, I understand perfectly. I understand that every man I consider trusting turns out to be worth nothing but heartache. The only person I can depend on is myself." She ducked around him to leave, but Gold easily caught her by the wrist as she passed. She jerked away, but he held on fast, his strength impenetrable as iron. "Let go of me or you'll be in need of an eye-patch."

He didn't let go. Instead, he reeled her in, his hands sliding along her forearms.

"You're so damn stubborn; you won't recognize the truth when it's sitting in front of your nose. Think about it for one moment, would you? Why do you think I'm standing here before you? I'm not the confrontational type of man. I never have been, never will be," he pointed out testily. No matter how much his gaze burned into her skin, she traced circles in the kitchen floor with her eyes. She felt his breath on her jaw. "I'm still here for one very simple reason. _I chose you."_

Her head snapped up so fast that she nearly knocked him in the nose.

"You...what?" It somehow wasn't processing in her mind.

All of the anger washed out of her, replaced instantly with even greater disbelief than before. _Okay, now I think I need to sit down,_ she thought, her knees already bending. Luckily, her husband's magic was quick enough to guide the chair over before she fell on her butt. He knelt and stroked her hair.

"You...chose me? But I thought Belle was your 'true love'. You know...the woman of your dreams?"

Gold chuckled softly and shook his head. It seemed he was looming closer with every passing second.

"Even if she was, she's no longer the woman I crave to kiss until one of us moans," he murmured, his mouth hovering over her lips. Just to demonstrate, he took his sweet time making her moan with one of his sensual, open-mouthed kisses. It left her breathless. "She's not the one I want to wake up to in the morning and to whom I would happily serve breakfast in bed...with M&M smiley faces on the pancakes." Another kiss joined the first one. Confined in the chair as she was, his arms curled around her body like a pair of dark wings. Oh, she was getting dizzy. "And she's certainly not the one carrying my unborn child."

With his hands gripping the top of the chair at either side of her head, he bent his head over hers and kissed her even more deeply. She could barely think straight when his tongue was tracing her lip. She tried to fight the pleasant sensations he was stirring inside her, but jumping rooftops would be an easier task.

_Okay, think about this, Emma. Think about everything...he's...oh, that feels good,_ she moaned as his lips trailed a path down to the hollow of her throat. She leaned her head back and clung to that wavering string of thought. _Think, think, think!_

Fact: he turned Belle down. He said no to his true love and for what? _Because he truly loves me._ To add to that revelation, he rejected Belle's love _before_ he learned of Emma's pregnancy. This had nothing to do with the responsibility of an unborn child—this was a decision made out of pure love for her.

"You love me," she whispered. "You chose me."

It caught his attention and his head lifted from where he was orally massaging her neck. Their heavy breath mingled together as he studied her admiringly. She knew he could read the understanding in her eyes like an open book when he nodded reassuringly. His hand cupped her cheek, his warmth chasing the last cold tendrils of heartache away.

"Yes. There's only one woman I want now. You," he assured her, his fingers delving into the curls of her hair. Then he kissed her hard again. She eagerly returned it, her hands gliding up along his chest to his neck. The rigidity of the chair dug sharply into her back.

"Please," she groaned, thrusting her body solidly against his.

There was no way for him to misunderstand the message. She didn't want to return to reality just yet, not when this moment between them felt like a dream come true. Her heart pounded in time with his breath on her skin. At that moment, she desperately needed to feel the truth of his revelation in her bones. She needed him in the way he never would exist for Belle.

She could feel him smile just under her ear.

"Please...what?" She tugged his hair to punish him. He hissed through his teeth, but gave no sign of yanking away from her touch. If anything, he leaned into it. If this was the kind of game he wanted to play...

"Ugh, knock it off, you smug bastard. You already know—you just want me to say it for you," she growled. His arm slid tighter around her waist as he held her close. Her nose inhaled the enticing scent of his cologne, making her headier than she was a second ago, if that were possible.

"Yes, I do. I admit I've always been a bit selfish," he outright confessed. "What do you want from me, Emma?"

She inclined her head back to stare up at him, her cheeks flushing under the weight of his leer. It was clear he was serious about waiting for her answer. She gave him a scornful look, but he wagged his finger reproachfully.

"Ah-ah-ah. You nearly broke my heart, darling, with all those hurtful words. Consider this your way of begging my forgiveness."

She scowled at him. It was just like him to turn everything on its head in his favor. And yet the urge to keep kissing him this way was overpowering. It was like the breaking of the curse had heightened their attraction to each other by several notches, too powerful to resist. She craned her head forward to claim his mouth, but he deliberately drifted out of her reach. She whimpered irritably.

"For God's sake, Rumpelstiltskin...just make love to me already," she finally surrendered, her fingers clawing into his shoulders. A slow grin spread across his face, proclaiming his victory. He pecked her cheek, his lips lingering near her ear.

"As you wish."

He slaked her lust with a fiery kiss, sealing the deal. It was electrifying, consuming their every heartbeat. Her hands put enough pressure on his shoulders to make him slide along the length of her body. He fell to both knees, allowing her to thread her fingers through his hair as he resorted to pressing a kiss to her belly.

And then he heeded Emma's wish and took his wife upstairs.

…

He waited patiently for an hour after Emma's eyelids fluttered closed. Anything less might have been too early, in which case she would stir the moment he moved an inch in the bed.

Emma wasn't usually a heavy sleeper by any means; another detail they shared. It made for many sleepless nights whenever they happened to jostle too much while dreaming. Most of the times, he wasn't bothered by the result of losing that sleep while staying awake with Emma. Plus, the cot in the back of his shop came in handy.

But tonight, he dared not wake her. What he planned to do tonight, he did not want her to witness.

Regina had struck too close to home one too many times. She had caused too much tragedy and crossed too many lines in her ruthlessness. Gods, the dreadful woman had almost been the death of his stepson. He could not let it pass. Allowing her to walk scot-free in Storybrooke would put his family—his wife, his unborn child, and Henry—in mortal danger, especially if she possessed magic.

Better safe than sorry, right?

Besides, he'd be doing the Charmings a favor. No doubt their graves were figuratively being dug from the moment the curse broke. It wasn't like Regina would risk chipping a nail or muddying her shoes with actual shoveling. And if he had to choose, he preferred _their_ company over Regina's any day.

Moving slowly as a snail, he uncurled his arm from around Emma's waist. He scooted back a few inches on the mattress, holding his breath so as not to tickle her skin. Unfortunately, it was like trying to escape the suckers of an octopus. Flipping around in her sleep, Emma flung her body over his chest and hugged him tightly. Her head cradled itself on his shoulder, her soft snoozes brushing his neck.

He stared down at Emma's iron limbs in dismay. How was he supposed to throw her off now?

Carefully, he tried prying her hand from his chest. It might as well have been super-glued to the patch of skin over his heart, for it refused to budge. An inch, maybe two, but no more. Even in her sleep, Emma was disinclined to be overruled, just like her son. He changed tactics and grabbed onto her supple hips, which made her lips lift dreamily in a smile.

Oh, no...Was she having one of _those_ dreams? In that case, he'd never get out of this house until morning.

He nudged her waist—that made her sigh. He tapped her shoulder—that made her half-giggle. He whispered her name in a risky attempt to encourage her to roll over, but all he got in response was a breathy _oh, yeah. _What was going on in that dream? It had better be about him.

A pattern of shrill clicking on the floorboards announced Goldie's presence an instant before the dog bounded up on the bed. Every now and then, Gold would wake in the morning to find the dog snuggled between him and Emma, those furry legs crisscrossing as though Goldie fell asleep saying her prayers. It was times like these that he was thankful for Goldie's greediness of his pillow.

"Care to help me out here? I'll make you a deal. Get Emma off of me and you can have this pillow for the rest of the night," he whispered to the dog perched at the foot of the bed.

Goldie tilted her head at him. He started to doubt whether the thing understood a word he said, until Goldie marched over the bed with purpose. She climbed over Emma's tangled legs and zoomed in on her face as she slumbered. As he watched, Goldie began to relentlessly lick her cheeks and mouth. A couple times that black nose sniffed Emma's eyelids, as if checking on her progress of disturbing Emma's sleep.

At first, Emma didn't show any sign of noticing the disruption. The first change came with the wrinkle of her nose. Then her eyebrows cinched together, followed by a rapid swat of the hand to Goldie's nose to ward off the stimulus that was annoying her. But Goldie was nothing if not determined—Gold knew that from all the times the dog pawed his leg at the dinner table for spare food. So she scrabbled backwards to sit atop Gold's chest in order to get in closer to Emma's forehead and slobbered endlessly over Emma.

To Gold's amusement, the annoyance shifted into something else. Emma started to smile in her sleep again as Goldie's tongue licked her inner ear.

"Mmm...Gold, _stop_. Not in front of...my dad," she murmured blearily, laughing weakly. If the dog weren't lounging on his chest, he might have bolted up in bed. That confirmed his suspicions of Emma's dreams. Maybe he ought to heed her dream mumblings more often. It could serve to spice up their lives a bit.

Miraculously, Emma's hold on his body loosened. Her head rolled away from his shoulder and she turned onto her side, her slender back facing him in the moonlight. He whistled with relief and slipped out of bed before Emma could change her mind about her pillow preferences. Goldie took it upon herself to curl into a ball on top of his vacated pillow.

"Yeah, yeah. I give you my pillow privileges," he confirmed. It wasn't like Goldie was moving any time soon, even if he revoked his promise. But he was always a man of his word. "On one condition: if Emma wakes up and follows me, the deal is off."

The dog snorted and nestled her golden head further into the pillow. He knew it would be pure luck on his part if he managed to do this deed and return to bed before Emma noticed he was gone. _Better get comfortable, pup. My sixth sense tells me that luxury won't last long. _

Stealthily, he dressed into one of his suits—black on black for the occasion. He pocketed his keys and dared to lay a goodbye kiss on Emma's forehead. He considered licking her ear for his own amusement, but figured that would be his downfall. Quietly as he could, he descended the stairs and slipped into the night.

…

Emma was cold.

There must have been a draft in the house. With her eyes still closed and her mind foggy with sleep, she wrenched the blanket up to her shoulders, bunching it comfortably around her neck. It wasn't enough. What she longed for was the tender touch of her husband's arms around her waist, snuggling her close in a cocoon of warmth.

She reclined back, expecting to feel the familiar support of his chest, but fell back against the cool, marshmallow-soft pillows. Rolling onto her other hip, she found his side of the bed to be hopelessly empty. Emma spread her legs across the mattress, with nothing but the sheets sliding under her skin.

The house was too quiet. There were no sounds coming from the bathroom to suggest a late-night trip. There was no vague slam of the refrigerator door suggesting a midnight snack. The halls whispered, the shadows danced, but none of them belonged to Gold.

Blindly, she snatched up the clock from the bedside table. She squinted her eyes to read it as her vision gradually returned to her from being rudely awakened. It was the wee hours of the morning. Where was Gold going this early?

Groaning, she rubbed the sleep from the corners of her eyes and pulled herself up on the edge of the bed. She let her knotted hair dangle almost to her belly as she gathered the strength to get up. Goldie lifted her head from where she cuddled on Gold's pillow. Traitor.

"So, you follow him to the ends of the earth when he's armed with a greasy spatula, but not when he's being devious?" Goldie put a paw over her black nose. Emma figured it was shame or a serious attempt at cuteness to avoid being scolded. "Well, if you won't follow him, then I will." The dog whined. Was that disappointment?

Now that her brain had kick-started, logic came much more quickly to her, allowing her to assess the situation. She didn't like the results. There was only one mission that Gold would be willing to carry out in the middle of the night: revenge. His target: Regina.

"I take it you're staying here," she surmised weakly, half-yawning as she donned her boots. Goldie answered in her own sophisticated way by stretching the length of her furry body over both halves of the bed. "Thought so. The kid got the wrong fairy-tale. He should have named you Sleeping Beauty."

…

Regina couldn't fall asleep. She tossed and turned restlessly. Flopped onto her belly, flipped onto her back. Slapped a black feathery sleeping mask over her eyes only to whip it off less than five minutes later because the feathery texture tickled her skin too much.

Nothing worked. She lay on her back, fuming at the ceiling.

The citizens of Storybrooke—they were the reason for her lack of beauty sleep. It wasn't a guilty conscience by any means. Why should she feel guilty for doling out the punishment those fools deserved? A queen never expressed guilt or vulnerability when attending a criminal's execution. Snow White might, but not her.

No, this was paranoia, plain and simple.

Every creak and whisper of her elaborately large estate made her breath catch in her throat. Her gaze repeatedly flew to the bedside table, where the sharpest knife in her kitchen now rested. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. A string of words, spoken in a suspicious Scottish voice, buzzed in her ears. _They will be out for blood._

Who was to say those animals wouldn't desire vengeance after the past 28 years of timeless existence? Who was to say they wouldn't form a raging mob, equipped with burning torches and sharpened pitchforks, break into her house tonight and murder her savagely in her sleep? It was precisely what _she_ would have done.

Regina flexed her fingers in front of her face, pushing her hand outwards as though it were a stop sign. Her brow knitted with frustration. When she closed her eyes, she remembered the swirling violet fog swallowing the entire town. She had felt the magic wash over her, pulsing hot through her veins, filling a tiny portion of her withered heart, but she just...couldn't...touch it. The magic was there, waiting to be used, but it refused to come when she commanded it.

_Give me something, anything,_ she pleaded silently. _A fish bowl? I don't care if the fish are belly-up. A chocolate chip cookie? A _burnt_ chocolate chip cookie? A starving Jabberwock? _Nothing. Her hand swiped through empty air.

"What use is the magic if I can't touch it?" She vented out loud, pounding her head back into the pillow. She seethed until she could almost feel smoke tunneling out her nose.

Another creak of the house made her jolt upright in bed, the blanket falling to her waist. This one was louder than any before it, almost like...a footfall. Was she being paranoid again? No, there was another footfall right behind it. It was coming from the staircase. _Someone is climbing the stairs. Someone is inside my house._

Flinging her body across the mattress toward the bedside table, her fingers wrapped around the black handle of the knife. She held it out in front of her like a sword, though it trembled enough to reveal her fear. The thin hairs on the back of her neck rose with apprehension, her knuckles turned bone white the tighter she gripped the knife, and the muscles of her arms and stomach tensed. Her internal fight-or-flight reaction was well underway.

Her ebony eyes stayed glued to the threshold of her bedroom and the dark hallway beyond it. From here, she couldn't see the staircase, but she could imagine the intruder's hand sliding smoothly over the wall and a head rearing around the doorframe. Not a single step went unnoticed; _creak, creak, creak_. She could almost feel the distance between her adrenaline-pumped body and the intruder shortening.

Should she hide? No, she refused to be branded a coward by these people. Should she call the Sheriff and alert her of the break-in? After all, it was her obligation to respond to the distress of the citizens in this town and Regina was a citizen, was she not? Hell, she was the Mayor! Her needs should be answered before she even replaced the phone in its cradle.

Yes, she would do what any other logical person would do: call the police.

Regina settled the knife in her lap and reached for the phone on the bedside table. A deadly thought disrupted her halfway through dialing the numbers. What if the Sheriff couldn't help her because the same authoritative figure was the one slinking around her house? The Sheriff didn't have a torch or pitchfork. She had a gun. Emma Swan-Gold would welcome revenge along with her parents.

Or worse...what if it was Emma, her parents, and her _husband_? An entire murder posse out to get her? Oh, no...what if _Granny_ was with them? And what if Granny decided to bring along her...little friend? Regina gulped nervously.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear. The phone slipped from her ear to her neck to her shoulder. She couldn't trust any of them. They were not on her side. Regina dropped the phone and took up the knife again. The creaks were closer, louder. Was that a shadow stretching across the hallway floor?

Should she call out to the intruder? It might not be rewarding to attract their attention any more than necessary...but it might also scare them off to realize the Evil Queen's beauty sleep had been disturbed. And how did they even know she was without magic? For all they knew, ten fireballs would chase them out the door.

It would serve them right, too. If only.

"Who's there?" No response. She hadn't expected the intruder to appreciate the roll call. "I know you're there! I can hear the stairs creaking! I'm calling the Sheriff, so you better run!" The silence was impenetrable. Regina couldn't even exhale a breath without feeling as though her lungs were cracking like thin ice. There were no additional footfalls; the intruder was standing still.

Then, almost deliberately, another creak sliced the air. The person progressed up the remaining stairs. They weren't even bothering to hide their presence, the stairs groaning all at once under the weight. _Creak-creak-creak-creak._ Panic seized Regina in its formidable grip. _When I said 'you better run', I didn't mean run up the stairs to kill me faster! _

Regina scrambled out of the bed and padded to the bedroom door. She pressed her back against the wall and waited for the intruder to make himself—or herself—known. The knife was suddenly heavy in her hands. When the person slipped into her room, they wouldn't know what hit them. _Come get me, I dare you;_ she channeled her hatred and anticipation to the intruder.

A shadow crept up the length of the bedroom door. This one was not a trick of the light or lack, thereof. A foot stepped into view, followed swiftly by the rest of the intruder's body. Blanketed by the darkness, Regina went unnoticed as the person drifted into her bedroom, their eyes scanning over her empty, rumpled bed.

Wait...she knew that lean structure and the serpent velocity of that footwork! She knew it better than she knew Graham's body, a disturbing thought that she did not want to consider for very long. It was too late for the intruder, anyway.

Regina scurried behind him and thrust the blade of the knife through his back, right between the shoulder blades. Through his rotting black heart, hopefully.

There was a moist gargling noise as the person blindly spun and struck out against her. Regina easily dodged it, flitting away from his reach as though she were a shadow herself avoiding the light. She grinned maliciously as she recognized the look of defeat and agony spreading over his face.

Rumpelstiltskin's narrowed eyes met hers through the darkness, the knife still sticking out of his back. His hand hovered over his chest while he struggled to breathe. His fingers hooked into claws, but were unable to do any damage. As she watched, he fell to his knees in the manner of one swearing fealty. A moment later, his strength drained and he collapsed at her feet, his hand falling limply over the floorboards. If not for the seductive blackness of his suit, she might have been able to treasure the way his own blood stained it.

Regina slumped against the wall, her breath coming in quick pants. She stared down at her blossoming hands in wonder. _I did it,_ she mentally gloated. The glee threatened to burst from her heaving chest. _I have done what no man has ever accomplished before. I have killed the powerful Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin. Victory is mine!_

Still grinning, she claimed the knife from his unmoving back. It made a disgusting sucking noise as it was wrenched from his wound. The blood was slick on the blade and there was a menacing urge inside her to lick it off as she would strawberry jam, to absorb the energy that once ran through his veins. She fought it back.

"I win," she whispered over his body.

She would have to figure out the best way to get rid of the body and soon. Someone as powerful as Rumpelstiltskin did not just slip through the cracks like a common drunkard on the streets. Maybe she would be courteous enough to her old mentor and nemesis to bury his body under her beloved apple tree. Rumpelstiltskin always mocked her for treating the tree as if it were her child, but it would be a stroke of delicious irony if he were fated to find no peace resting under that same tree.

Or what if she decided to leave his body on his front porch? Wouldn't it be worth it to have the town's little savior wake up from her sweet slumber in the morning, fetch the newspaper from the porch, and fall to her knees in despair before the remains of her beloved husband? It would knock her down a peg or two.

Or, even better! She would pay a visit to the center of town and casually drop his body in front of all those pathetic Charming worshippers. Then they would realize who was truly in power around here. They would gape in horror as she stood proudly before them, their Queen, the vanquisher of the most powerful man in the Enchanted Forest—

Regina threw her head back to laugh, but it was swept away with the wind as her legs were pulled out from beneath her body. She landed painfully on her right side, the impact jarring her hip and reverberating through the bones of her arm. Whoever named that bone the funny bone had a sick sense of humor. The knife clattered somewhere out of reach.

She rolled onto her back to face her attacker and gasped. _No, it can't be...I was winning! _

"Really, dearie? Did you convince yourself that it would be that easy to rid yourself of little old me?" Rumpelstiltskin's skillful tongue ran over his teeth as he gave her a ravenous look. His hands were planted on either side of her head, his body pinning her down to the floor. There wasn't a single drop of blood. "Word to the wise: next time, make sure I'm dead. Charming's twin brother made the same mistake once upon a time."

Charming...had a...twin?

Regina struggled to gain some leverage over the imp, but it was like trying to fight through a solid brick wall. Her hands pounded uselessly under his chest, unable to break through the close barriers constructed by his own arms. Dozens of fatal spells surged through her mind, but she _had...no...magic..._

Rumpelstiltskin recognized her lack of magical ability instantly and exploited it. With a gleeful chuckle, he unleashed a wave of his own dark magic to bind her hands to the floor with thick, black roots that were never meant to grow by natural means. He loomed over her, radiating victory.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

"You and I are going to play a little game," he hissed, wiggling his fingers in front of her face. Regina's stomach curled venomously_. This is ten times worse than the library! I should have called Emma when I had the chance!_ "It's called 'Now You See Regina...Now You Don't.'"

And then his magic consumed her.

…

Emma was a mad flurry of red and gold as she raced up the walkway leading to Regina's porch. Her boots were little more than a blur in their frantic pace. She would have been here sooner, but she didn't want to risk the humiliation of having Regina witness her in sleep attire—a sheer tank top sans bra and panties. No less, no more. It was bad enough that her hair hung in windblown tangles. It whipped around her neck like writhing snakes in her speed-walking.

_Some days, my husband is more like a mad dog off his leash than a refined man of power,_ she fumed inside her head. _He didn't even leave a note! The least he could have done was keep it short and simple. _Dear Emma...Out hunting. It's Regina season. Yours truly, Rumpelstiltskin. XOXO._ Is that so hard? Do I have to chain him to the bed to make him behave? _

The front door was unlocked, the knob turning easily in her hand. She stepped into the expansive foyer of Regina's manor and immediately went on defensive mode. She expected shouting, bitter cursing, howling, maybe a few fireworks or flames. What she earned instead was unbroken silence. No, not silence, exactly. There was a single repetitive sound coming from upstairs—something hitting the floor. _Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Boots stomping over every other step, Emma sprinted up the stairs and followed the suspicious noise to Regina's personal office. She thrust the door open wide only to freeze on the threshold. The sight waiting for her made her cock an eyebrow.

"Nice of you to join us, darling," her husband greeted from where he sat on the floor, legs spread out before him, his back propped up by Regina's mahogany desk. He barely gave her more than a passing glance as he whipped a yellow-green tennis ball at the opposite wall. It hit the floor, ricocheted off the wall, and bounced back into his palm. _Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. _

This was stranger than walking in on Regina and Gold sipping tea with their pinkies raised.

"Us?" Emma glanced around the rest of the office. Everything else was in order from the papers in the right corner of Regina's desk to the shades drawn over the windows. At the same time, something crucial was missing. "Where's Regina?"

Gold shrugged loosely without meeting her stony eyes, though his famous _I know something you don't know_ smirk told a completely different story.

"Our Evil Queen is bouncing around here somewhere," he replied cryptically, just as he released the tennis ball into the air once more. Floor, wall, hand. Floor, wall, hand. Emma's eyes followed its rotations as it whizzed about the room. The alarms in her head went haywire with dawning intuition.

_He wouldn't dare,_ she tried to convince herself that there must be a good explanation. And on the heels of that denial: _he would_.

"Is that...is that _Regina?"_ She stumbled against the doorframe, pointing weakly at the bouncing tennis ball as it returned swiftly to Gold's waiting palm. His fingers dug into the felt, squeezing it mercilessly as he would a human heart. The guiltiness was written plain on his face.

"Technically, it's a tennis ball," he corrected. "Or according to the name on the ball...it's Wilson_._" _Bounce, bounce, bounce. _

Emma gaped openly at her husband. How long had he been bouncing her around the room? The impact of the ball on the floor and wall must not feel pleasant. If tennis balls had mouths, every window in the house would be broken from Regina's screams.

"You turned _Regina_ into a _tennis ball?"_ She was surprised he didn't spawn two rackets and invite Archie for a midnight game of tennis. Her husband certainly wasn't bothered by the mindless torture session he was constructing.

"Please, it's not the worst fate she's ever endured. Before this, I turned her into a tea kettle and I poured myself a cup of tea. It tasted absolutely poisonous. You think emptying her out might damage her brain cells?"

Gold didn't appear too concerned with the state of Regina's mental health. Emma gained enough composure to charge across the floor and stand between Gold and the wall, her body a makeshift barrier. He scowled at her; she scowled back.

"Fix her," Emma demanded. He leaned around her legs to toss the ball. The tennis ball struck the floor and the wall, but this time it went unclaimed by Gold's hand. It dribbled along the floor, rolling until it nudged the heel of her boot. Emma half-expected it to roll out the door and down the stairs like some cheesy television commercial.

Gold gracefully rose from the floor. At first, Emma thought he intended to challenge her so she stood her ground. Dusting his suit off—particularly his back end—he sighed dramatically.

"Very well," he grumbled, flourishing his wrist over the tennis ball.

A cloud of purple smoke enveloped it. When the purple cloud dissipated, Emma shot her husband a frazzled look. It wasn't Regina sitting there on the floor; it was a sleek white cat. Well-groomed, with flicking pink ears and slits for eyes that Emma instantly recognized as belonging to Storybrooke's vicious mayor. A black leather collar encircled the neck, accentuated with a dangling golden heart.

Gold reached a hand down with the purpose of stroking the cat's fluffy fur, but it bared its fangs and hissed meanly. He wrenched his hand back, rubbing his fingers together as though he contemplated doing something other than rubbing its fur. She didn't want to follow the path of his thinking process when he was making that _snip-snip_ gesture. If they shaved the cat, would Regina end up bald?

"When I said 'fix her', I didn't mean change her into a cat!" Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. Now her husband was just showing off. He tilted his head at the cat while the puny creature flattened its ears against its head and growled.

"You should have been more specific. How long have you known me?" He held up his hands in surrender as Emma tossed him the look she wore whenever she threatened to pull her gun from its holster. One thing was for certain: their freezer was going to be a lonely place for the next week. Bad boys didn't deserve ice cream. "I figured she'd be more entertaining and cooperative as a cat. Shall we call her..._Snow?"_

Regina was proof that animals such as cats understood every word spoken by humans. The minute the name left his lips, she yowled wildly and attempted to claw his leg. Her fur stuck up in all places as though someone rubbed a balloon over her body.

She darted for the desk, obviously planning to hide, but Gold caught her—not in his arms, which was significantly closer to his face, but by magic. The cat flew up into the air and hovered between Gold and Emma. Those shining ebony eyes were no longer narrowed. They were massively wide, the size of tennis balls, ironically.

"Tell me, Emma...are you up for a game of Kitty Regina in the Middle?"

Before Emma could aptly respond, Gold moved his hand sharply up and down, up and down. The cat did the same, jerking up and down, up and down in midair. Up and down, side to side. Somersaults, twists, flips...it was the world's first gymnastic cat.

From where she was standing, Emma noticed the sour, tormented look on the cat's face. It was the look of someone—or something—about to throw up its lunch.

"Gold, unless you want to be wearing upchucked kitty kibble, I suggest you change her back," Emma advised. The cat hopelessly clawed the air, its four legs scrambling for anything of purchase. Its tail was a straight iron rod in its fright. But it kept spinning, spinning, spinning..._"Gold!"_

Brows knitting together, Gold lowered the cat to the floor and ceased the flow of magic that was holding her in his grip. Even though she was free, the cat was much too traumatized to move an inch. Emma had the feeling Regina would go from a gymnastic cat to a drunken cat if she did. Cursing under his breath, Gold sent another tendril of magic toward Regina and transformed her into her human self. The mayor hunched over her floor on all fours, visibly shaking.

"What...you...how dare...I will have...your heart...I don't even like tuna...or mice..."

Regina started dry-heaving over her spotless floor, the coughs and hacks making her chest shudder. Gold maintained his air of casualty by perching on the edge of Regina's desk and playing with an obsidian paperweight. Emma shook her head pitifully at him and bent to help Regina up. She heard Gold lurch to his feet, the paperweight slamming on the floor with a tiny piece breaking off of it.

"Emma, do _not_ touch her," he warned, but it was already too late.

Emma latched onto Regina's forearm. Instantly, an electrical shock jolted through her bones and she could tell Regina felt the same when her head snapped up. It was seductive, it was powerful...it was brimming with pure magic. _My magic,_ Emma realized, her hand still grasping Regina's elbow.

Regina must have sensed the truth, for she gazed down at Emma's hand in unabashed wonder. Emma slowly slipped away, all the while wondering how much of her savior status affected Regina. The Evil Queen unfurled one palm, her eyes burning into its center. With a haunting _whoosh_, a ball of orange fire conjured in her palm, tongues of flame licking her fingers. _Regina has magic_, Emma thought with a feeling of dread as she watched the fireball become extinguished in her fist.

Gold strode straight for Regina with nothing short of murder flickering in the endless abyss of his eyes, but Regina was already making her move on the chessboard. With a snap of her fingers, a dark swirling cloud shielded her, much like the one that changed her from a tennis ball to a kitten. Gold's hands thrust into the cloud, but came back out empty-handed. He snarled as the last wisps faded into the air.

Regina was gone.

…

**So, how many of you would like to take home Kitty Regina? It's okay, don't all raise your hands at once. I also have some good news: for those of you who are interested, I uploaded that new Rumbelle story. It's called "Sensitivity" in which Belle succeeds in driving poor Rumpel up the wall in more ways than one. Feel free to check it out. **

**Shout-outs are in order for those great reviews I received: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Newland Archer, The Auburn Girl, BundyShoes, Lady-Shiroi, Revenessa, DarkFirePR, FortunesFavour, orthankg1, sbcarri, reginamillz, Guest45, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, discotimelord, The-Writer2012, PrincessofSea, and SwanQueen4055. **


	59. Chapter 59

In the midst of the deep thicket of woods surrounding Storybrooke, a violet cloud smothered the night sky.

It swirled and crackled with power, an approaching thunderhead without the onslaught of rain. The leaves of the trees rustled with hurricane winds, a flock of birds taking flight with feathers flapping in panic. The suspicious cloud curled and circled in the black of the night until the very center of it split apart to spit something out.

Regina, disgraced queen of the Enchanted Forest and loathsome mayor of Storybrooke, tumbled face-first into a murky puddle of mud. Brown streaks splattered over her clothes and skin, coating it sloppily and ruining its perfection. Her nails dug deep grooves into the earth as she lifted her head from the muck. Her set glare was unrecognizable under the mask of filth.

Regina growled to the high heavens and wiped the mud off her nose and cheeks. She scratched at her clothes to try to scrape off the clinging clumps of dirt, but it was a lost cause. One of the buttons of her shirt popped off and buried itself in the puddle of mud like a chip in dip. Her fury built inside her, shaking her while trapped in the bottle that was her body. It climbed to a dangerous level unlike any she'd reached before. If there were flies buzzing in the air, they'd drop dead by now.

Those arrogant, evil imbeciles! How dare they treat her so inhumanly! How dare they infiltrate her sanctuary and plan to slaughter her in her sleep like…like…_cowards_. That's what they were. Torturing her unfairly with magic and sticking her in the form of tea kettles, tennis balls, and kittens. Child's play—that's all it was.

There would be countless bruises on her body tomorrow; she could already feel the blood spurting in various sore spots. Her elbow, her belly, her back….with every ounce of discomfort she counted, she vowed to pay it back twice-fold to those who'd wronged her. She'd have them begging on their knees for mercy, to which she would gladly refuse.

Regina sloshed through the mud, detesting the fact that she was barefoot from being woken in the middle of the night. It was their fault that she was stranded here in the woods in the dead of the night in mud-drenched pajamas. What if she tossed their bodies down into the mud? See how they appreciate it?

In her palm, Regina conjured her own neon green tennis ball and whipped it mercilessly at the nearest tree. She pretended it was Gold or even Emma as it bounced off the tree and fell into a burrow. That felt a little better…but her hair was still inches from crisping in white-hot fury.

If it was a game of chess the heroes fancied, then a game of chess was precisely what she'd give them. She had always been a skillful player.

They thought they could do away with her so easily? They thought they had the power to keep her son from her? They foolishly believed they could stake her like some ancient vampire in a coffin or shoot her down like a sitting duck in a carnival game? Hah! This would be a night those bleeding heart so-called heroes would regret. Even those two idiots, who were no doubt snoozing obliviously, would witness her wrath.

_The Queen is back, _Regina thought smugly, swiftly calling two blue flames into her open hands. The flames were sapphire at the very bottom, and spiraled upward into glowing green tongues. Beautiful. _Why, before I chop off your pretty little head, I must remember to thank you, Emma. _

The fires sizzled into thin streams of smoke as she clenched her fists. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the glistening stars with the beginnings of a plan unfolding in the twisted labyrinth of her mind. The Golds wouldn't know what hit them.

Regina took a couple of confident steps forward, navigating over roots and bumps in the forest floor, seeking out the faint markings of a trail that would lead her out of these woods. Maybe she would come across that old cabin Gold had and stretch naked over his couch while a raging fire burned in the fireplace. In her daydreaming, her ankle snagged on an upended root and she stumbled into a tree trunk. Rumpel sipping her tea must have cost her more brain cells than she thought.

First things first: she needed shelter. A safe haven, a hideout, an evil lair, whatever it may be called. Somewhere within the boundaries of Storybrooke where the Golds and Charmings would never find her. That cabin certainly sounded tempting, if only she could find it. Then again, she didn't want to be discovered there if the Golds decided to spend a weekend in isolation making love. The thought it made her gag.

Her office at Town Hall was out of the question. That would probably be the first place they would search for clues of her whereabouts. There was always her heart vault, concealed beneath her father's fake casket in the old Mills family crypt. Perhaps she would crush a few hearts, release this red anger.

Regina corrected her path after turning the troublesome root into a swarm of cockroaches and ventured off into what she thought was the direction of the cemetery. An icy breeze skated through the trees and she rubbed her arms for warmth. She poised her fingers to magically snap a jacket over her shoulders…

….and then the skies opened up and it started to downpour over her exposed head. In seconds, every inch of her body was soaked from head to toe, her black hair hanging in thick ropes around her face, her pajamas plastered to her skin. Was this her price for using magic? If so, _they_ should be the ones to pay it, not her!

Cursing under her breath, she began trekking through the mud.

"Damn those Golds."

…..

The ride home was an uncomfortable one. The silence towered like the Great Wall of China between their bodies. The blind anger simmered throughout the car, the temperature practically rising along with it. It was a heat wave that refused to be cooled.

Rain drilled against the glass of the window as Emma peered out into the black night. Her fingertips traced the tears across the glass. A stretch of houses and trees rushed by in an array of colors, her eyes following them in the mirror as though Regina might pop out from behind a house or tree like a runaway dog.

She peeked at Gold from the corner of her eye. He didn't even need to pilfer her keys to persuade her to let him drive. If she got behind the wheel while seeing red, Storybrooke would most likely be lacking in street signs. She would pick up her Bug from Regina's house tomorrow morning when her head was clear, but they would also need to make a public announcement about Regina's disappearance. The people of Storybrooke, people whose lives were cursed and ruined because of an evil queen, deserved to know what was happening in their town. They'd spent too many years in a fugue state and Emma refused to put them through the same unawareness that Regina had.

Gold was awfully quiet in his fury. His knuckles constricted the steering wheel, intricately curved lips drawn into a gruesome pout, and the street held all his attention instead of her. Her neck craned to the left to see the speedometer: 75, 80, 85, and rising.

Had he used magic to switch his foot out for a lead one? Her hand gripped the dashboard as a sudden wave of anxiety overtook her, the car accelerating under her feet.

"If you're angry, I'd prefer it if you just said so," she declared, pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the window. It helped to dull the ache in her head, at least. She could hear her husband huffing like a dragon about to breathe fire.

"Why ever would you assume I was angry, dear?" His voice dripped with acid and mockery. She had no patience for his theatrics tonight.

"Gee, I don't know. The fact that the wheel is suffocating under your fingers. The fact that you won't even give me the time of day. Or maybe it's the fact that Bambi would be a bug on our windshield if he wanted to cross the road because you're pushing 100." Reluctantly, Gold eased off the pedal and the car lurched to a slow crawl. It was a good thing, too, or they might have sped right by their house.

The car sputtered to a stop. The pounding of the rain was the only rhythm falling upon their ears. After what seemed an eternity, Emma heard the click of the key as it slid from the ignition. Without sparing a glance her way, Gold shoved open his door and stepped into the raging storm.

She left the car and trudged behind, the sheet of rain so thick that she could barely make out the lines of his back as he mounted the porch. Twice she skidded on mud, but thankfully caught the railing of the porch. He checked over his shoulder to make sure she hadn't landed on the ground and continued on his way to unlocking the front door.

Another layer of anger added to the first. He was not the only one who suffered a miserable blow tonight. She despised the idea of Regina being on the loose, too. Yet, she felt a twinge of guilt as she trailed behind him down the darkened hall.

If she hadn't touched Regina at all, would Regina even possess magic again? Would she be an invisible threat hiding in every dark corner?

Emma rubbed a shaky hand over her belly, picturing the little seed of life sprouting inside. The last thing she wanted to do was cause undue stress while carrying the baby. Once she may have fought Gold tooth and nail over his rash behavior, but it was a price she was not willing to pay.

In the kitchen, her husband hunched over the sink with its half-finished dishes. His sopping wet hair clung to his face in a curtain, preventing her from glimpsing his expression. They shouldn't be fighting each other tonight—they should be fighting Regina. It was with a tired sigh that Emma laid her hand on his rigid shoulder. It tensed under her touch.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quietly. The only response was his labored breathing. "I shouldn't have touched her—" Without warning, he whirled on her. His face was contorted with grief and rage, droplets of rain still dripping onto the floor at his feet. Or were they tears?

"No, you shouldn't have!" His voice was thunderous, echoing through the house louder than the storm battling the windows. He thrust a finger at her chest. "If you hadn't touched her, she would not have magic at her disposal!"

Emma slapped his accusing finger away from her chest before it could poke her breast.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that? Just because I'm your magical savior doesn't mean I suddenly know _everything!"_

Where her supposed "magic" as the savior was concerned, she was like a child who had been handed a fresh Rubik's cube puzzle. Breaking the curse was the equivalent of sorting out one measly row of matching colors on that cube, but there was the matter of solving the rest of the puzzle. It was challenging, it was taxing, it made her head hurt until it felt like mush just as if she'd been rolling one of those cubes around in her hands.

But Gold didn't see it that way. He advanced on her, his face contorting with irritation. She refused to back away, so the distance between their bodies became limited.

"If you had listened to me, we wouldn't have this problem on our plates. I was handling it," he barked. Emma snorted derisively.

"_Handling_ it?" That was the overstatement of the year. "So your idea of handling it was by bouncing Regina around the room? What was next? Turning her into a train set and running the tracks down the stairs? Turning her into a love seat and bringing her home?" Gold's features softened, his eyes glazing over with deep thought. Emma's mouth fell open. Her arms flung down by her sides, her fists balling. "Don't tell me you're actually considering it!"

Gold sniffed and turned away to hide his face.

"Fine, I won't tell you," he muttered. Emma raked her fingers through her blonde locks in frustration.

"You could have at least told me what you were—" He silenced her with a black look.

"Quite frankly, it's none of your concern," he snapped.

Emma reared her head back as if he just connected the back of his palm with her cheek. The words stung worse than any blow. Was this where they stood on the matter? Was he that delusional?

Her teeth ground together until they ached. If he sensed her growing tension, he didn't make a move to deflect it. This time she was the one advancing, and he retreated until his back hit the counter.

"Excuse me? What screw popped loose in that skull of yours to assume this has nothing to do with me?" He must have sensed that he crossed the line, for he tried bringing his hands soothingly over her shoulders, but it was too late. The damage was done. The anger and hurt she had buried since skipping from foster home to foster home rushed up her throat like vomit. "She tore my family apart! She is the reason I grew up alone! She is the reason my son nearly died last night! If anyone should be sipping her brain cells from a teacup, it should be me. Don't you _dare_ tell me this is none of my concern."

With the outpouring of her words, all of the strength left her body. She collapsed against the counter, her nails grinding into it as she used it for support. It was difficult to draw in a breath and her lungs burned from holding the breath she could not seem to release. Her hair hung down to her breasts and only lifted under Gold's fingertips as he tucked the strands behind her ear.

"I know," he sighed, sounding less annoyed and more broken. His fingers danced over the back of her neck, massaging circles into the skin. "I never stopped to consider the damage that would be done to you as the savior or the price you unwillingly had to pay. Magic is not an easy burden to bear or control; yours especially. You're practically true love incarnate. It was the reason why you were able to save Graham."

The mention of Graham brought fresh ache to her chest. He was just another casualty of Regina's tyranny over Storybrooke. She felt Gold place his hand under her elbow, but still she did not look at him. She kept her head bent over the sink, her eyelids squeezed shut to prevent any hot moisture from leaking through. It'd be easier without the spur of her pregnancy hormones.

"It's not your fault," he murmured and tried to brush some of the hair from her neck. "I was only trying to protect you from everything Regina has done and everything she will do." _Everything she will do, _the words echoed in her head. This wasn't over yet. A tear escaped from beneath her eyelashes.

"She'll be hitting us even harder now, won't she? She has magic because of me. She'll be going after my parents, me, you, Henry...She'll stop at nothing to destroy the people I love and it's my fault."

Just as the first tear dried on her cheek, others joined it. The knots in her stomach tightened and she felt ready to throw up. She was supposed to be the savior and she just succeeded in handing Regina the deadliest weapon of all to use against them. _What have I done? _

All Gold could do was provide Emma comfort by rubbing her back as she bent over the sink. His brow furrowed n dismay. How was he supposed to handle this? One misstep in this minefield could blow him to pieces. Rampage Emma he knew how to disarm. Crying Emma? Forget it.

"Please, no. Darling, anything but the tears. Gods, are you that hormonal already? Um…" Gold searched around for something to lighten her mood. Not even Goldie was here to lick her tears off. "Would you care for…a banana? Or…how about a cup of cocoa? Regrettably, we're out of cinnamon, but—"

A pattern of clicks notified him of Goldie's presence. He supposed the phrase 'better late than never' fit here. He half-turned to see the golden pup sitting casually in the middle of the kitchen, head tilted curiously, tongue wagging.

"Ah, there's the Royal Sleepyhead herself," he stated sourly. Goldie started wagging her tail. Maybe she assumed Gold was complimenting her on her beauty sleep. "Enjoy my pillow, did you? How would you handle this?" He jerked his head to Emma, which caused the dog's tongue to retreat inside her mouth.

Emma sniffled wetly and smoothed her blonde hair back from her forehead. Her eyes showed signs of bloodshot already and her cheeks were flushed. After that brief cry, she seemed more at ease with her guilt than she was a few minutes ago, so much that her trade skepticism bounced back like an elastic band.

"What does that matter? You still haven't given your fatherly blessing to Pongo and Archie. Goldie wouldn't know the first thing about playing a spouse if it bit her on the ass," Emma remarked.

"Well, that's because Pongo continues to favor slobbering over those disgusting rawhide bones instead of Goldie. What kind of husbandry is that? I never ignore you for some material good, do I?" Emma crossed her arms over her chest.

"Never? Only when you tune into _Game of Thrones_ on television. I swear, if I walk in front of the screen for one minute, you'll throw the popcorn bowl at me. And what happened to that chocolate fountain you bought from eBay and swooned over for three days straight?"

Gold fidgeted in his spot. His hands fixed the lapels of his suit and he coughed the way people often did in awkward situations. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and that was how she knew he was choosing his words carefully.

"It…had a fatal accident…when it flew into the wall," he admitted. So that was why she found chocolate stains smeared on the kitchen wall.

"Before or after you got frustrated that it didn't work right?" She shook her head dolefully. Husbands always assumed they knew how to fix everything when it really amounted to more problems than they started with. Gold suddenly became testy.

"Since when is my impatience the subject of scrutiny here?" He charged forward and clasped her hands gently. "Listen to me. Regina will be found, I swear it. You and I will endure this together. I made a promise to protect my family and it will not be broken because of her long, pointy nose sticking in places it doesn't belong."

Emma wanted nothing more than to believe that what he said was true. But as long as Regina slipped under their radar and proved to be a threat, her nerves refused to settle.

"And after we catch up to Regina? Then what?"

Gold's lips pulled into a tight frown. If he was thinking of a particularly dark solution, he obviously wasn't letting her in on it. Did he plan to kill Regina once he managed to get his hands on her? Or exact revenge in the form of a cruel long-lasting punishment? Then there was the matter of her virtuous parents who—in the way Gold rehashed it—were notorious for "doing the right thing" in sparing Regina's life for a second chance at redemption that never seemed to fulfill its promise.

He caressed the strands of her golden hair, his expression guarded.

"Why don't we worry about crossing that bridge when we come to it? Oh, and someone is going to have to alert the Charmings about our sticky situation," he hinted. Emma dug out her cell phone and dialed Mary Margaret's home number.

"On it," she announced as the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Gold made his way for the stairs, with Goldie shadowing his heels. A reminder jumped into her head before he could disappear from sight in the darkened hallway. "Oh, wait. Just so you're aware, you and I are having dinner with my parents and Henry tomorrow night."

He paused on the threshold. Goldie leaped up onto his leg, tail wagging faster than a helicopter's blades. Gold shifted his head around and regarded her with suspicion.

"We are?" Her eyes narrowed. There was no way he was getting out of this one, not if he wanted to get in good with her parents. It would be tough already for them to accept him as her devoted husband. Gold moaned. "Brilliant idea. Gather the Evil Queen's archenemies in one location. We'll have her head popping out of the dessert for sure."

…

"Behave," Emma warned for the seventh time, her pace slightly faster than Gold's as they climbed the stairs of her parent's apartment building.

Whether the dragging of his feet stemmed from fatigue or dread, she didn't care to assess it. The only thing she was concerned about was how much of a good impression he could make for her parents. Then again, the years he spent around her parents before her birth might be a tiny bit detrimental.

To his credit, he tried to get some of his longing for her out of his system in the car by stroking her thigh or leaning over while there was a red light to nuzzle her neck. But her husband was always unpredictable. If ever he wanted to scorn Charming tonight, he could easily do so by sticking his tongue down her throat.

"I heard you the first six times," he grumbled under his breath. He shifted his weight onto the railing. No matter how hard he pushed his body, he was physically one step behind Emma. His past injury to his leg had nothing to do with it, anymore—it was the curse of living in a body that was not quite as youthful as it once was. "Reading between the lines, you're assuming I'm going to ask your dear old dad to pass the rolls, stick one in my mouth, hop on the table, and show Snow White exactly what she's missing."

One step away from the landing, Emma stopped dead in her tracks. He bumped into her back and wrapped his arms around her waist to steady himself from falling. She wriggled from his arms and stared down at him with nothing short of seriousness. Her features may as well have been carved from marble, the skin so tight over her lips and forehead.

Gold was wise enough to descend one step. He knew that look. That was the same look Regina got during town meetings whenever someone snored. Emma thrust a finger in his chest.

"Trust me, if you stick a roll in your mouth for anything other than the purpose of chewing and swallowing, my father's sword will be the least of your problems," she retorted, eyelids narrowed dangerously.

She let that warning sink in, just in case he was foolish enough to challenge it. He knew from experience how skilled Emma was at enforcing the cold shoulder. On the heels of his sullen silence, she thrust three fingers in front of his eyes.

"A couple of ground rules. One: no references to our bedroom activities, regardless if they fly over Charming's head. Two: no name-calling. I don't care how much you think Charming's name is a contradiction."

"It _is_ a contradiction," he argued vehemently. "It was amusing when Snow did it out of jest. Then everyone in the realm decided to follow her lead. I don't think even half of the people in this town know his real name! _Charming_—the name is downright arrogant, if you ask me. Furthermore, did you know that both Cinderella and Snow White were wooed by Prince Charming in their tales? There's a good chance he's not being entirely honest here. But what can you expect from a man who calls himself _Charming_?"

Emma blinked soundlessly. Her cheeks flushed red under the milky lights in the stairwell. From this angle, it looked like she was inches from giving him a knuckle sandwich. Her restraint was extraordinary.

"_Three…._" She hissed through gritted teeth. "No magic. You don't need to remind them that you're the guy who can lift the entire dinner table in the air, throw your voice in places it should never come from, and give new meaning to the phrase 'you are what you eat.' If we're having chicken, I don't feel like chasing my parents around the apartment while they're squawking and flapping their feathers."

Gold started to chuckle over the picture Emma painted of two royal chickens in his mind, but the humor dried up instantly when Emma pursed her lips. He rested his hand on her arm and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I'll try to behave," he relented. Emma raised a speculative eyebrow and he slid his way past her before she latched too fiercely onto the key word _try. _She followed behind grudgingly as he knocked three times on the door.

"And no reminiscing over embarrassing stories from _over_ _there_ for the purpose of mocking Charming," she added quickly. She knew he might not agree to it after already agreeing to the previous terms; that was in his nature of being the slippery dealmaker. He studied the water-stained ceiling above, contemplating it.

"Sorry, that I can't promise. I credit myself with being a fabulous storyteller. Have you heard the one where I engaged in a swordfight with your father? I'd say it's a knee-slapper, but there were other places my sword tapped instead." Now he had a hearty laugh much to Emma's confusion. Those were the days.

"Oh," he exclaimed, raising a finger in the air as a new thought struck him with the intensity of a bolt of lightning. "One last thing, Emma-dear."

She instinctively turned her head to hear him out, just as he heard the rattle of the chain and doorknob. One of his hands swiftly reached up to cradle her head while his mouth landed atop hers. It caught her by surprise, so much that her mouth opened for him immediately. It was a chaste kiss overall, nothing too insistent or deep, but by the way she moaned they might have been standing there kissing for ages.

In fact, their lips were still locked when the apartment door swung inward. Gold smiled against her lips.

"Hey! Hands off!"

The act of getting caught by her father must have excited Gold, for he curled his hand tighter around her body and pulled her into a deeper, more intimate kiss. Unfortunately, Charming had other plans in mind.

Before Gold could finish tracing his tongue over her pink lips, he was covered head to toe in white foam. Emma's head jolted up to see Charming armed with a red fire extinguisher. He was boldly spraying it over Gold's crisp suit in thick bursts, transforming him into the Abominable Sudsman. Specks of white dusted Emma's boots and jeans.

Charming decoded Emma's seething look as she scraped the white foam off with the heel of her boot. He quit spraying Gold and set the fire extinguisher aside to admire his handiwork. Gold was anything but pleased, what with the majority of his suit covered.

"You've ruined my favorite suit, _dearie_," Gold griped. His hands wavered up and down his body, unwillingly to touch the clumps of foam coating his sleeves and legs. Emma's head sunk into her hand. _Two minutes. It took them all of two minutes to make this dinner a disaster. We're not even inside yet! _

"Buy another one," Charming all too kindly suggested.

Gold had a better idea as he snapped his fingers together. The white foam sunk into his suit and seemed to evaporate, leaving the silk fabric spotless as before. Even his expensive shoes shined to reflect the glow of the overhead lights. A disturbed frown crossed Charming's face and Emma knew he was reflecting on the fact that Gold's magic was unwelcome.

That was one rule broken.

"If I might plead my case….I was helping Emma freshen her breath before dinner," Gold said, exchanging a sly grin with his wife. Emma stood on her tip-toes to peer over Charming's shoulder in hopes that Snow might come to their rescue. Where was that motherly intuition now? Oh, great—her father was stepping over the threshold of the apartment.

"Next time, try giving her a Tic-Tac."

Emma could smell turkey wafting its way from the kitchen, pinpointing Snow's likely location. She attempted to maneuver her way around Charming, but now the two men of her life were blocking her path to the apartment door, their testosterone levels rising with every passing second.

"Are you two done or are you planning to take this outside?" Her sarcasm went unheard.

As Charming squared his broad shoulders, Gold appeared to loom over him like a swooping vulture going for the kill. Despite that fact that his leg was more or less healed, he still carried his cane in his hand. Force of habit, he claimed when Emma asked. Now she had her doubts. She reached out for it, but Gold's knuckles turned white with added pressure over the gold head. _Don't you dare, _she plucked the thought from his mind.

"So, should I start calling you 'dad' now? Or would you prefer something more familiar to our land? Papa, perhaps?"

Charming's nose wrinkled as if he detected a foul odor. The last thing he needed to be reminded of was the fact that he had a son-in-law who was virtually centuries older than him. He poked Gold's chest. So _that's_ where she got it from. Gold stared down at the intrusive digit in disgust as it prodded his tie.

"You're just rubbing it in my face that you're married to my daughter," Charming roared. His blue eyes flickered to Emma on the off-chance she would confess that Gold was holding her against her will or was otherwise unworthy of her love. Emma matched her father's stony gaze with a message of her own: _yes, he's married to me. What's your point?_

Gold swatted Charming's hand away.

"That's not rubbing it in. _This _is rubbing it in." Faster than Emma could follow, Gold's arm snaked around Emma's waist and tugged her into the arc of his arms. If that weren't enough to give Charming an aneurysm, Gold pointed at Emma's scowling face and sang: _"I married your daughter, I married your daughter! _See the difference?"

Emma was inches shy of stuffing herself between the two men in an attempt to push them apart. Charming's jaw was locked tight and his fist curled by his side. It clenched tighter with every inch that Gold's hands touched Emma.

"What are you three doing out here? Having a tea party?" _Thank God, _Emma thought with intense relief, nearly collapsing in Gold's arms. The tension began to melt like a heat wave after a brutal thunderstorm.

A white shadow darted over Charming's shoulder and suddenly Snow White filled the doorway, clad in a pale fleece sweater and wearing a welcoming smile. Charming should take notes from his wife. Emma opened her mouth to explain the situation, but by the way Snow so confidently placed a restraining hand on Charming's shoulder, she caught the gist of it. Under her touch, Charming's muscles relaxed.

"Now, boys, no rough-housing before dinner," she teased, leveling long, knowing looks with both Gold and Charming. The two men sized each other up, their eyes practically shooting laser beams.

"He started it!" The two exclaimed at the same time, thrusting an accusing finger at his opponent. Snow scolded them with a cluck of her tongue while saving a wink for Emma. _Men. What can you do? _Her message came across loud and clear.

"It doesn't matter who started it. I'm ending it," she said, raising her chin with the poise of a queen. Both men lowered their eyes in shame. "Charming, these are our guests tonight. Don't let them stand outside. It's very rude. Come in," she encouraged Emma and Gold to follow behind her into the apartment while Charming was left to slam the door behind them.

Gold's eyes swept vastly over the apartment's cozy interior. It didn't look all that different than before the curse broke, except for the fact that anything remotely resembling an apple—including Mary Margaret's cell phone—had disappeared. It must be some kind of superstition in this household, like avoiding cracks in the sidewalk in case it broke your mother's back or not walking under ladders. Throw the apples away to keep the Evil Queen at bay.

Snow immediately went about putting on a kettle for tea, much to Gold's satisfaction. Charming perched stiffly in a chair at the kitchen table, which was already set with napkins, plates, and silverware for five people. His hands worked with an old gray cloth as the prince shined his sword. Those crystal blue eyes never left Gold for an instant.

Just to spite him further, Gold brushed Emma's blonde hair aside and planted a warm kiss on her neck. There was a sharp _thwack _as the sword buried itself into the table. Emma leaned toward Gold's ear as she felt the tension spiking again.

"Heads up: my father's planning your execution," she whispered. He snickered in response, even as Charming's chair scraped back on the floorboards.

"Won't he get a nasty surprise when he beheads me and sees that I'm still alive?" Emma blanched, wondering what Gold's head might have to say when it was swinging in Charming's grip. Trouble brewed as Charming rose to full height, but luckily Emma did not need to witness Round Two.

"Charming," Snow berated from the stove. "What did I say about your sword being on the table? Or _in_ the table?"

Fuming, Charming removed the sword from the table by the hilt and stowed it away in the bedroom he shared with Snow, otherwise known as the late Mary Margaret's bedroom. Emma tried to ward off the uncomfortable mental images.

Footsteps thundered above their heads and Henry appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the apartment's loft. No doubt Henry had the whole space to himself up there, courtesy of his grandparents. He beamed when he noticed Gold and Emma standing there.

"I knew it! You're here!"

Before Emma could manage any sort of vocal greeting, her son had rushed down the stairs and flung himself in her arms, squeezing her middle like a boa constrictor until she could barely suck in a breath. Yet, she gladly returned his hug with the thought that things might have ended differently for him had she not broken the curse. He pulled back to let her breathe.

"What took you so long?" Emma deliberately tilted her head to Gold for the answer, making Henry giggle. It was all that hair—there was more on Gold's head than initially met the eye.

To his grandparents' astonishment, Henry switched from hugging Emma to hugging Gold. Much as Charming resembled a fish at the moment, Emma couldn't help but admire the way Gold readily absorbed Henry's affection with the pride of a father and ruffled his fingers through Henry's hair. She thought she heard Henry say something while his face was buried in Gold's suit that sounded like 'dad.'

When Henry finally released him, Emma swallowed back a laugh as Gold pretended to use his silken handkerchief to wipe his mouth clean, when she knew it was really inching toward his eyes instead.

"Is it true that you have magic now?" Henry bombarded Gold with his curiosity. He must have been waiting all day to ask that.

Emma waited to see if Gold would abide by the ground rules. He gave her a passing glance of uncertainty, a second before his wrist flourished. She should have known he'd bend the rules for their son. _Our son, _Emma repeated in her head.

"Let's see…"

With a smooth wave of his hand, a fan of playing cards appeared in Gold's hand. He held them out to Henry in offering. Charming tried to interrupt, but Snow laid a cautious hand over his forearm. Maybe she sensed that Gold would never do anything to harm Henry. Emma settled back to watch the parlor trick. After all, how serious could playing cards be?

"Pick a card, any card," Gold classically instructed, much to Henry's excitement. The kid eagerly chose one from the deck. He cupped a hand around the top of it to make sure Gold did not see which one it was. Emma got a good view from her spot: the King of Diamonds. "That's it—don't let me see. Now place it back in the deck."

Henry hastily followed his instructions, sticking his card right in the middle of the deck. Gold expertly shuffled the cards in his hands, a blur of red and white bouncing from one palm to the other. He flipped the top card.

"Is this your card?"

Henry peered at the Five of Hearts.

"Nope," he answered flatly.

Charming smirked and crossed his arms. Apparently, he thought he might enjoy this show after all. Emma rolled her eyes. Gold hardly made mistakes in anything he did. No, there was some other trick up his sleeve and Henry was gobbling it up.

"Shame. My skills must be a little rusty," Gold excused himself as he shuffled the deck again. This time, he chose one closer to the middle. "Is…_this_ your card?" The Ten of Clubs.

"Not even close," Henry said. The grin on his face was huge. He obviously enjoyed watching Gold struggle to impress him as much as Charming did. Snow was chewing feverishly on her bottom lip. Gold grumbled in disappointment and selected the card on the very bottom. "This one?"

Two of Spades.

"Yeah….no," Henry replied.

Gold sighed and stared down at the rejected card. Emma waited for the punch-line. Ah, there it was—that mischievous gleam had entered Gold's brown eyes, though it went unnoticed by anyone else. Then again, no one else in the room could read Gold half as well as she could.

"Hmm….it seems your card is hiding from me. Allow me to try one last tactic."

Under the focus of four pairs of observant eyes, Gold pinched the top of the card and pulled downward. The card split into two separate cards, as if he taped them together back-to-back. He held up the one that had appeared from behind the Two of Spades.

"I ask again…is this your card?"

The King of Diamonds dipped between Gold's fingers, almost into Henry's hands. His eyes went wide as he recognized it.

"That's it!" Emma expected there to be a new magic trick every night from this point on. If she knew Henry, he'd beg to have Gold teach him the trick so that he could perform it himself at Granny's Diner.

"Impressive," she commented dryly from the sidelines. Without removing his eyes from Henry's thrilled face, Gold held up a finger for patience. She paused, her gaze flickering between the card and Henry. The show wasn't over yet?

"I'm not finished," he confirmed her suspicions.

Gold held the card by the bottom and flipped it around. In place of a card, there magically fluttered a fresh twenty dollar bill. Henry's eyes were the size of teacup saucers by now, especially when Gold held the money out to Henry. When Henry accepted it, Gold gave an exaggerated bow.

"For the bravest knight of the Enchanted Forest. Not many people willingly take on a sleeping curse for the greater good." His eyes roamed to Snow, who blushed profusely.

"That was an impressive trick, Rumpelstiltskin, but Henry is only ten years old. I don't think he needs—" Snow began to object, but Emma had it covered. Henry hugged his money to his chest as she strode forward to put in her two cents.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can't just hand a ten year old twenty dollars!"

Gold straightened up and regarded her with mild skepticism. The remaining deck of cards popped up into the air and plopped back down into his palm. He began to shuffle them rapidly, occasionally flipping one or two over in between his fingers. The Ace of Hearts, the King of Spades, and the Queen of Hearts.

"Why not? I have plenty of money to spare," he calmly pointed out. The cards slipped back into the pile. Charming muttered something under his breath, earning a glare from Gold. Something about how everyone in Storybrooke knew the extent of Gold's wealth.

"That's not the point. The kid's probably going to spend it all in Clark's candy aisle," Emma argued. Henry turned on the puppy eyes. She just knew his grandfather taught him that one.

"No, I won't, I promise. I'll save it for something special," he insisted, refusing to relinquish his hold on the dollar bill. Emma bit down on the inside of her cheek, her resolve swaying. Henry's youthful intuition ruthlessly latched onto it. "Please, Mom?"

The use of the word Mom slayed her, as he likely knew it would.

"A lesson in the ways of motherhood, dear: Put some trust in your boy. He may surprise you yet," Gold added, spinning the Ace of Clubs around the fingers of his right hand. Charming's eyes were nearly hypnotized with watching the card make its rounds.

"Thank you, Fortune Cookie," Emma said sarcastically.

She studied Henry for a long time, weighing the pros and cons. It was only twenty dollars, given to him by the man he was coming to accept as his stepdad. And he was far wiser than his years already due to the harsh way this world had handled him thus far. She knew that if any child in this town was capable of making the right choices, it would be him. Besides, if he did spend it all on candy, it would be a taste of childhood that Regina would have denied him. Not that Emma wanted him to realize that. Otherwise, he'd have a bigger sweet tooth than his stepdad. So she had to play her role as the concerned mother.

"If the dwarves come running to me with a story about how you bought twenty dollars' worth of Apollo bars—"

Henry tucked the money safely away in his jeans pocket.

"They won't," he said. Emma wondered if that meant that he really wouldn't buy out the town's stock of chocolate or if he meant that the dwarves wouldn't be able to tattle on him. Despite that, this was supposedly going to be their knight of the Enchanted Forest, so a little faith couldn't hurt.

Emma caught Snow's eye over Henry's head and received a nod of approval for her choice. She started to wonder if Snow's initial objection was a ploy to goad Emma into acting the part of Henry's mother. If that was the case, it worked splendidly.

It would have been a miracle if Gold had the sense to put away the magic tricks and allow the dinner to carry on in as little awkwardness as possible. But if he had, then he wouldn't be the skillful troublemaker known as Rumpelstiltskin. So, it was with an ambiguous grin that he flashed the cards in a fan in Charming's direction.

"Charming, pick a card, any card," he sang, edging the cards forward. _I dare you; _Gold's unspoken challenge was ear-splitting. Charming wiggled his fingers over the pile of cards, silently debating whether to fall into that trap. "Come on, now. It's just a little hocus pocus. Or is our valiant Prince Charming afraid?"

The barb snagged Charming on Gold's hook. Snow decided not to observe her husband's mistake of falling into Gold's trap and went to fill five mugs with steaming tea. Emma watched the cards carefully. Were they going to spray Charming in the face with water or something?

"I am not afraid," Charming snapped back. He leered at the cards in Gold's hand. "Depends…If I pick a card, will I get twenty dollars?"

Emma almost snorted her tea out her nose after taking the first sip. Charming would be tremendously lucky to find a penny on the ground in Gold's wake, never mind earning a free twenty dollar bill from a magic trick.

"Depends on if the cards work in your favor," Gold said. _Translation: no chance, _Emma thought.

Hesitantly, Charming chose a card on his right, holding it so that Gold would not be able to see which one it was. In fact, he held it so close to his chest that not even Emma could glimpse it no matter how much she side-stepped. Following in Henry's footsteps, Charming placed the card back in the center of the deck and waited for Gold to finish shuffling. Gold selected a top card and hissed mournfully.

"Ooh, my apologies. Jokers need not apply," he said and flipped the card around to reveal a colorful jester. A second later, it burst into flames. Charming made no move for the fire extinguisher now, leaving Gold to stomp it out on the ground and reducing it to a charred mess.

"But that's not even my card—" Charming complained loudly, but the rest of the cards flew up from Gold's palm and never fell back down. Instead, they vanished into thin air. He casually brushed his suit down and checked the time on the clock above Snow's refrigerator.

"Oh, didn't I say? The first seven minutes of magic is free. After that, it's twenty dollars an hour." Emma had the strange feeling that this wasn't a quip on Gold's part.

Charming choked out a string of unintelligible noises, gesturing vaguely to the hand that held a stack of cards a moment ago. Huffing through his nose, he deemed it unworthy of his energy to fight Gold and reclaimed his chair at the kitchen table. Gold fixed his tie with the air of someone who was quite pleased with himself.

The clearing of someone's throat directed everyone's attention to Snow. The turkey had just come out of the oven.

"Dinner is served," she announced.

Emma sighed in relief. _Let's get this over with, _she thought cynically, taking her place at the table next to Henry and her husband. At least Gold was proving himself to be a gentleman by pulling Emma's chair out for her. She leaned over to him as he settled beside her, directly across from Charming.

"Well, you've already broken one rule. I suppose this means you're going to make fun of his name, too?" She motioned her eyes to Charming, who was trying not to make it obvious that he was watching their every move. The corners of Gold's lips lifted as he took up his napkin.

"No, no, no. _That_ comes during dessert." All Emma could think about was: _which one?_

…..

The dinner started out quiet with only a few polite murmurs after someone passed the bowls of food around and the scrapes of forks on glass plates. Emma wouldn't have minded the silence so much if Snow and Charming didn't gawk at her and Gold. A tight smile was pasted on Snow's face whenever she met Gold's eyes, as if she were trying exceptionally hard to keep an open mind about his intimate bond with Emma. Charming's shoulders arched forward, his fork screeching more than anyone else's. He didn't bother to hide the fact that he was wary of Gold. In fact, Emma didn't think her father even blinked.

"There's an old saying in this world that might strike your fancy, Charming. Take a picture—it will last longer," Gold said without removing his eyes from the roll he was currently slathering with butter. Charming gave his opponent a long once-over and snorted.

"I highly doubt that. You can stuff that picture in a time capsule and it still won't last as long as you," he remarked with false sincerity. Henry hid his giggle in his napkin, his cheeks turning red. Snow shot Charming a disapproving look. Gold's roll and butter knife tumbled onto the table.

"Do my ears deceive me? Or are you foolishly suggesting that I am…_old?"_ Gold self-consciously wove his fingers through his hair, tousling it to hide the gray patches over his ears.

"You said it, not me," Charming said. Snow flashed a horrified look across the table at Emma. _Fix this, _those emeralds pleaded. Emma tossed down her napkin. A change of subject might do them some good.

"So, now that the curse is broken—" She didn't even get the chance to finish. Charming leaned over the table, armed with his fork.

"You made me think I was pregnant!" So much for that idea.

"No, that bumbling oaf David Nolan made you think you were pregnant. If anyone has the right to complain, it's me," Gold retorted. Charming was taken aback by Gold's show of self-centeredness so much that he nearly toppled out of his chair. His gaze switched between the infamous dealmaker and his daughter.

"What do _you_ possibly have to complain about?" Emma propped one elbow on the table and trained her eyes heavily on Gold's face. Suddenly, she wanted the answer to that question, too. Gold just went feasting on that roll. "Were you chased out by your wife with a broom?"

Gold took a generous bite out of the roll and swooned from the buttery extravagance.

"First of all," he turned his focus on Snow's end of the table. "Your rolls are tremendous, dearie. As for you, Charming, the only female at this table who is inclined to use a broom as a weapon is _your_ wife, not mine. Emma doesn't use brooms; she uses toasters." Snow bristled in her chair, but Gold overrode any protest she planned to make. "Secondly, need I remind you of the time you two interrupted my honeymoon with Emma in the cabin? Or the time you, Charming, decided to tag along on my guys' night out with Archie? Or—"

Emma nudged Charming's leg under the table, just a swift kick or two to encourage him to drop the subject. She would have tried the same with Gold, except Gold would think she was playing footsies and end up nudging her back. Plus, there were times when that man just didn't know when to quit. He always strived for the last word.

"Stop nudging my leg!" Charming said, staring directly across the table at Gold. At the very least, the accusation made Gold's complaining falter.

"Why would _I_ nudge _your_ leg?" Now his leg was nudging Emma's.

"_I'm_ the one nudging your leg," Emma explained, nudging her father's leg again just to prove it. He craned his head to see under the table, confirming that it was Emma's boot and not an expensive shoe. "I thought maybe you'd get the hint and stop biting Gold's hook."

Beside her, Gold had the audacity to snicker. She was surprised he didn't dare to stick his tongue out at Charming for getting scolded by his daughter. His humor halted as Emma clapped him over the ear.

"That goes for you, too. What did I say about behaving?" Gold rubbed his red ear and pushed some of the turkey around on his plate. His lips pouted childishly.

The table fell into silence again, but Emma knew it was only a short reprieve. Charming and Gold were like two dogs growling at each other from the ends of their chains. Lo and behold, Henry was the one to break it.

"So…who am I going to be living with now?" _Now? _Emma met Snow's eyes across the table, wondering if Snow had told Henry all the details about Regina's disappearance. All she earned was an unconvincing shrug. The innocent question simmered in the air until four heads turned to eye Emma. Hope filled Henry's face, willing her to say the magic words that would safely carry him off to happily ever after.

"If your grandparents don't mind, you can spend a couple more days here while Gold and I set up a room for you at our house," she suggested, looking to her parents for approval.

"Of course he can," Snow instantly agreed, nodding fervently.

Charming smiled down at Henry and nodded along with his wife, but Emma could tell his heart wasn't in it fully. Maybe he wanted to start making up for lost time with Snow. Emma suddenly had a vision of being in a cheesy romantic comedy where her mother ended up having a baby at the same time she did. It made her shiver.

"That's great, but I also meant when we all go back to the Enchanted Forest," Henry said. This time, no one had an answer for him. His eyes boggled. "We are going there, right?" Emma bit softly on her bottom lip. It was Henry's biggest dream to go to the Enchanted Forest and become a knight like the ones illustrated in his book. She glanced at Gold, but his expression offered little assistance. _He doesn't know, either, _she realized.

"Things are tough on all of us right now, kid. Most of us are trying to figure out what to do now that the curse is broken and Regina is in hiding…." Nothing changed in Henry's glimmering brown orbs, which meant he already knew. Just as she suspected. She stroked her fingers through his hair. "We'll see what we can do. The important thing is that we're together."

Those last words were meant for her parents as much as Henry. She hadn't yet been able to forgive them fully for her hard life without them, especially since she had always been under the impression that her parents abandoned her, but it was a small promise of what could be. Maybe one of these days she would stop seeing them as Mary Margaret and David. Maybe she would give them a second chance.

"Don't you worry about Regina, Henry," Gold spoke around Emma's shoulder. "To get to you, she'll have to go through Emma's right hook, my magic, your grandfather's sword, your grandmother's arrows, Red's monthly gift, and Granny's arsenal of weapons. She won't last five minutes on her own."

Several pairs of eyebrows raised in wonder.

"I never knew you had so much faith in us," Charming commented. Gold did nothing to swerve the prince from that way of thinking. "You know, Henry, you're always welcome in our castle." The delight radiated off Henry in waves when he heard the word 'castle.'

"As he is in mine," Gold added. "Come to think of it, Emma is now the lady of the Dark Castle." Gold caught her by the wrist and elegantly kissed the back of her hand.

Charming's fingers curled around her fork. Gold may as well have called Emma a peasant for all the contempt in those blue eyes. Henry pushed aside his plate and leaned both elbows on the table.

"In other words, I can live in _two_ castles?" He gleefully pumped his fist under the table. "What's it like over there, anyway?"

The food on Emma's plate was long forgotten, which was a shame because Snow proved to be an excellent cook. Her mind had asked that same question dozens of times since becoming a believer: what was her homeland truly like? What would _she_ have been like if she had been allowed to grow up in that world? Falling prey to her curiosity, she mimicked Henry's actions in leaning closer to her father to hear his words.

She should have expected that there would be plenty of stories to tell.

"Emma, did you ever hear about the time I fought a dragon? Not just any dragon, mind you. It was the same one you fought for Henry. Your husband made me do it," Charming started. Emma's head lolled. _Here we go, _she thought tiredly, just as Gold choked out a bitter laugh.

"I'm sorry…I _made_ you? David Nolan must have taken a serious toll on your memory. It was part of our deal, remember? I helped you save your wife and you stick a pretty golden egg in one of Maleficent's many orifices. If not for me, your wife would be six feet under the ground and you'd be rocking on your side pitifully and alone in the Infinite Forest, the sole purpose of your life extinguished, leaving a gaping bleeding hole in your heart while fresh tears glistened in those puppy eyes the love of your life madly fawns over."

Charming's mouth opened in astonishment, then closed again. Emma blinked soundlessly at Gold, one thousand thoughts spinning in her head at once. Henry murmured a soft 'wow' into his napkin.

"Have you ever considered being a poet?"

It was difficult to tell whether Charming was really taking a stab at Gold or not. After all, her husband had a way with words that no other person in this world could hope to replicate. He took it as a sign of praise and reclined gracefully in his chair.

"Emma, did you ever hear about the time Charming stormed into my castle without an invitation? Apparently, royals have no appreciation for locks or 'Beware of Dog' signs," he muttered. Snow made a low comment about dessert and stood from her seat, aiming for the kitchen. Emma simply folded her arms over her chest and watched the show unfold. She figured it was best not to resist it. "He comes prancing into my castle, my sanctuary. Picture it, Emma: he's decked head to toe in all his fancy shiny royal garb and demands my immediate attention. How rude is that? What if I was running a bath?"

Charming's neck turned red. It made him look like he neglected to use sunscreen at the beach.

"Thank you for that disturbing mental image," Charming retorted.

"You're welcome," Gold returned scathingly. Charming carried on as if Gold hadn't spoken. Or perhaps Charming simply chose to practice blocking Gold out of his head.

"You took my cloak because you complained '_it's drafty in here,'_" Charming's strong voice peaked into shrill whining. Emma realized he was mimicking what he thought was Gold's voice. Was that how her husband sounded in the Enchanted Forest? Like a mutated chipmunk? Henry's head was on the table and muffled sounds suggested he was either hysterically laughing or crying. Or both.

"It was drafty in there! And I did not sound like that! You are a lousy impersonator."

"Yes, you did," Charming insisted. "Right, Snow?"

Snow returned from the kitchen carrying a plate of vanilla frosted cake with red roses on top. She did not look pleased when she roughly placed the cake in the middle of the table. Henry was inches from drooling. Even with the presence of sugary sweetness, Gold and Charming never severed eye contact. To make matters worse, Snow was holding the knife to cut the cake.

"Enough! We're here to have a nice family dinner, not to debate over the past," she scolded. She cut a slim triangle piece of the cake and slapped it down on a plate for Henry. He took up his fork and dug in immediately, his eyes rolling into his head with pleasure. "But yes, you did somewhat sound like that, Rumpelstiltskin."

She waved the icing-covered knife in his direction. Gold stared down his nose at it and scooted his chair back an inch. Charming oozed smugness.

"See?"

"She's only agreeing with you because she's married to you! Now if she were married to me—" Emma had the urge to slap the back of Gold's head. _Wrong move, _she mentally chastised his name. Charming knocked his knuckles on the table.

"First you want my daughter; now you want my wife? I suppose if I had a sister, you'd pursue her, too!"

Emma looked to Henry for help in this awkward situation, but he was busy plowing through his mouth-watering fantasy of a cake with his fork. Snow didn't appear bothered, but the way she rapidly chopped through the cake begged to differ. There was no telling where that knife would land.

"Is this a hypothetical question? I'd only care to pursue your sister if she weren't your twin. It'd be unsettling on our first date when I lean in to kiss her, squint my eyes, and bam! There _you_ are. Speaking of twins, how's yours doing? Oops, sorry."

Emma felt eyes burning into her all of a sudden and she looked up to find her mother staring at her intently. She was agitated as well. With the knife hovering over the cake, her green eyes traveled between the two red-faced men. The blade of the knife dipped down without touching the cake. It repeated the gesture several times until Emma got the message. _Gold, Charming, cake. Gold, Charming, cake. There's only one solution to this problem. _

Emma nodded once, just as Snow plopped another perfect slice onto Henry's plate. He didn't question it.

"It's because of you that my brother grew up under King George's influence! Have you ever considered that if you didn't take him away from my mother, he might not have turned out so bad?"

"Oh, trust me, dearie—that one was a spoiled egg the minute it popped out of the basket. I could have handed him off to the Sugar Plum Fairy and he'd still trot around with his shirt ripped open with bedroom eyes on full-blast!"

Emma tried to stay silent as she edged back her chair and rose to her feet. Stealth hardly mattered; Charming and Gold were the only ones in the room in their universe at the moment, strange as that seemed. She took up position behind Gold's chair and sensually ran her hands over his tense shoulders. Soothingly, she squeezed and rubbed his shoulders, her fingers working their way up his neck. Instinctively, he leaned back into her touch though he didn't quit his staring contest with Charming.

Snow stood across from her behind Charming. Determination swept off her body in waves, convulsing in every muscle. She set her hand on the back of Charming's head. Emma gradually ceased with Gold's massage and wove her fingers through his hair. Henry shifted in his seat, observing the two of them closely.

_One…two…three!_

Together, Snow and Emma shoved their husbands' heads forward, right into the cake. Snow really made sure that Charming's face smashed into the frosting. Emma jumped back as her husband jumped up from his chair, wiping pink frosting from his left eye and licking feverishly at the white icing on his mouth. Charming sputtered out pieces of cake, one of them seemingly flying out his nose. Henry was a statue in his chair, his mouth so wide that a train could pass through it.

"Are you two finished now?" Snow bent down to her husband's face, which was unrecognizable under the white and pink mask. At least Gold's tongue seemed to be working overtime and enjoying it.

"Not only do you make wonderful rolls, but you make delicious cake," Gold complimented Snow, who tried not to laugh at the sticky patches on the dealmaker's skin. He landed back in his chair to scrape off the frosting. Emma handed bunches of napkins to him.

"Can I do that next time?" Henry looked up at Snow pleadingly.

"Emma, stop nudging my foot," Charming protested while wiping the cake off his forehead.

Emma frowned. Her feet were tucked under her chair, nowhere near Charming's feet. Besides, the two men seemed to be preoccupied with something other than going at each other's throats.

"Uh….I'm not nudging your leg this time," she said.

She checked under the table. Gold's foot was inching along, tapping a limb that was most certainly not Emma's foot. The guilt and horrific realization transpired over her husband's face, his foot retreating to safety before Charming could kick back. The only thing Emma saw through that mask of cake was two piercing blue eyes.

"_You?" _

"I…have a cramp. In my leg." Gold tried to offer Emma a piece of crumbled cake, but she decided to pass on that.

…

Dinner had finished but Gold and Charming were still squabbling over the ruined dessert with Henry licking the extra frosting off the plate. Their argument had left the dragons and imitations in the dust, replaced with talk of who wore leather pants better during their time in the Enchanted Forest. From what Emma overheard, Henry was the one who brought it up, the sneaky troublemaker.

"I was a prince and you were…a little green man! Ladies swoon over princes! Ergo, I wore the leather pants better! Ask Cinderella!"

"Cinderella could barely see a thing over that blimp of a belly in our world! And little…green…man?" Judging from the harshness in which those three words were spat out, Charming was walking on exceptionally thin ice.

"Which word offended you? Little, green, or man?"

"Listen here, _Charmless_, I introduced the style of the leather pants long before your time! I'm pretty sure I turned a few maiden heads, too. The only time women fell over you was when you tripped over your own two feet and knocked them down!" _That's the second ground rule broken. _

Emma tried to tune out their hollering as she broke away from her family to creep up the stairs to the loft above. She didn't think anyone noticed her absence, not even Gold. The loft was a vast space furnished with a single bed, a bedside table, and a lamp. It smelled like someone sprayed way too much Febreeze. The sheets and comforter were rumpled, with Henry's backpack sitting in the middle of the bed. His storybook poked out of it.

For a minute, she leaned on the railing of the stairs and studied the room, imagining how a bedroom in their house might look for Henry. At this moment, it was the only thing she wanted—to have her son being as close to her side as possible while still being happy. He would get the room with the balcony, if she knew Gold.

Would she walk in one night to find him sleeping peacefully with Goldie curled beside him? Would there be clothes strewn on the floor and comics stacked on the bedside table? Would there be claims that Goldie ate his homework in the mornings over chocolate chip pancakes cooked by Gold himself? That classic excuse might be true one day, considering the fact that Goldie ate anything and everything she could get her paws on. Snow would give him the benefit of the doubt.

Speaking of Snow…

The stairs creaked behind her as someone climbed them while trying desperately to keep their steps hidden. Some spark of intuition—maybe daughter's intuition—warned her that it would be her mother. Sure enough, Emma turned her head in time to be greeted with a soft squeeze of the arm and two concerned green eyes that were far wiser than Mary Margaret's had ever been.

"I would tell you that they're missing you down there, but your husband and my husband are arguing like an old married couple," she murmured lightly, observing the two men over the railing. Emma let out a small 'humph' that threatened to transform into a burst of laughter if she didn't suck it down. "Of course Henry finds it entertaining."

_Of course, _Emma echoed in her mind. _The kid is twirling his mustache, rubbing his palms together, and concocting his next move on the chessboard while the two fools dance on his strings. Next he'll be asking them to have a rematch for that swordfight they had in the Enchanted Forest. _

"Why don't you two have another swordfight to prove who's better?" _Thought that one out too soon, _Emma mused as Henry voiced her thoughts out loud.

"Absolutely not! I would have won that fight if your stepfather didn't cheat!"

"It's not my fault you can't keep up!" From the kitchen, Henry's cheerful laughter rose to her ears. It was nice to hear it and even nicer to watch Charming and Gold's faces contort with alarm as he lapsed into a giggling fit.

"Looks like he'll be comfortable here," Emma noted, tilting her head to Henry's cozy loft. "He's got enough room up here to store a piano. If he played, that is." Emma vowed never to be the type of mom that made Henry suffer through piano lessons if he didn't want to do it. Gold had the fingers and grace of a pianist. Maybe he could teach Henry.

She smiled at the thought of Gold and Henry. Snow wore a similar smile above the chin that Emma inherited.

"Maybe we can spend some of these evenings together as a family. Make some memories," Snow suggested.

It was then that Emma felt her smile slip. Suddenly, the air was too cold up here and the railing was too stiff under her palms. Did her mother mean for this to happen? They were venturing into the very conversation Emma wanted to put off.

"We'd already have made some memories if I didn't grow up alone," she replied icily. It was meant to stay inside her head, but somehow it hopped on the highway to her tongue. The minute it was out, she regretted it. Just seeing Snow's face crumbled in an avalanche of agony made her wish she could rewind by a minute and take the words back.

Snow gave a shuddering sigh laced with a sob.

"Do you hate us?" Emma refused to glance at those soulful eyes that once belonged to her friend. One look would break her, she knew. Instead, she glared at a deep scratch in the railing, her nail tracing over it.

"A year ago, I probably would have. If I didn't choose to stay in Storybrooke, if I didn't know Henry, if I didn't become friends with Mary Margaret…"

If all the good things in her life hadn't happened, things might have been different with her parents. The curse would never have been broken and she'd most likely be stuck forever as that bitter, pessimistic, stand-offish woman who would snort in mockery at the idea of love ever coming her way. Emma found the strength to lift her head.

"You know, I've been trying to find my parents since I was a kid bouncing from foster home to foster home. I was never really Annie, though, singing at a window about whether they'd come back for me. I always thought my parents abandoned me on the side of the road. I never thought they'd be Snow White and Prince Charming." Snow opened her mouth to plead her case, but Emma held up her hands. "I know you guys wanted to give me my best chance, like I did with Henry. But I still need time to think things over and adjust."

Snow seemed to accept that with a positive attitude. She squeezed Emma's shoulder for reassurance.

"We have time…I hope," she said. The brief wave of understanding faltered into uncertainty and dread. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize what tragedy she was thinking of.

Emma's fingers curled into her palm, a rush of anger coloring her cheeks. Why did _she_ have to ruin and intrude on everything in this town? Regina's unwanted presence hung over their heads like a black raincloud, even when she wasn't physically here to smirk and glare and screech. She couldn't bear the sadness in Snow's face as she gazed about Henry's loft, a place where he should have been safe.

"I'll do anything to protect my son from her," Emma swore with nothing short of confidence. Snow nodded weakly. "So will you and Charming. So will Gold." Snow peered down on Charming, Gold, and Henry, sensing the truth of Emma's words. Despite their differences, Gold and Charming would ultimately share one goal: to use every last bit of their strength to protect Henry.

A bittersweet smile crossed her mother's face and her eyes grew glassy, as if she were revisiting some lost memory.

"Did you know that the night you decided to leave Storybrooke with Henry…your husband called me?"

Emma's eyebrows shot up in surprise. In truth, she hadn't known that. She simply assumed that Gold heard her goodbye message on the answering machine and came running after her. Maybe he didn't want her to witness another aspect of vulnerability in his nature: the need that drove him into her arms that night.

"And?" There had to be something more that her mother was telling her besides the fact that Gold actually knew Mary Margaret's number along with every other person in Storybrooke. No one had Gold's number except for a select few.

Snow took her time in answering.

"Despite the person he was in the Enchanted Forest, despite what my memories tell me, I believe he cares a great deal for you, Emma. I see the way he looks at you, as if there's no one else in the room worth his attention, as if you are the sole source of light that brightens the room." She paused. Her eyes fell on Henry below. "I also see the way he handles Henry. You would swear Henry was his biological son. I've never seen your husband smile so warmly to anyone except you, nor have I seen him laugh or act so gently or patiently. I know he'll do anything to protect Henry."

Emma's chest warmed with every syllable Snow spoke. _She's already accepted him, _she realized. It was only a matter of getting Charming to loosen up to Gold. At least it was a start.

"If you want to thank him, send him a pie. Anything but apple."

And she left Snow alone, descending the stairs to rejoin her husband, father, and her son. It was just in time, too, because Gold and Charming were nearly choking to tie cherry stems with their tongues to foolishly prove which one was the better kisser.

…

"Gee, look at the time. Shouldn't we be going?"

Emma made a show of examining the time on the clock in the kitchen. She wanted to be out of this apartment before Gold and Charming got it in their heads to challenge each other to archery or some other such egotistical nonsense. Plus, there was nothing but trouble waiting at home when they left Goldie alone too long.

It was a good thing Gold was able to take a hint.

"Ah, yes. Silly me. It's past my bedtime," he quipped. He dared to wink at Henry, who stifled a giggle while Emma hugged him goodbye. Gold collected his cane and sidled up to Charming. "In case you were wondering, Charming, no, Emma and I do not fancy bunk beds in our bedroom. Though if we did, I would most certainly be on top." _And use a handheld mirror to spy on me while I sleep, _Emma thought. _That's rule number 1 broken. _

Charming was only too happy to open the door for them.

"For your sake, there had better be a broom between your bodies when you sleep. Either that or back-to-back positions," he grumbled. He was taking his duty as a protective father well. Gold feigned astonishment, a hand pressed to his chest.

"Oh, heavens no. What kind of husband do you think I am? Furthermore, there wouldn't be a little one growing in her belly if we slept back-to-back," he pointed out. Emma let her head fall into her hand. "We—"

"—are leaving now," she rushed forward and almost shoved Gold through the door. She forced a smile for her parents over her shoulder. "You three enjoy your night." Gold craned his head around her, attempting to get the last word in.

"Not as much as we'll enjoy ours," he sang.

Meeting Charming's eyes directly, he made a gesture of licking from a spoon. _Spooning, _Emma translated in her mind and fought all the harder to get her husband through that door before Charming made the mistake of pouncing. To Snow, he smirked brilliantly.

"So…same time next week?"

Charming was the one to slam the door in his face. It was a miracle he was still grinning impishly as he followed Emma down the stairs. He picked up his pace just for the chance to nudge her in the side with his elbow.

"I think they like me."

…

_**Cake, anyone? **_

_**Shout-out time! For their awesome reviews, I'd like to thank DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, Wandz, sundancemc, Lady-Shiroi, Revenessa, Newland Archer, reginamillz, I am Tiny, erik1221, BundyShoes, SwanQueen4055, orthankg1, sbcarri, The-Writer2012, and Mira SeverusSirius-BlackSnape. Thank you all for reading! **_


	60. Chapter 60

_**A/N: Wow, it's been a while. This chapter took a very long time to write. I've been working nonstop on it for a solid week actually (without editing). It's probably my longest chapter in this story to date and there's a lot of stuff going on, which I hope you guys will enjoy. I appreciate the reviews I received for the last chapter, as I always do. **_

Emma was up to something.

He felt he knew her better than he had ever known any other human being in this town, wholly and completely, inside and out. In that way, he also knew when something was on her mind, especially if it was something she chose not to share with him willingly. Well, whatever it was, he was going to find out about it. One way or another.

It was Friday, which meant he usually didn't head to the shop until ten. Fridays were usually slow days and it wasn't like anyone ever ventured into his shop on a daily basis, anyway. Normally, that meant he and Emma had extra time in the morning to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh…except for the fact that Emma picked today to be an early bird.

Before his mind even lost its fogginess or before his hand could reach across and brush her bare back, she was up and gone. Pulling on jeans, going downstairs, doing something other than returning his desires.

Gods, it was only seven-thirty in the morning! Unless Regina drove her broom into the side of the house like a tacky Halloween decoration, he doubted anything could be so important at seven-thirty in the morning that it called for early rising.

The mystery of it wouldn't leave him alone. So he decided to follow her downstairs and pry the answer from her lips in the best way he knew how. Nothing too obvious, of course. He wasn't wearing a sign around his neck that said: _What's your secret, dearie? _He just…snuck up behind her in the kitchen and placed several luxurious kisses on her neck. She had been shrugging on one of her leather jackets—a navy one, not her traditional red one—which meant she was planning to go somewhere.

At the first sign of his touch, she paused in zipping up the jacket and tilted her head back onto his shoulder. He used the exposure of her throat to his advantage and pressed a hard kiss over the spot where her heartbeat pulsed. His palms splayed over her belly, as though he were trying to sense his unborn son or daughter under her supple skin. Slowly, his hands slid up, under her tank top, up, just under her breasts…

"Okay, what do you want?" He slowed in fingering the lace trim of her bra. His head lifted from her neck. Was he that transparent? Then again, he wasn't properly deceptive before he had his morning coffee.

"What makes you think I want something? Can I not shower my wife with love and affection without a motive?"

He could almost hear the movement of Emma's eyes in her head as she rolled them in exasperation. He went back to tasting the junction between her neck and shoulder. If he was to be exposed, he might as well enjoy it. _Tell me your secret, _he channeled into every nip and lick.

"Oh, I don't know…The fact that you only make the first move when you're really planning to ask or do something that you know I'll whip you for. And I mean that without the intimacy factor. You didn't tell Leroy to drive Regina's car through her front door, did you?"

Gold's lips danced over her skin. He hoped she didn't notice the smile that tugged at them.

"Sweetheart, if I wanted to spite Regina that way, I'd be the one doing the driving," he remarked. "With Goldie in the backseat as my partner in crime." The dog came running into the kitchen, having heard her name. She probably thought daddy was going to take her for a walk. He brushed her away from his leg.

"You know, Emma…I prefer us to be completely honest and open with one another. Why don't we play a game? It's called _Tell Me a Secret. _I tell you a deep, dark secret and you reciprocate," he proposed. That was subtle enough, wasn't it? Surely Emma wouldn't hold it in long. He knew it couldn't have anything to do with Henry's birthday party tomorrow because they planned the event together.

Emma shifted in his arms until she was leaning against the counter and facing him head-on.

"Alright, I'll bite. You first," she challenged. His smile faded a tiny bit. He didn't see that one coming. He scrambled for a harmless secret from his past, shooting them down one by one as they popped up. Emma crossed her arms, waiting. _I hate this game, _he mused bitterly.

"Well…I…once used my cane to play air-guitar," he offered. It wasn't a complete lie—he did play air-guitar once in his dream, though he woke up in a sweat after a video of his air-guitar playing went viral. It had been one of those realistic dreams where you're not sure you're dreaming until you wake up in your bed. Emma looked like she hardly believed it. "Your turn."

Emma thought long and hard, carefully choosing which secret she would tell.

"I never had s'mores before," she revealed. His face must have betrayed his astonishment since Emma shrugged. S'mores were one of this world's finest delicacies. She had access to this world's wonders far more than anyone in this town. How could she not have had s'mores before? "I was always bouncing from foster home to foster home. None of the families that took me in ever went camping. By the time I was a teenager, I was stuck in the orphanage for good and when I got out of there, I didn't exactly have extra money in my pockets to spare."

There was no way he was going to let Emma die without tasting one.

"The next time you and I go to the cabin, I'm bringing chocolate bars, graham crackers, and marshmallows, and I will introduce you to the wonder that is s'mores," he declared. Emma tilted her head expectantly. Unfortunately, it was his turn again. "I was Cinderella's fairy godmother in the Enchanted Forest. Without the fairy part."

Emma snickered and gave him a leisurely once-over. He prayed she wasn't the kind of woman who grew up with Disney movies and therefore tried overlapping the Disney version with his story.

"With a glowing wand? Did you sing and turn her mice into horses, too?" He pouted his lips. "I suppose it's my turn again? Hmm….I always wanted to grow up, get married, and have at least five kids. That way, if I ever had a child, they wouldn't be alone like I was for most of my childhood."

Gold mouthed the word _five _and Emma nodded. Her second one was only just growing in her belly. It was difficult to imagine finding Bae and earning his forgiveness, let alone being a father to seven little ones. He didn't think he'd have the energy required to keep up with so many tiny feet running amok.

This "game" wasn't providing him the information he wanted.

"Isn't there…any other tantalizing secret you wish to share? Something imminent?" Emma made a show of thinking about it, tapping her chin with a finger.

"Not that I recall," she said. _For someone who claims to know when people are lying, you're not a very good liar, dear, _he thought silently, observing her every move. There was something hiding just under the surface, but he couldn't reach it. Her eyes suddenly brightened as though she just remembered something. "I was thinking…maybe you should spend the day with Henry tomorrow while Snow and I get everything ready for his birthday party. It'll give you two a chance to bond. Besides, it'll be hard enough as it is to arrange a birthday party without him realizing it."

Gold saw through her plans as if Emma's body were a delicate glass figure encasing her mind. She wanted him out of the house, but she also needed Henry distracted in order to decorate for his birthday party. It would essentially be hitting two birds with one stone. But he agreed for Henry's sake.

"Whatever you say, dear," he muttered before turning on his heel to leave the room. He vowed to find out Emma's secret, no matter the cost.

He stopped as he passed by the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. March 31st. He flipped the page over to see that tomorrow was April 1st. Why did he have déjà vu all of a sudden? It was the prickling sensation of trying to remember a specific detail that refused to be unearthed from the corners of his mind. April 1st…April 1st…

Oh, of course.

Tomorrow was April Fools' Day.

_Then why do I feel like I'm still missing something? _

…

Emma welcomed the familiar scent of onions and frying hamburgers as she pulled open the door to Granny's Diner. The bell announced her presence, but the silvery chime could hardly be heard over the groups of people having lunch. She needed a break from all her party-planning. At this point, her stomach growled so loud that it could be mistaken for Godzilla.

Red smiled and waved from behind the counter. Her eyes momentarily flickered down to Emma's belly. She fought the urge to rub a hand over it and give any hint of what lay beneath. It was amazing that Red had kept the secret of her pregnancy so close to her chest, given her rivaling personality of Ruby the infamous gossipmonger.

For the time being, no one in the know was allowed to breathe a word of her pregnancy. Not on the phone, not in hand-written letters, not even in passing on the street. Maybe it was bordering on paranoia, but with Regina on the loose Emma refused to risk giving her more ammo to hurt her with. It was for safety precautions; if Regina ever found out about the baby, her unborn child would likely become the next target in a long line of suffering at Regina's hands.

The only people in this town who knew for certain about the pregnancy were her family, the dwarves, Red and Granny, the Blue Fairy, and unfortunately Whale due to her morning sickness at the hospital. Each and every one of them were sworn to secrecy by Gold, though her husband's bodyguard kept an eye on Whale out of mistrust. That guy would likely sell out Emma's secret if Regina offered him a lifetime supply of Jell-O, a science kit, and his own strip-club.

Emma forced a smile for Red and tried to forget about Regina for one afternoon. Instead, she mused on how long it would take Gold to figure out what she was up to. He knew about the party for Henry's birthday—they had discussed those details together—but he didn't know the _other _plan she was making. No doubt he'd pay the dwarves to follow her around or use that ancient car of his to trail behind her and whistle nonchalantly every time she turned around. As if she wouldn't see him sitting in his car across the street.

Well, he wouldn't learn anything while she was here.

"Grilled cheese and a cup of cocoa," she put in her usual order once Red came around. "And do you think you could convince Granny to put a handful of pickles on the side?" Red paused in nodding long enough to flash a wolfish grin. Her instincts must be tingling.

"Ah, preg—" Emma shushed her before anyone overheard. Red bit her lip apologetically. "Oops, forgot. Sorry. Morning after hormones?" She winked suggestively before rushing off to fill orders.

Truthfully, it was usually Gold that worked up the appetite after doing the horizontal tango with her. _That reminds me…I need to pick up some more ketchup from Clark's, _she thought. _I swear that man treats himself to a buffet for a midnight snack. How does he stay so lean? Unless our excursions are included in his workout routine. Eat, 'exercise', eat, 'exercise'._

Emma slid on a stool—she thought it might have been Regina's—and glanced around at the other customers while she waited. There was Ashley…no, Cinderella…burping her baby. Maybe Emma would ask her for tips since she never experienced the crying-screaming-puking baby part. There was Team Seven a.k.a. the seven dwarves trying to fit in one booth for lunch. There—

A girl that Emma didn't recognize occupied a stool one spot away. Her mind was absorbed in a book, the curls of her dark hair cascading around her face and preventing Emma from ever getting a good glimpse. She was slender, not much older than Emma unless you tacked on the 28 years, and even from this angle Emma could tell she was beyond pretty.

As Sheriff, she knew almost every face in town. There was only one possibility of the girl's mystery identity. One person Emma hadn't crossed paths with yet.

"Belle?"

Instinctively, the girl raised her head from her book and glanced in Emma's direction for the source of the calling. It made Emma's stomach plummet. Ah, so _this_ was her husband's old flame. Two gleaming blue eyes studied Emma from head to toe; out of curiosity, not reproachfully.

"Yes…What gave it away? The book?" _Call it a hunch, _Emma thought. _Pregnant woman's intuition. _One of Belle's fingers drummed the open page. A long-stemmed rose was tucked between the pages, marking it. It was a fresh red one, so Emma knew it couldn't be from Gold. At least she hoped not.

"Well, I'm the Sheriff. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't notice an unfamiliar face in town," she pointed out.

As she scrutinized Belle's face, Emma found herself categorizing every difference from her own. Whereas Emma was stubborn, tough as nails, and built a fortress of walls around her from the age of ten, Belle was on a whole other spectrum. There were no tired, tense lines around her eyes from seeing too much of the world. In fact, her skin almost had a youthful glow of its own. If Emma had to bet, she'd say Belle was the logical type, gentle, good-natured, trusting to a fault and definitely a hopeless romantic. She'd probably swoon over those singing Hallmark cards while Emma beat the annoying cards with a hammer just to make it stop.

"You must be Emma," Belle replied cordially, leaning forward on her stool. Emma hesitated before making herself truly known to Rumpelstiltskin's ex-girlfriend. Surprisingly, there was no bitterness or tears of anger. Belle said Emma's name as she would point out that the grass was green. Fact, nothing more.

"Depends…are you the jealous type?" Belle shocked Emma further by responding with a throaty giggle. Her husband must have enjoyed Belle's company if she was this quick to smile and laugh.

"No, I'm not. If he's happy, then I'm happy even if he's not with me," she said sincerely. Emma was grateful for that because she didn't feel like stroking Gold's immense ego by getting into a nail-scraping, hair-pulling girl fight with his ex. Knowing him, he'd all too gleefully bring his own popcorn. "Are _you _the jealous type?"

Emma was momentarily distracted as Red served her cup of cocoa, complete with a frothy cloud of whipped cream and sprinkled generously with cinnamon. She sipped it casually, averting her eyes from the brunette's willful ones.

"Maybe a little bit," she admitted. Belle nodded weakly and tried to keep her smile from slipping. "But if it came to that, I wouldn't take it out on you. I would take it out on _him_. Most likely, I'd throw a curling iron at his head or drive that cheap car of his through the front door of his shop while he's taking a nap in the back."

Belle's brow arched when Emma mentioned the curling iron and car. Had Regina neglected to give Belle false memories? She was staring blankly at Emma as if she just popped a mermaid tail instead of a baby.

"What would that accomplish, exactly?" Emma frowned into her cup of cocoa. The Enchanted Forest must not be known for its vengeful girl fights.

"Um…it would make me feel better. It would…cause him pain that's a fraction of what I would feel. That's a good enough reason for me," she said, shrugging. The space between them grew tense with awkward silence. What was she supposed to say to her husband's ex? _I'm glad he didn't pick you? There'll be plenty more like him? _That was a lie. _There are tons of fish in the sea? _

Finally, Red dropped Emma's grilled cheese in front of her in a white bag. Emma snatched up the white bag and nodded politely to Belle.

"Well, it was…nice meeting you," she said. _My pants should be ready to burst into flames at any moment, _she thought cynically. It'd be so much easier to shrug off if Belle had cursed her name out and started a fight for Rumpelstiltskin's honor. This show of serenity and trust was throwing Emma for a loop.

"It was nice meeting you, too, Emma," Belle returned kindly before having her interest swallowed in the pages of her book again. Emma downed the rest of her cocoa in record time, singeing the roof of her mouth, and started for the door. She took one step, two steps, three…then paused a mere foot from the door.

She didn't know why she wasn't walking out of the diner like she commanded her feet to do, but suddenly she turned back around to face Belle. The girl sat alone and apart from every other person in the diner, with only her book for entertainment. Maybe she wanted it that way. Did she even know anyone in this town besides Emma and Rumpelstiltskin? There was no drink or plate of food in front of her, either. She wondered if Belle even had this world's currency in her pockets to buy anything.

Emma contemplated leaving through the door, only a few steps away, but something kept her feet glued to the tiled floor. Maybe it was her conscience. Hard as it was to admit, she knew that Belle still had a special place in Rumpelstiltskin's heart that Emma would never reach. It wouldn't hurt to give the girl a chance. _I can't believe I let myself talk myself into this. _

"Belle?" The brunette lifted her head once more. Emma's fingers strangled the top of the white bag, the grilled cheese waiting inside. "Do you…want to have lunch together?"

Belle regarded Emma with unabashed surprise. For a minute, Emma anticipated a refusal. _This was a bad idea. There's no way Belle would ever want to be friends with the woman her supposed true love rejected her for, _she thought. _I wouldn't. _

Then Belle smiled.

"I'd like that."

…..

If someone told Emma this morning that she'd be having lunch and comparing notes on Rumpelstiltskin with her husband's old girlfriend, she would have had to go to the hospital for rupturing her spleen from laughing. But here she was, chowing on her grilled cheese and nearly snorting hot cocoa out of her nose from all the things Belle told her about Rumpelstiltskin.

"Do you ever hear him singing when he draws a bath?"

Emma started choking on a bit of grilled cheese and Red had to rush over to pound on her back to help her cough it up. The waitress was never far from their table after that, even though those wolf hearing senses of hers were picking up every string of their conversation about Rumpelstiltskin. Even with her affinity for all things red, Emma had never seen Ruby's face resemble a tomato so much.

"You mean when he takes a shower?" It was tedious work translating Belle's olden language into modern verse. Belle frowned thoughtfully. _I forgot she's never taken a shower before. Well, when she does she'll know what she was missing. _"No wonder Miss Ginger next door always complains to me about the volume of my music, even when I'm not home."

Emma tried to imagine her husband singing in the shower. Occasionally when passing the bathroom door with Gold in the shower, she would catch him _humming, _but never belting it out with a loofa. He was always self-conscious about his singing voice. Maybe she should put a bug in the bathroom, just to have proof of his singing.

Emma ordered another mug of hot cocoa while Belle stuck to her iced teas. There were already three empty glasses on Belle's side of the table. Belle squeezed drops of lemon into her latest drink.

"Would you be surprised if I told you he had a puppy?" Emma had droves of stories to tell about Gold and Goldie. Belle's blue eyes flew impossibly wide and the lemon squeezed so hard that it flung out of Belle's hands and hit Archie in the back of the head.

"A…a puppy? The all-powerful Dark One…has a puppy? That I refuse to believe," she exclaimed. "Rumpel always told me animals were never fond of him because of his 'dark nature.'" Her voice dropped a few notes and she used air-quotes to mimic the man she used to know.

In that case, Goldie was one of a kind. If she sensed anything dark about Gold, it was hard to tell from the way the dog snuggled over his pillow and ate his shoes. There was also the fact that Gold was the only one capable of giving her a bath.

"Believe it," Emma insisted.

Digging through her pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and flipped through it until she found an old picture that Gold never knew she took of him and Goldie. It had been late in the evening and Emma had been putting dinner together—homemade pizza, if she remembered correctly. Gold had a rough time collecting the rent and fell asleep on the couch. Goldie had taken it upon herself to curl up under his arm and fall asleep with him.

Belle hesitantly took hold of the cell phone and examined the picture with awe. Emma wondered if the awe sprung from the strange device in Belle's hand or the disbelief that Rumpelstiltskin would ever be caught snuggling with another living thing. She figured Belle had never made it to Rumpelstiltskin's bed.

"Her name is Goldilocks, Goldie for short. My kid named her," Emma explained, tapping a finger over the screen.

"Clever," Belle remarked, handing the device back to Emma. If her husband ever thought about getting Belle a Christmas present this year, she'd suggest a Kindle. "It's almost as sweet as the time he handed me a rose in his castle."

Belle smiled warmly at the memory. Emma searched for a sign of a taunt toward her being Rumpelstiltskin's wife, but the way Belle toyed with the golden drop necklace around her throat suggested she was merely reminiscing.

"He handed you a rose? How charming," she said. The green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head despite Emma's attempts to keep an open mind toward Belle. Her gaze switched to the rose peeking out from Belle's book._ Did he give that to you, too? Or was it someone else in town? _

In all honesty, the fact that Belle had a deep intimate connection with Rumpelstiltskin was the only aspect of her character that Emma found worthy of nitpicking. The brunette kind of reminded her of Mary Margaret before she became Emma's mother; caring, kind-hearted, a good listener, and easy to talk to. With Emma trying to put more trust in the people of this town, it wasn't a stretch to believe that she and Belle might be friends.

"Yes, he did. And there was a time that I fell off a ladder and he caught me in his arms. That's the thing about Rumpelstiltskin: he can be a gentleman when he wants to be. There is good in him, I felt it…it's just a challenge for him to uncover it and see for himself," she said solemnly.

Emma nodded in agreement. She knew that Gold could be as insecure as a pregnant woman trapped in the whirlpool of hormones ready to burst with twins, ironically. Some might believe it was modesty on his part, but Emma knew him too well. She knew he truly didn't think that he was deserving of any such praise.

Belle returned to reality, straightening sharply in her seat as she did so.

"But that's all in the past. I'm glad he seems to have found happiness with you." Emma stiffened as Belle reached over and clasped Emma's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It lasted only a second, followed with a dip back into silence. Emma rested her elbows on the table, which made Belle raise her eyebrows. Oh, right—that wasn't proper etiquette in their world. Oh, well.

"How did he smell back then? Something tells me he didn't have access to cologne in your world," she said. If Belle thought it was a weird question, she didn't let on. The only thing that foretold her bewilderment was the light coloring of her cheeks. She tilted her head and bit her lip softly as she thought back.

"Well…his smell was never consistent due to his constant dealings in all parts of the Enchanted Forest. I remember one day he smelled like pine because he'd been dealing in the forest. One time he came back to his castle smelling like smoke after meeting with a blacksmith. Then there was the time he smelled like milk and lilies after dealing with Regina."

Emma gawked openly at that one.

"_Regina_ smells like milk and lilies?" Belle stifled a laugh behind her hand.

"No. When I asked why he smelled that way, he said he visited the Queen and that afterwards he rolled in a field of lilies and dumped a bucket of cow's milk over his head to get rid of her stench."

Halfway through, Belle's laughter could no longer be contained and she burst out giggling. It was contagious; Emma soon slipped into laughter herself at the visual image of Rumpelstiltskin dumping milk over his head. Everyone in the diner turned their heads to stare at them as they laughed, but they never noticed.

"By…by the way…" Belle struggled to quell her laughter. She wiped moisture out of her eyes. "What is…co-lone?" She sounded out the foreign word. She looked over at Red, who was wiping her eyes with a napkin to soak up her tears of laughter.

"You know how Red smells musky and rosy because of her perfume?" Emma made a gesture of squirting perfume over her body. Belle recognized the action she was mimicking and nodded. "Well…cologne is the same thing for men. It makes him smell nice." Belle nodded in understanding, her eyes following Emma's to Red. _Let's hope she doesn't bump into Rumpelstiltskin and immediately try to sniff him for musk and roses. _

They spent a good hour talking, even after the regular afternoon crowd shuffled out. Belle told her how Rumpel was fond of silk shirts and boots that took twenty minutes to lace up, to which Emma made a reference to _The Princess Bride _that Belle didn't understand. Maybe they could have a movie night with Rumpelstiltskin and watch it together. Emma recounted on the time he taught Henry how to use the swords in his shop and the time he serenaded her outside her window after they fought.

At the end of it all, the bill was more than any other that Granny's ever gave out, except for maybe Leroy's personal collection. Belle balked when she saw the total.

"I think it's because of the iced teas I drank. How are we going to pay for this?" She scrambled inside the pockets of her sweater for a few crumpled dollar bills—three ones, a five, a nickel—but Emma waved it off. She slapped a handful of twenties on the table. "Oh, no, I can't let you pay for everything. It wouldn't be fair—"

"I'm married to the richest guy in town. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I spend some of his money for lunch with you," she quipped. She and Belle rose to leave when another thought entered her mind. "Listen, I'm holding a surprise birthday party tomorrow for Henry and Gold…uh, Rumpelstiltskin. Would you like to come?"

Belle pondered it. Emma figured that her husband would want to have her there, if only to maintain some sort of friendship with the woman he once loved.

"Can I bring a guest?" Emma hadn't expected Belle to be familiar with anyone in this town enough to accompany them as a guest, but it reassured her a little bit to know that Belle wasn't lonely and pining for Rumpelstiltskin. She sought out the red rose in Belle's book again. Did she have an admirer?

"Why not? Bring a whole…uh, brothel if you want," Emma replied. Why was Belle looking at her that way? At least she had made an honest effort to convert her enthusiasm into words Belle could understand. Belle glanced down uncertainly at her book.

"Do you read fantasy novels, by any chance?" Emma squirmed in her place. Did anyone in the Enchanted Forest ever use the word _brothels_? _That's what I get for trying, _she thought, berating herself. _Note to self: ask Snow how to speak olden language. Also, ask her what a brothel really is. _

"No…why?" Belle shook her head.

"Never mind."

….

"Is it a pony for Henry?" Her husband would not quit guessing. He was determined to find out what this secret was, even if it meant following her heels all evening and bombarding her with questions. As Gold put it, there were only so many things in this world it could be. "You know how he keeps dropping hints about having a noble steed. Goldie doesn't exactly intimidate or scream 'royal prince' when he's walking her." Gold rubbed his wife's back under the sheet. At least the persuasion felt extremely good, even if Emma didn't budge an inch.

"Nope," she answered bluntly. Nothing else, no other sound, movement, or clue to suggest if he were any closer to the truth. He tried everything from kissing to ice cream to even singing, yet Emma would not break. She was formidable as steel and his weapons were wearing.

"Is it…oh, gods, it's not brunch with Red and Archie, is it? You know I can't control what comes out of my mouth in front of those two that early in the morning. Those two make Snow and Charming's endless gushing about true love preferable." Emma snickered into her pillow. Gold was never good at handling social functions.

He latched onto her shoulder.

"Was that a 'yes'?"

"No." His hand didn't loosen. Instead, he leaned up on one elbow and peered down at her through the darkness.

"_No, _that's not a 'yes'? Or _no, _it's not brunch with Red and Archie? Or did you mean something else entirely by that snicker? Are you _considering_ brunch with Red and Archie?" Emma rolled onto her back so as to better meet her husband's frantic eyes. Even with only the moonlight to paint his features, she could smell the nervousness rising off him like cologne.

Too bad she decided to jerk his chain a little more. It was way too much fun.

"Good things come to those who wait," she stated. She could tell it unnerved him by the little grumpy noise he made in his throat and the sudden pout of his lips. Gold dished out the cryptic language easily enough, but he couldn't take it himself. He flopped back down on the mattress, his fingers tirelessly playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"Darling, have you met me? I'm not one for surprises. Whatever it is you're planning, you'd be better off telling me ahead of time. Otherwise, I make no promises on how I'll react." Sometimes, she wished he would follow his own advice. How many times had he orchestrated sticky situations that he refused to advise her about? "Besides, only one of us in this relationship can exude 'fortune cookie cleverness' as you put it. That's me. If it were both of us, we'd be resigned to speaking in riddles over breakfast."

Emma didn't bother to egg on his ego of being the fortune cookie master. She didn't know why he insisted on being calculating and ambiguous all the time—it gave her a headache after one day. She fluffed her pillow under her head and decided it was past time she changed the subject.

"So…I met Belle today at the diner," she said calmly. Immediately, she felt her husband freeze up beside her. The finger that had been flicking the button on his shirt was now oddly still. When she caught sight of his expression, she fought the urge to smile. He looked like a deer in headlights.

"Is that so? And?" He started fidgeting anxiously. Obviously, he was afraid to hear Emma's answer. She wondered if he was mentally picturing her and Belle battling it out in the diner, complete with screeching, hair-pulling, and flying glasses of iced tea.

"She's not….that bad," Emma admitted. For some reason, Emma's composure made him fidget more than if she cursed Belle's name and punched her pillow. Did he not want his wife and his old girlfriend to be friends? Or was he simply afraid of what might come up in conversation? She deeply considered comparing notes again with Belle sometime.

"What did you two discuss?" _Wouldn't you like to know, _she jeered inside her head.

"The weather, Granny's prices….you."

Gold was struck speechless. If Emma listened closely, she was sure she would hear his heart pounding in his chest at one thousand miles a minute. The fear was written plainly on his face along with the way his fingers curled and unfurled over the sheet. Emma stretched leisurely on the bed and reveled in her husband's anxiety.

"Me? What did you tell her?" Emma gave him one last secretive smile and rolled over onto her side, pretending to fall asleep. Gold panicked and shook her arm. "What did she tell you? Emma?" He began shaking her so much that her body felt like it was vibrating. There'd be no sleep tonight if she didn't answer him somehow.

"For starters, should I put milk in your coffee tomorrow morning? Or would you rather I dump it over your head?" His exasperated look sealed the deal on her laughter. For once, his face was easy to read like Belle's open book. _No, anything but that story! Mercy! _"I invited Belle to Henry's birthday party. I figured you might like the chance to see her. Also, I know that she'll always have a connection with you…and I can live with that."

Gold's anxiety melted into disbelief and intense love for her. He caressed her cheek and pulled her roughly into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him as he buried his face in the coils of her hair.

"Thank you, Emma," he whispered in her ear, kissing the lobe. If anything, it helped him forget about her mysterious secret tonight. She pulled back with a thoughtful look crossing her face.

"By the way…what exactly is a brothel?"

His brows cinched together in confusion, but she could already picture the wheels turning in his head as he prepared to answer her question. If she was going to understand this language of the Enchanted Forest, she should probably start with what she said to Belle. Better Gold than her mother and father, anyway.

"In our land, the term _brothel_ referred to a type of whorehouse where men would seek pleasure. You'd be more familiar with the phrase _prostitutes," _he explained flatly. Emma felt the color drain from her face. _I asked Belle to bring prostitutes to my husband's birthday party? _"Why?"

Emma tried to maintain a blank expression as she fluffed up her pillows again and curled up on her side. She was grateful that the moonlight was the only source of light in their room because her neck and ears were on fire.

"Never mind."

….

Jefferson never realized how hard it was to clean a mansion. Belle was coming over and he wanted everything to be perfect. Unless this was a cruel April Fools' joke. _Please don't let this be an April Fools' joke, _he prayed to every higher power he was aware of.

He'd been frantically running around his house since eight this morning. He swept the dust under the rug in the pantry, he cleaned all five bathrooms including the one with the Jacuzzi-size tub, he vacuumed the white carpet in his living room and then scrubbed it when he accidentally knocked over his orange juice. The hat room was tidy with his hats in neat rows on the shelves, all of his telescopes sparkled, and he double-checked the door to his candy closet to make sure the door wouldn't spring open and swallow Belle. He lost his hired maid that way.

Did Belle even like candy? Or were such delectable sweets a mystery to her along with everything else in Storybrooke? Maybe he could introduce her to his friends Snickers and Twix. She'd probably appreciate them more than Emma, anyway.

Jefferson was fixing a kettle for tea in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Its two melancholy chimes echoed in his ears and his heart started drumming. Sweat collected on his brow and he wiped it away with his sleeve. _Breathe, breathe. Remember, Jefferson: this is _not _a date. This is just a get together between friends in an attempt to get to know one another better while you subtly show off how much bigger your estate is compared to Rumpelstiltskin's. Be smooth. _

He went to answer the door, fumbling with his cravat along the way. He picked a deep sapphire one with threads of gold woven into it to match Belle's eyes. He almost forgot to rip off his apron, tossing it quickly into one of the rooms in passing. Carefully, he edged open the door and peered around it.

"Are you afraid I'll bite?" Belle teased as he breathed a sigh of relief. This was April Fools' Day—it was better to be safe than sorry. He only hoped Belle hadn't become the victim of any pranks.

"Of course not. If anyone's going to do the biting, it'll be me," he replied. The sudden color in Belle's cheeks made him ground his teeth together. _Why did I blurt that out? Smooth, Jefferson. _"You don't know how many times I answered the door this morning and got a pie in the face. At one point, it was the seven dwarves standing there and I earned seven pies in the face at once."

Belle offered no verbal response, just a small round _O _of her lips. Most likely, she didn't yet grasp the meaning of April Fools' Day.

"This world has strange holidays," he summed up. "Just wait until you see what Halloween is like." _Assuming we might still be here when that holiday comes around, _he mused inside his head. Emma wasn't exactly working to the bone to find a way home, not when she and her husband were more or less happy.

He led Belle into his home and acted the gentleman upon taking her jacket. He escorted her into the living room and lingered on the threshold while she examined the room from top to bottom. Suddenly he wished he had an impressive library like Rumpelstiltskin.

_I'll bet he has an indoor pool, too. Regina never gave me a pool, _Jefferson thought with the slightest hint of jealousy. _ I'll bet he had plenty of fancy coffee-table books like _How to Manipulate Others: Carefree Steps to World Domination _or _What to Expect When You're Expecting_. I'll bet he has towels with his initials stitched in gold thread and silk sheets on his bed. Oh, that man definitely has silk sheets. _

"You have a lovely home," Belle commented, breaking through his heated thoughts of Rumpelstiltskin's skill of home-decorating. He ran a shaky hand through his unkempt hair—why didn't he think to cut it? At first he thought Belle might be just saying that to please him, but something told him that Belle never said anything less than what she felt in her heart.

"It sort of loses its appeal when you're locked in it for twenty-eight years straight," he replied morosely. Belle's smile dimmed. _You idiot! Why tell her that? I don't want to play the sympathy card with her! _Besides, if Belle had a choice of prisons, she would choose this place over that cramped gray cell he found her in.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. His jaw locked tightly and he fought to hold back the pain. The pain of having so much and yet so little; the pain of not being able to share any of this wealth with his daughter. He'd live in a cardboard box if it meant seeing Grace again. Grace, not Paige. "It's fancier than Granny's Inn, anyway."

Jefferson bet this house felt like a palace compared to the shabby rooms in Granny's Inn. He hoped the frozen time period of twenty-eight years hadn't prevented Granny from changing the sheets after Regina and Graham's not-so-secret rendezvous. He shuddered.

"Are you cold?" Belle was looking at him curiously from underneath her eyelashes. She only had a sleeveless blue dress on, a little number that looked like it came from the '30s, but not a single patch of goosebumps puckered her milky skin.

"I'm fine. Bad memories," he said, trying to keep from shuddering again. How many times had he scanned the town through his telescope out of boredom, landed on Granny's Inn, and nearly been rendered blind? "Do you want some tea?"

Belle nodded and he made a beeline for the kitchen. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. Should he bring some biscuits along with the tea? Maybe some scented candles? Or was that too forward? _Remember: not a date, not a date, not a date…_

He poured the tea into two white teacups. His hands shook so badly that he made one overflow and he dropped the tea kettle while filling the other one. He hoped Belle didn't hear him yell when the scalding hot tea splattered on his hand. To think that the last women in his house were Emma and Mary Margaret and they'd been tied up. Before that, it was Regina. Not tied up and drugged, just…here.

When he carried the tea into the living room, he found Belle peering into his telescope. That was the one he always had trained on Grace's house. He dropped the tray onto the table with a loud clatter and the teacups rocked, clinking together. The noise attracted her attention and she jumped away from the telescope as if he caught her with a mature book.

"I'm sorry. I was…curious," she said. He tried to smile to ease her concern, but it crumbled easily. Belle's curiosity was in the same league as Alice's. "You watch over your daughter. She's very pretty. She's drawing posters of you…She's trying to find you."

Jefferson's heart squeezed. His knees buckled and he fell onto the couch in dismay, his head sinking. Grace was trying to find him? Did that mean there was a chance she could forgive him for what he'd done? It had always been a passing daydream of his. The cushions of the couch groaned as Belle sat down beside him. Her hand gently touched the crook of his elbow.

"Don't be afraid. Your daughter will be happy to have you as her father again," she said in soft, soothing tones. And Jefferson started to believe it. He had never told anyone besides Emma about what he did to Grace but it came pouring out in a river. And Belle never once recoiled. "Is that why you wear these cravats around your neck?"

Her finger hooked on a fold of the cravat and began to tug it down. He caught her wrist before she saw too much.

"Trust me; it's not a pretty sight," he warned her. He tried to encourage Belle to drop her hand to her side, but she was having none of it. Wiggling her hand free from his grasp, she determinedly uncoiled the cravat, exposing the skin underneath. He closed his eyes in shame and waited for the gasp of horror. Emma did it.

"I've seen worse," she concluded. A tingle of surprise and excitement shot down his spine when he felt her fingertips trace his scar. "I lived with Rumpelstiltskin for months in our land. Every time someone tried to kill him, he'd come back gushing blood in the oddest of places."

Jefferson was torn between guffawing and groaning. He didn't need that visual. He wondered how many times the imp had to repair his "estate."

"You should be proud of the scar. You shouldn't hide it." Jefferson finally met Belle's inquisitive eyes and blinked as though she were the crazy one here.

"Why? It's proof that I broke a promise and abandoned my daughter when I swore she would not lose me. It's a sign that I broke her heart," he said, wringing his hands together until they turned red. Belle was quiet as she absorbed his sorrow and guilt. It was the reason he hated having mirrors in his house—not because he was afraid Regina would use them to spy, but because it was too hard to glance in a mirror and revisit those memories.

"Right; that's certainly one way to look at it. Would you like to know what I see when I look at this scar?" Jefferson could only imagine.

"Very poor stitching?" Seriously, Frankenstein's monsters had fared better with their donated body parts. The Queen of Hearts hadn't chosen her card soldiers for gentle hands, that was for sure. Belle inclined her head.

"Yes…but I also see proof that the man wearing the scar is willing to go to great lengths to maintain his daughter's happiness. Even if it means traversing other worlds." Jefferson's eyebrows rose dubiously. Belle patted his hand. "I think you need something to cheer you up. Would you be willing to attend a surprise birthday party with me? Emma's holding one for her son and Rumpelstiltskin."

Jefferson almost fell off the couch. It wasn't fear of being Belle's escort. It was fear of Emma's right hook and Gold's cane. He wouldn't get near the porch, let alone the birthday cake.

"I…I can't do that. Unless you're intending for me to end up in the morgue." Belle opened her mouth and closed it again soundlessly. He knew she was only trying to help, but it didn't make his death at Emma's hands any less frightening. At the very least, she deserved an explanation. He tapped his foot on the floor, cracked one of his knuckles, breathed deeply in and out.

"I've been stuck in this world with all of my true memories intact, but without my daughter. I watched her day in and day out as she lived with a false father, as she brought her grades home from school, as he kissed her goodnight. Maybe I went a little mad during those god-awful twenty-eight years. I thought that if I made one of my hats work, I could bring her home and make her remember. I needed Emma's magic as the savior, so I brought her here. She ended up hitting me over the head with my telescope and I wasn't thinking straight and…I…sort of….tackled her…and I caused her miscarriage. I've never forgiven myself for it, so why should I expect the same from her?"

Jefferson stared down at the teacup closest to him on the tray without drinking it. A gnawing sensation began in his stomach. Why hadn't he explained everything better to Emma? Why had he shoved the curse down her throat? His madness and impatience overshadowed any logical thought.

"It must have been an accident. You wouldn't intentionally mean to hurt her…right? Maybe you were so desperate to reunite with your daughter…" Belle clutched her goodness like a security blanket, always believing the best in others. Jefferson didn't bother to deny the wrong he'd done. "If you showed Emma how sorry you were…"

"I don't think saying _I'm sorry _will cut it," he muttered. He could buy Henry a horse….or give Emma a bat and tell her to use him as a piñata…but none of it would be enough to relinquish her fury and pain. Belle placed her hand over his, her warmth seeping up his arm.

"Come with me to the party. Tell Emma the truth of how you feel. Make an effort to accept what you've done and she might surprise you," Belle advised. Jefferson thought long and hard about it, weighed the consequences, and nodded once. He would own up to his mistake and pray Emma would be fair.

"One question: what do I get Rumpelstiltskin for his birthday?"

….

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock—_

That was unusual.

Ordinarily, Charming opened the door after three knocks and got aggravated over seeing Gold waiting on the other side. This time, Gold's knuckles were left knocking. He pressed his ear to the door, but heard only silence in the apartment. He had never known Charming to be a late sleeper, but then the prince never shared a twin-size bed with his wife complete with an electric blanket.

"Charming?" He called hesitantly through the door, but received no response. He hoped the prince would still be willing to open the door now that he knew the identity of his visitor. "I know you're in there; I can feel you being righteous."

Was this some kind of pathetic April Fools' joke? Ignore him until he gave up and walked away, then call him and force him to climb the stairs a second time? Surely even David Nolan had more creativity than that.

Gold knocked once more, except the door gave way under his fingers. It creaked open slightly and a thin wisp of cool air kissed Gold's jaw. He pushed his palm on the door and stepped into the quiet apartment. Snow had already left for his place to help Emma with the decorating, which meant Henry and Charming should be here.

"Henry?" His voice was the only one that rang out in the apartment. There were no running footsteps, no squeals of excitement, no limbs squeezing him in a hug. There were no clever remarks, no sleek unsheathing of a steel sword, no smugness of a well-to-do prince.

Gold carefully closed the door behind him and stepped further into the apartment, the floorboards moaning under his feet. The kitchen was clean, the sink empty of dishes, the scent of breakfast hanging in the air. There was no shower running, so at least Charming wouldn't walk out with only a towel on his hips. There was no sword on—or in—the table.

Was Charming looking to play a rousing game of sword tag?

The sound of rocking gave Gold pause. It was coming from the bedroom. Snow and Charming's bedroom, which was previously Mary Margaret's bedroom. He crept over to the door and cocked his head to listen. It sounded like…the bedpost was hitting the wall. Oh, gods, what was Charming doing in there? Snow _was _at his house, wasn't she? Oh, gods…

He supposed he should turn around and slip out of the apartment, take a walk around the block and return when there was less rocking of the bed. Or he could burst in and pay them back dearly for walking in on him and Emma during their honeymoon in the cabin. His hand curled around the handle and he flung the bedroom door open, making it smack against the wall.

"Dearie, I'm home," he announced just to add a bit of flair. Yet he was the one who was struck speechless.

Instead of two writhing bodies amidst the sheets, there was only one body sitting cross-legged on top of the bed. Henry. He was rocking back and forth, his eyes wide open and trained on the floor at Gold's feet. He looked like he was in a trance. Stick a short black wig on him and add some white chalky face paint and he'd fit right in with a Japanese horror film.

Gold loomed forward and waved his hand in front of Henry's blank face, but the boy never blinked. What the hell? What did Charming do now? A little more than a week and already Charming was slacking in his parenting abilities.

Then the rocking stopped. Henry slowly lifted his eyes from the floor, locking with Gold's perturbed ones. The boy still wasn't blinking. It started to unnerve Gold a bit. He saw some disturbing things during his centuries as the Dark One in the Enchanted Forest, but this took the cake.

"He's behind you," Henry droned ominously, pointing a small finger to something over Gold's shoulder. An icy tendril of apprehension slid between Gold's shoulder blades. He whirled around…

….and smashed his face directly into a frothy coconut crème pie. It filled his nose, it filled his mouth, it even wormed its way under his eyelids. Behind him, the kid burst into a fit of giggles, flouncing back on the bed. His feet pounded on the bed.

"I wanted the pleasure of doing that myself," Charming boasted, clapping Gold on the shoulder. The tin plate fell away from Gold's face, revealing a mask of crumbles and white cream. It was impossible for Charming to smile any wider than he already was, licking a stray line of coconut off his finger.

But Charming failed to predict what was coming next.

Gold stumbled back on the bed, inches away from sitting on Henry's feet. His hand clutched his chest, his nails digging desperately into the fabric of his dress shirt over the spot where his heart throbbed. The muscles in his neck strung tight as piano wire and wheezing sounds rose from his throat and nose. Henry lightly prodded his shoulder, but he didn't respond.

"I think you broke him," the kid remarked. All Charming did was stare dumbfounded at Gold until the dealmaker's lean body slid from the bed and hit the floor. Frantically, Charming dug out his phone and didn't hesitate before speed-dialing.

"Emma? Uh…I may have…killed your husband," he reported into the phone. Henry had jumped up from the bed and gaped open-mouthed at Gold's limp body on the floor.

"You _what?!_ I gave you _one job!" _Emma's voice erupted from the phone, so loud that it had the power to wake the dead and set off a zombie apocalypse. Charming winced and held the phone away from his ear. He knelt down beside Gold's body and felt for a pulse. At least he was still alive. "What the hell did you do? Threaten to take him ballroom dancing?"

"No, I smashed a pie in his face. It's April Fools' Day, remember? Is your husband allergic to coconut?" Charming picked up one of Gold's arms and released it. It flopped flat on the floor. The cream sloughed off his nose, cheeks, and eyelids, which were closed. What was he supposed to do? Whale wasn't even a real doctor!

"The only food he won't touch is apples for obvious reasons," Emma replied, her voice lower than it was moments ago. She sounded almost thoughtful, so Charming chose not to interrupt her. "You know what, do me a favor. Give him mouth-to-mouth." Charming had to catch himself from falling on top of Gold's body.

"Give him what?!" His voice cracked as it shot up several notes. How many balloons had his daughter been blowing up today? Had the air gone to her head?

"Trust me; it'll work. In fact, repeat what I just said," she advised. Charming frowned in confusion. Was this another joke? The day the curse broke he swore not to be as gullible as David Nolan. But something in Emma's tone convinced him to go along with it.

"I'll…repeat what you just said." Emma moaned.

"I didn't mean _that_ part."

"I didn't mean that part," Charming echoed. There was a sharp slapping sound, as if Emma smacked her hand to her forehead. He didn't know why she was frustrated—it had been her idea to have him repeat after her. He was only doing what she asked.

"Just…Give him mouth-to-mouth," she insisted testily. Charming studied Gold's body uneasily.

"Give him mouth-to-mouth. Got it." Was it a trick of the light or did Gold's limp hand stiffen uncomfortably? The realization of what Emma intended to prove struck Charming all of a sudden. He deliberately leaned over Gold and silently reflected on the fact that Emma owed him for this one. Henry clung to the bedpost and watched with dawning amusement. "Alright, here I go. Giving mouth-to-mouth…to your husband. I wonder if he'll taste like coconut crème pie. Let the countdown begin. Three…two…one…"

Abruptly, Gold came to life and shoved Charming away. He scrambled to his feet.

"He's alive," Charming told Emma through the phone.

"No more! I yield! I yield!" Gold pressed his back flat against the wall, the furthest place from Charming. Slipping a handkerchief out of his suit, he wiped the rest of the pie off his face. "You've even managed to ruin a vengeful April Fools' joke for me."

Charming ended his phone conversation with Emma and hung up smirking. Henry was red-faced and had a Joker grin plastered across his face.

"I wondered how long you would lie there," he told his beloved stepfather. "I was afraid Gramps would send you to Whale." Gold shivered at the thought of being probed by the arrogant false doctor. Charming spun on Henry incredulously.

"You knew he was faking?" Henry shrugged innocently.

"It was pretty obvious. He's the Dark One. Unless proven otherwise in Storybrooke, there's only one way he can die," he explained. For all of Henry's calmness, he might have been reciting his times tables. Charming gaped at Gold in disbelief.

"So, you tell a ten-year-old—"

"Eleven-year-old this week," Henry corrected automatically. It was amazing how often children wanted to grow up and how often adults wanted to stop growing altogether or reverse the clock. It was only further encouraged by the fact that the top of Henry's head now reached Charming's shoulder. Soon, he'd be eye to eye with his stepfather.

"Eleven-year-old," Charming consented. "You tell an eleven-year-old about the only possible thing that can kill you, but you don't tell me? You don't trust me?" Gold made a doubtful sound in the back of his throat, a cross between a snicker and a sneer. He proved his suspicions by taking one step away from Charming.

"Precisely," Gold agreed. "I wouldn't trust you if you and I were stuck on a deserted island together with no other means of companionship. I'd secure my own shelter, I'd make a roaring fire, I'd fry my own fish while I watch you blow uselessly on sticks. Without a doubt, you'd infiltrate my shelter, blow out my fire, and eat all my food, leaving me to starve and suffer. In other words, you would be the thorn in my side that I could never pluck."

Charming gawked in unadulterated surprise as Gold silently cleaned himself up. He wondered if the imp told Emma about the bane of his existence.

"So, where are we going for our father-son day?" Henry looked up at Gold expectantly. Something warned Gold that Henry had been waiting for this moment since he mentioned it yesterday.

"What would you say if I brought you down to the park and we continued your training in sword fighting?" Henry beamed in approval, but Charming snorted. Gold's eyes narrowed coldly at Charming. His fingers twitched at his side. _Pluck, pluck, pluck. _"Something strike you as particularly humorous?"

"No, of course not," Charming readily denied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "If you're teaching Henry how to swordfight, you might want to teach him how to evaporate into thin air. That's always worked for you." Gold's nails carved half-moons into the flesh of his palm.

"Ah, I see. You're still licking your wounds after losing to me in that swordfight," he retorted. Charming squared his shoulders.

"I didn't lose to you! You cheated! It was an unfair match! My sword couldn't keep up with your disappearing body," he roared. Gold's lack of anger seemed to bother him more, especially when the dealmaker passed him by. "I want a rematch!"

"Careful what you wish for, dearie." Charming darted forward and caught him by the sleeve. Gold eyed the fingers with distaste and pried them off the fabric of his suit one by one.

"Really, I want a rematch. Today, in the park. But this time, you're not allowed to use magic. We make it a fair fight and may the best swordsman win," Charming proposed.

Judging by his confident smile, he assumed the best swordsman here was himself. Gold dusted off the spot that Charming touched and chewed it over. A fair fight…no magic…no means of gaining an advantage over Charming beyond physical force…and yet it would be all too sweet and satisfying if he managed to defeat the prince at his own game.

"I assume there are specific terms should one of us win," Gold said. He could only imagine what terms Charming would think of. Just as he suspected, Charming eagerly pushed on with those terms, as though he'd been waiting for Gold to ask.

"If I win, you owe me one favor that I can do with as I please," he announced. The look on Gold's face was inches shy of outright horror. "If you win…I will fully accept your marriage to my daughter without further complaint or objection. I will even arrange a night out between you and Emma."

Gold was inhumanly still as he picked apart the terms of Charming's little game of swordplay. The silence was heavy, the clock's hands on the wall seemingly unmoving. Then he extended a hand to Charming in acceptance.

"Deal." Charming gladly shook on it and ran over to collect his sword, resting it on his shoulder. Henry's eyes gleamed at the marvelous sight of it.

"Should I bring my sword, too?" It took Gold a moment to remember that Charming had generously fashioned a wooden sword for Henry in order to encourage his fantasies of becoming a knight one day. Gold ignored the sight of Charming oozing with anticipation and cradling his sword like a newborn, instead limping straight for the apartment door.

"If you believe that will prevent Charming from finishing what he started with that coconut crème pie, then by all means arm yourself." Gold would stake revenge on that humiliation, starting with the clashing of swords.

…

It was an overcast day, though that wasn't overly startling since the past few days had featured the same. The sky was filled with gray clouds and any patches that should have been blue were devoid of all color. It seemed a gloomy overhanging raincloud had descended over Storybrooke since the night Regina fled into hiding. It tainted every smile and hint of hope with the unnerving sensation that something bad was going to happen. After all, it had rained when Regina disappeared and the sun hadn't truly shone bright since.

Henry hoped it wasn't going to rain today. Not when Emma and Snow were getting everything ready for his birthday party. Of course he knew it was today—why else would Gramps and his stepdad agree to keep him preoccupied? They never agreed on anything. It was childish intuition, telling him that there would be something worthwhile waiting at home.

Maybe an exciting birthday party would make everyone forget about Regina for a while.

He lowered his head to watch Gramps shine his sword. This was the third time he did it since they left the apartment and Henry was beginning to suspect that it was only done for the purpose of irritating Gold. It made Henry a little nervous that Gramps and his stepdad were using real swords for their rematch, but it secretly thrilled him at the same time. He was about to witness a real swordfight, unlike the fake practice games with wooden swords. He had only ever dreamed about this kind of thing.

If only he had popcorn in his pocket.

Maybe one of these days he could ask his stepdad to use his magic and make pockets in his jackets that would keep his popcorn hot while supplying more popcorn whenever he ran out. It would be a never-ending gorge of buttery popcorn, never-ending like Mary Poppins' magic bag. They could call it…Pocket Poppers.

Gold exchanged his cane for a sword, one that had been hanging on the wall of his shop recently. Henry didn't know why his stepdad insisted on carrying his cane around if his leg had been magically healed, unless it was one of his fashion statements. Or maybe he wanted the people of Storybrooke to feel bad for him, something that Henry had yet to see.

He arched forward on the gigantic rock he was perched on as his stepdad and his grandfather faced each other with their swords crossing in the air. Henry's fingers tightened over his knees and he couldn't help the way his feet slapped the rock as his legs bounced.

"I hope you don't feel inclined to fight me out of some insecure need to defend your manhood, dearie," Gold taunted his opponent, his sword flashing dangerously as it kissed Charming's. The skin of Charming's neck turned red and the muscles in his shoulders coiled. "Feel free to change your mind. No one will think any less of you. In fact, shall we invent a safe-word? How about…butternut?"

Charming bristled over Gold's implications of vulnerability. His sword screeched as it raked up and down the length of Gold's sword. Henry had never felt lighter than he did at that moment, bursting with anticipation. This was like a pirate's movie, minus the pirates.

"I have no need for a safe-word. I slayed one dragon and battled another with serious PMS issues. Why should I think twice about fighting you?" Charming sized up his opponent. The way Gold shifted his body made him seem like he was posing.

"Simple: a dragon could fry me crispy and I'd probably still live to tell the tale. Ergo, I'm harder to kill than your average dragon. Also, I'm not prone to shouting things on the top of my lungs like _hey _when I'm ready to go in for the kill. That's the same as yelling _stab _or _tackle _before you do it. It gives you away far too easily."

Charming appeared confused as to whether he should take offense by that remark. He began to circle his opponent and Gold swiftly mirrored his footwork.

"Is that a lecture?"

"Friendly advice," Gold corrected. "Henry, would you do the honors and count down from three so that we may start this fight on the right foot?" Charming slid his right foot away from Gold in case that was a hint about which target he'd strike first. Henry perked up and lifted his arm in the air. If only he had a flag to wave.

"In three…two…"

"Wait," Charming called out, lowering his sword. Gold's lips stretched in a grin. The fight hadn't even started yet. "Just so we're clear: do we start on one? Or is it _three, two, one…go?"_ Gold sighed and lowered his sword to his side.

"Must you make everything complicated?" Charming chose not to answer that question; he had a strange feeling it was a rhetorical one. Gold held up three fingers in front of Charming's face. "It's three, two, one. Then we fight. Any questions?" Charming rubbed the back of his neck as he considered it in his mind. Gold's hand flexed over the hilt of his sword, his fingers drumming impatiently.

"Don't you think it would be so much easier if it were _three, two, one…go?_" The point of Gold's sword dug into the cold, hard earth at his feet.

"Oh, for the love of…Henry, change of plans. By our noble prince's decree, it will be _three, two, one…go,_" he said to his stepson on the rock. To Charming, Gold's eyelids narrowed a fraction. "Satisfied?" Charming shrugged.

"I'm satisfied that I manipulated you into seeing things my way," he bragged. Gold rolled his eyes. If it weren't for spending time with his stepson, he wouldn't have the patience to deal with Charming's foolishness.

"That's not manipulation, that's being a pain in the arse until you get your way. There's a difference. The latter requires no grand supply of brain cells to achieve." Before Charming could object to Gold's insult, he fluently waved a hand in Henry's direction, signaling the countdown. It was better to get this over with as soon as possible. _Please don't let me owe a favor to Charming. You never know what deranged idea will emerge from the workings of his mind. He's scarier than a drunken Regina. _

"Three…two…one…_go!" _

And so the fight began.

The first clash of steel came when Gold struck out against Charming, immediately putting the prince on the defensive. Gold aimed continuously for Charming's neck, stomach, chest, and shoulders; blow after blow in a rapid attempt to keep him from landing a blow himself. Charming blocked each one with a furrowed brow. He dodged Gold's blade as it swung for his arm and counterattacked, striking the blade flat on Gold's hip.

"Point for me," Charming exclaimed, much to Gold's frustration. Henry was torn between cheering for his stepdad and grandfather, so he cheered for both. He encouraged them on, shouting their names happily with punctuations of whoops and jeers.

"This isn't fencing," Gold retorted hotly. Faster than Charming could follow with his eyes, he flipped his sword in the air and caught it by the hilt again, the blade pointing downward. "Otherwise, I'd be qualified for a point for doing this." In one swift thrust, Gold's blade stabbed Charming's right foot. Charming yelped and hopped up and down, clutching his foot. His sword had fallen away to the ground.

"I knew you were going to do that!" Charming yelled as he bobbed like a coiled spring. Gold responded by swinging his sword toward Charming's right side, making the prince leap out of the way. He lost his footing and fell flat on his butt. As Gold charged forward, he scrambled for his fallen sword, bringing it up in time to meet Gold's incoming blade as the dealmaker swooped down over Charming.

They were stuck in a fierce stalemate. Charming fought to keep Gold's sword from descending over his face while Gold used all his strength to force the blade closer to Charming's nose. It was seconds away from being tapped. Charming knew this was one game of _Got-Your-Nose_ he didn't want to play.

"You've put yourself in a precarious situation," Gold observed, his brown eyes surveying his opponent with rising glee. The blade was so close to Charming's nose that he had to cross his eyes to see it.

"Not as much as you," Charming replied. Gold smirked, thinking the prince was very confident for someone who was about to get his nose tapped. That was until Charming rolled his head to the side, his nose very narrowly missing Gold's sword, and glanced pointedly at Gold's foot planted near Charming's hip. His other foot was further down, near Charming's lower half of his leg. He was leaning over Charming's body, the muscles of his shoulders and back rippling as he struggled to maintain the position.

Gold had a sinking feeling about what was coming an instant before it came and he was too slow to react.

"No…one…taps…my….nose!" Charming fought back against Gold's sword harder than ever, allowing his stomach to crunch as his body lifted from the ground. One knee jerked upward and impacted Gold right between the legs. Stars danced in Gold's vision as his body caved in, tumbling forward onto the ground. Luckily, Charming rolled out of the way.

Gold's forehead met the cold soil as he hunched in a ball on the ground, trying to recover from Charming's sensitive blow. He tried to tap Charming's nose and Charming hit him where it hurt most. How was that fair?

"_Aaahhhh!" _

The shout alerted him and he forced himself to remove one hand from his throbbing organ long enough to get to his feet and block Charming's sword. Now he was the one being put on the defensive with Charming herding him toward the woods on the fringe of the park. Gold despised being the sheep.

His back hit the trunk of a tree and he ducked around it just in time for Charming's sword to crack the wood where he'd been standing. Charming gave chase, circling around the tree in hot pursuit. Gold made a full circle and succeeded in landing his blade on Charming's rear end.

"Will you stop slapping my butt?" Charming whirled with one hand on his behind, red-faced.

"Gladly. As soon as you stop trying to do away with my family jewels!"

Charming swiped at Gold's feet and Gold jumped to avoid the blade. Too late he realized Charming was counting on it. Charming's body soared into the air as Gold came back down to earth, scoring an uppercut on Gold's jaw that made the dealmaker stumble backward and fall weakly to the ground. Charming's sword fell to Gold's neck.

"Yield," the prince demanded. For a long drawn-out moment, all was silent except for the chirping birds hidden in the trees above their heads. Gold's fingers rubbed the already sore spot on his jaw, but he made no other effort to heed Charming's command. Henry was open-mouthed in a mixture of awe and horror as though he were a spectator to Jack's death in _Titanic _rather than a bloodless swordfight. "Yield," Charming repeated more forcefully, the cool edge of his blade kissing the junction between Gold's shoulder and neck.

To Charming's amazement, Gold started to snicker. Worried lines spread across Charming's forehead and he wondered if some of Rumpelstiltskin's impish madness was returning. He readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"What's so funny?" Gold shook his head as his lips split apart, his gold tooth rivaling the gleam of Charming's sword.

"Your thirst for honor. You've settled for giving me a chance to yield to your prowess while I—" Charming felt something sharp press against his jeans and he looked down to find Gold's sword poking the same spot where Charming kneed Gold. "I have impaled you on my sword. I win."

Charming looked from his sword at Gold's neck to the one that might have punctured his abdomen had this been a genuine fight with an enemy. Rough pants came from Charming's nose as he breathed angrily through Gold's supposed victory. His shoulders curved inward and he retracted his sword, reluctantly helping Gold to his feet.

"Your honor becomes your weakness," Gold muttered under his breath. Charming kept his eyes glued to his sword, but Gold sensed the barb hit its target by the sudden annoyance in Charming's blue eyes, surpassing the means of a sore loser.

"Honor is never weakness."

Henry leapt off his rock and dashed over to them, a wide grin growing on his face. Even before he reached them, wondrous praise spurted from his lips. Gold brushed off as much dirt from his suit as he possibly could, though brown clumps of it still clung to his elbows and the back of his pants.

"Looks like you owe Emma and I a night out…without complaint," he reminded Charming, arching his eyebrows. Charming frowned, but didn't disagree. It was that honor of his at work again. Gold would have liked Charming to accept his bond with Emma naturally, perhaps in some miraculous epiphany, but Charming also had a way of surprising him from time to time. Maybe one of these days, it would have nothing to do with a lost battle.

Suddenly, Gold snapped his fingers together.

"By the way, now that you and I are no longer locked in the throes of battle…" Another snap of the fingers and the earth began to quake under Charming's feet. Pebbles of dirt danced in the air, the mud sinking and forming quicksand. Without warning, the earth split apart like a giant gaping mouth; a newly formed round pit for Charming to fall into. There was a soft thud and Gold edged forward to peer down at Charming, who was rubbing his knee.

"Consider this my revenge for the coconut crème pie," he called down with a smug look that a blind man could not miss. Charming glared up at him from the bottom of the pit.

"_Rumpelstiltskin!" _

…..

"I'm thinking reservations at the Enchanted Rose will do, but not on karaoke night. You would take care in disguising your voice when you make the call. Even with the curse broken, those waiters still remember your endearing performance." Charming shot Gold a disgruntled look as he walked side by side with him on the sidewalk. Gold's elaborate house came into view, which only made Charming's stomach churn worse.

"No offense, but I really don't feel in the mood to discuss your personal life with my daughter," he grumbled. Gold made a condescending _tsk-tsk _with his tongue.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chirped, waving a finger in Charming's face. "You agreed you would not complain," he scolded. Charming swatted the finger away and puffed out his chest.

"I'm not complaining. I'm…putting off the task of planning your night out with my daughter. Those were your terms for the battle, but you never set a time limit," he argued. Gold wondered how long Charming would wait to arrange that night out. "This probably hasn't occurred to you, given your asocial attitude…but maybe if you quit gloating and shoving it in my face that you're with my daughter, I might actually get used to the fact that you're the man Emma loves."

Charming was right about one thing at least: that notion hadn't occurred to Gold at all. It was so abrupt that Gold nearly stopped walking. He always assumed that Charming would take his parental duties seriously to the point of outright despising Gold simply because he was sharing Emma's bed. After all, he was the Dark One; he figured he never had much of a chance to earn Charming's consideration, especially due to their past.

Most likely, this was more for Emma's sake than his. Granting Emma's happiness would be her parents' way of making up for those years of loneliness and tragedy. Plus, Gold didn't take vague terms such as _maybe _and _might _with anything but a grain of salt.

"She could…be with worse people," Gold murmured. He tried to grasp Charming's reaction, but the prince's face was exceptionally guarded. His shoulders rose and fell loosely. His gaze was distant, as though his mind was working to find even one example of a person that could be worse than Gold.

"I guess you're right. She could've been with Whale. If there's anyone I would hate to have sitting across from me at dinner more than you, it's him," Charming said. Gold cringed at the mental image of Emma being with Whale or a potential mini-Frankenstein growing in her belly. "That guy already had the nerve to sleep with my wife."

Gold didn't bother pointing out that they had been cursed at the time or that Kathryn once believed herself to be pregnant with David Nolan's child. He merely nodded in agreement, if only to agree with Charming on _something. _Whale might not be worse than Rumpelstiltskin in terms of past deeds, but he wasn't as attractive on the inside as he was on the outside, either. His hands were plenty dirty. The guy even dug up graves for a living.

"That man somehow lost his accent in crossing to this world. Makes you wonder how he would have handled your daughter. No doubt he'd be stapling posters on tree trunks around town. _Have You Seen Our Sheriff? Responds to Emma_," he quipped dryly. Charming's lips quirked slightly with a hint of laughter, though he did not allow it to come to fruition.

"Henry! Slow down! Some of us don't have as much energy as you!" The kid ignored his grandfather's calling, instead rushing up the stairs of Gold's porch. He paused near the front door, turned around, and urged them to catch up. "He thinks there's something waiting for him."

Gold didn't bother to play along when he imagined the dozens of people whose shoes were likely scuffing the floors of his house at this very moment. _Why haven't I invented a magical remote for these situations? I can press a button and fast forward to the cake, then fast forward again to get them all out of my house. _

Henry stared at Gold's hand intently as he inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the front door. The minute it was open, Henry slipped past him into the front hallway to embrace what he knew was coming. Gold planned to take his sweet time in facing the citizens of Storybrooke that were probably ducked down behind his chairs and behind the corners…until Charming decided to shove him straight through the door.

_"Surprise!" _Countless bodies leaped up from every imaginable space in his house, swarming into the living room like a colony of ants. The lights came on, illuminating the room and all its decorations that Emma and Snow so painstakingly prepared. Balloons bobbed near the ceiling, their silver strings spiraling down. Crepe paper was strung over the doors and windows in pastel colors of orange, yellow, red, and purple. A banner hung over one wall, reading: _Happy Birthday Henry and Gold. _

It dawned on him instantly. Today was his cursed counterpart's birthday; April 1st. He stared at the banner with mild displeasure. His true name was obviously too long to incorporate and it was probably only tacked on under Henry's to avoid offending him. At least everyone but Emma must see it that way.

Most of the people—Red, Granny, Snow, and the dwarves, notably—surrounded Henry and congratulated him one by one, slowly but surely taking him into their midst. Charming clapped Gold on the shoulder as his own form of congratulations. He forgot Charming was even still standing there until that brief touch.

"You knew?" Gold whirled to confront him. Charming wouldn't have been able to shield his bright grin if it were concealed by a mask at a masquerade. No wonder Charming was so eager to tag along with him and Henry to the park. He had been waiting for this moment.

"Emma assigned me the job of keeping you busy while you kept Henry busy," he admitted. He loosened one of the swords from the strap and holster that ran across his back. "Consider me letting you win your birthday present. How many is it this year?"

Gold gave Charming a murderous glare—whether for the mockery of his age or the insult that Charming would let him win, even he didn't know. _I should have used magic during that battle. He wouldn't be so giddy then. _But then something even more startling occurred to him. If Charming had truly let him win…it meant he accepted his relationship with Emma naturally instead of unwillingly. It was the reason he included that term in the battle conditions.

Thankfully, Emma emerged from the crowd, giving Charming his cue to leave and find Snow. Emma happily kissed her husband, momentarily distracting him from his anger at Charming for having the gall to keep such a secret. That was when it hit him. _This_ had been Emma's secret. A surprise birthday party on his behalf as well as Henry's.

"No wonder you wanted me out of the house," he said, returning her kiss. He suddenly hated the crowd of partygoers even more; without their presence, their kiss would lead to so much more. As it was, he had to deal with the shortness of it with a lingering greed for more. "You do realize that these people are here for Henry, not me."

Emma's gaze swept over the dark heads of Storybrooke's citizens, all of which were paying Gold the same amount of attention as an invisible ghost.

"Maybe their politeness is part of some cruel April Fools' joke on you," she said. She could tease him as much as she wanted, but he wouldn't put it past most of these people to play that joke. If this were solely his birthday party, they would only arrive for the cake. "You know, I can think of one person who would be here just for you."

"You can't exactly count yourself in that tally, dear. You're biased," he replied. She shook her head pitifully.

A moment later, almost on cue, there was a light knock on the door behind him. He looked to Emma curiously, who was suddenly interested in watching Henry tear open a gift from Snow and Charming—a handmade crimson cloak that matched the one Charming wore in his fairy tale book. Gold turned his back on the cheering and clapping to open the door. He came face to face with a surprise he didn't mind.

Belle.

He felt a smile spread across his face as she readily stepped forward to embrace him, whispering words of congratulations in his ear. He wondered if she realized it was really his cursed persona's birthday, not his true one. Knowing Belle, it would hardly matter. At Emma's annoyed boot-tapping, Belle pulled away.

"You came," he whispered, tenderly rubbing his fingers over her wrists. Belle gave him one of her sympathetic looks. It reminded him of the one she wore when he once claimed she was trying to learn the monster's weaknesses. He could almost sense her peering into his heart.

"Of course I did. I wouldn't miss your birthday for the world, cursed or otherwise." Then she bit down on her lip nervously. It meant there was something she was dying to say, but that she was struggling to put into words. "I hope you don't mind that I brought a guest."

Footsteps pounded on the porch stairs as Jefferson joined her side. His eyes were trained on the boards under his feet, a shiny wrapped present tucked under his arm. The moment he gently laid his hand on the small of Belle's back, Gold got a glimpse of the entire picture.

Jefferson…and Belle? Together?

At first he was outraged and strangely protective of his old flame. How could Jefferson ever prove to be the right man for someone so innocent and pure? Then he berated himself for such quick judgment. Belle had found it in her heart to love him once upon a time. Was it such a stretch that she would be drawn to someone like Jefferson? Perhaps her goodness would only benefit his character, as it might have for him. Besides, he had chosen Emma. It would be counterproductive to be jealous of Jefferson.

"Happy 44th birthday…Gold," Jefferson greeted. It didn't surprise Gold that Jefferson knew his cursed persona's age. It seemed the hatter knew as much about Storybrooke and its inhabitants as he did. Jefferson moved his focus to the birthday present under his arm.

That was when Emma returned to life.

"You," she hissed through clenched teeth. Her lips pulled back to expose them as she pushed past Gold and lunged for Jefferson. The hatter dropped the present to try to shield his face from the incoming blow, but he wasn't nearly quick enough.

Emma's fist connected with Jefferson's jaw. There was a sharp crack and Jefferson went down like a sack of flour, spots of red staining his shirt. Belle jumped back to avoid Emma, who had flitted across the threshold and pounced on Jefferson's fallen body. People poured from the living room, some encouraging Emma on with shouts of _fight, fight, fight! _Charming and Snow gaped in horror as their baby girl whaled on Jefferson, slapping his face and plunging her fist into his gut.

"_How does it feel? Hurts, doesn't it?" _

"_Someone, please, get her off me," _Jefferson cried over Emma's taunts. His hands were a white flurry, trying to restrain Emma by the arms, but it was like trying to pry off a feasting tiger. A pair of hands finally wrapped around Emma's waist and hoisted her off Jefferson before she even knew what happening. She flailed against Gold's suited chest, but he held her tightly.

Jefferson unsteadily picked himself off the floor with a little added assistance from Belle. His hair was a mess and blood dripped from his gums. He examined his bloody shirt, the patches of fabric hanging in ribbons from being ripped apart by Emma's nails, and the bruises that were already coming in. He met Gold's unforgiving brown eyes.

"You were standing right there! You didn't think to stop your wife from crawling on top of me?" Gold's eyelids narrowed dangerously at Jefferson's choice of words. Emma panted and fumed, her boots dragging across the porch as Gold struggled to keep her from breaking free.

"I figured Emma deserved to throw at least one solid punch your way before I intervened," he said. He averted his gaze from Belle's incredulous expression. That puppy-eyed look would have him apologizing to Jefferson in no time if he wasn't careful to resist its charms.

A second later, Gold became preoccupied as Emma once again reached her arms out for Jefferson. Jefferson took a step back, knowing full well that she didn't intend to hug him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Belle wore a guilty mask, but Emma hardly noticed it. It was amazing that Jefferson's face didn't crisp or burst into flames from the intensity of Emma's glare.

"I'm Belle's guest," he said in an arrogant tone that implied it was rather obvious. There was an unspoken _duh _attached to the end of that sentence. Jefferson extended his hand to Belle, who accepted it after casting Emma a deliberate glance.

"At the diner, you said I could bring a guest. I chose to bring him…as a friend. It would be mean-spirited to exclude him from being my guest, don't you agree?" Jefferson waited for Emma's answer. Emma thought of several mean-spirited things to say—to Jefferson, not to Belle—but somehow she managed to hold her tongue. "Please, hear him out. Jefferson, isn't there something you wanted to say to Emma?"

Belle nudged him forward with her elbow when he gave no sign of wanting to say anything. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his eyes sweeping over every portion of the porch but the exact spot where she was standing. He nervously stuck a finger under his cravat and stretched it away from his chafed neck.

"I…am…sorry," he apologized. One beat passed, two beats followed. Emma's temper flared again.

"You can write it in the sky, but _sorry _won't bring that child back," she snarled. If it weren't for her husband's apparently impenetrable hold, she might have latched onto him again and chewed him apart like her ravenous dog. Jefferson held up his hands in surrender.

"I know. No apology—verbal or otherwise—will ever dismiss what I did. Not even if I ordered a large pizza sent to your house with _sorry_ written in M&Ms." He licked his lips and his stomach growled for all to hear. Emma made a low _humph _noise in the back of her throat. She seemed a little less bothered after he openly acknowledged the wrong he did. "You might find this hard to believe, but I hate what I did to you. If someone ever took my child from me…" His eyes glazed over as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. He thought of Regina separating him from Grace in Wonderland and then for the next three decades and he suddenly knew exactly how Emma felt. "Ever since I agreed to be Belle's date, I've been driving myself up a wall trying to figure out how to make amends to you, how to repay you for the damage I caused. You have every right to hate me. I'll string myself up as your piñata if you think it will make you feel better. There is nothing in this world I can do. But maybe there is something that belongs to the Enchanted Forest that would appease you."

Then Jefferson lowered himself on one knee in front of Emma. Emma's eyebrows shot to the sky, so high that they almost blended into her hairline. Gold's grip on Emma's hips tightened—not to restrain her, but out of his own suspicion. Someone near Emma's ear gasped, but it wasn't Gold.

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there," she interrupted before Jefferson could carry on. "For three reasons. One: _Belle_ is your date. Two: you're not even drunk; you're doing this while sober. Three: I'm already married, you lunatic!" Jefferson paled so much that the subtle white thread in his black cravat looked gray in comparison.

"Wait, you think I'm _proposing_? Ew, no!" Emma planted one hand on her hip and exhibited a serious, pinched look as she towered over him that read: _repeat that, I dare you. _"I mean…not that a guy like me wouldn't want to marry a girl like you because you're very attractive and obviously fertile…" Now Gold was the one sending him a searing stare. "Never mind. I'm not proposing; I'm…swearing fealty."

Jefferson hung his head as though he were about to be knighted. Gold chuckled softly in Emma's ear, his anger melting rapidly into amusement. Emma's face was a blank slate of incomprehension. This was another olden term. She looked to Belle for translation, but her expression was resolute, telling her that only Jefferson would clarify.

"Fe-al-ty?" She pronounced the word slowly. Jefferson rolled his eyes at her medieval ignorance.

"Does no one in this town watch _Game of Thrones_?" Even for Gold's typical reserve, he was too still and quiet behind Emma. Here she figured he would jump at the chance of a viewing partner that didn't walk in front of the television. "Fealty. In other words, I swear my perpetual loyalty to you. I will help you against Regina; I will protect your family to the best of my ability; and I will never betray you again so long as I shall live. My life is yours to do with what you will."

Emma stared down at Jefferson, his offer echoing in her mind. Fealty. She was aware of the sea of eyes on her back, watching and waiting to see what she would do. Jefferson was pledging his indefinite loyalty to her, his life. His life for the child she lost. While she still did not trust him as far as she could throw him, it was an even trade in her book. One life for another.

"Fine. Fealty it is," she accepted without any hint of enthusiasm for the matter. Jefferson breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief and got to his feet, swaying as he did so. He rubbed the soreness from his knees and gathered up the package that had fallen onto the porch. "But if you ever hurt me or my family again, you'll need new stitches for that neck scar."

Jefferson gulped loudly and nodded.

"Alright, folks. Show's over," Grumpy urged the crowd back into the living room. Someone—maybe Henry—asked if it was time for cake yet. In a matter of moments, Archie and the Crickets started singing, Red's throaty voice working a rock-heavy version of Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me."

"Um…this…is for you," Jefferson mumbled, handing over the wrapped present to Gold. It was with great hesitance that Gold took it into his hands, though he did not tear the wrapping away or unknot the ribbon. Instead, he held it up to the side of his head. Emma and Belle exchanged concerned looks.

"Rumpel…what exactly are you doing?" He shook the present once or twice.

"I thought I heard ticking."

….

Despite Emma's begrudging acceptance of his presence in her house, Jefferson kept to the back of the crowd with Belle keeping him company. The presents were opened with Henry getting three times as much as Gold, though Jefferson could see that Gold had neglected the tie Jefferson gave him. There was cake, but Jefferson was oddly not in the mood for the sugary delicacy.

At one point, he made a half-hearted excuse to Belle about getting a drink and slipped off into the crowd. Belle was observant; he knew she sensed that something was bothering him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and squirmed his way through the crowd, heading for the food table that Emma and Snow had set up along one wall.

It was while he was pouring Hawaiian punch into two plastic red cups that he heard it. The soft, almost indiscernible tapping of footsteps behind him, followed by an insistent tug on his sleeve. It was probably one of the children, eager to get past him to the food table. Who could resist the plates of homemade cookies, brownies, tarts, pastries…?

"Papa?"

The inquiring tone was spoken in a voice that he would have recognized even if he had aged naturally and gone deaf in one or both his ears. The two cups of punch fell from his hands and the red liquid splattered over the floor. The Golds' furry vacuum, Goldilocks, lapped it up.

Ever so slowly, Jefferson pivoted on his heel until he was staring down at a face he'd only ever glimpsed through a telescope for the past 28 years. Gods, she should be in her thirties by now, possibly with children of her own. Yet here she was, untouched by time, the same little girl who used to seek him out in the woods like a bloodhound. He felt his face crumble and his knees go weak. Oh, how he missed that smile and that lively twinkle in her glorious brown eyes.

"Grace?"

She hurried to him and he dropped to his knees to scoop her into his arms. Goldie snorted as he knelt in her puddle of Hawaiian punch, but he didn't care. He stroked Grace's hair as she hugged him with the threat of never letting go again. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? "I'm so sorry, Grace. I never should have left you."

Tears soaked his cheek and neck, but he wasn't entirely sure whether they belonged to him or Grace. He supposed it didn't matter. He savored the feel of her warm embrace, realizing that she had already forgiven him.

"It's okay, Papa," she reassured him in her gentle way. "I'm glad I found you." Even in a crowded room full of people, she proved to be part bloodhound. The nearest people made endearing _aww_ noises as he hugged Grace again. Over his daughter's shoulder, he found Belle's smiling blue eyes.

_"Reunited and it feels so good," _Grumpy belted into his microphone.

….

"I never knew you were attracted to hatters," Gold said as he sidled up to Belle amongst the bustling crowd of people in his living room. It was the first time he was able to get her alone and by alone he meant without Jefferson poking his nose in. Belle's glimmering blue eyes broke away from the sight of Jefferson hugging his daughter, but her smile did not falter when they landed on her old love.

"Most people are still trying to wrap their minds around the fact that I was once attracted to the Dark One…including my father and you," she pointed out. He smoothed a hand down the silky length of his dark dress shirt.

"Once? As in 'no longer'?" Belle's rosy mouth dropped open and she lightly swatted him on the chest for being so bold.

"Stop flirting. You have Emma for that, remember?" She leveled a warning look his way and scanned the crowd for Emma's sunshine-colored hair. Perhaps she did not want to chance ruining the friendship she was slowly forging with his wife. He bristled at her implication.

"Emma and I do plenty of flirting," he retorted. Belle tilted her head in that speculative way of hers. The living room lights made her hair shine and illuminated the lighter streaks of brown in her hair. He fidgeted in place, realizing what he just said. "I mean…she and I…we usually…" How to explain his mating skills to his old love?

Belle laughed in response to his nervousness and rested her hands on his shoulders, hoping to calm him down before they had to steer Dr. Whale over in this direction.

"Relax. Whatever you do with Emma is your business. You think I would get offended by the way you love her?" He studied his former love critically. No, Belle was most certainly not the jealous type. She took his silence as a sign of agreement and went back to eyeing Jefferson as he handed Grace a cookie. "I imagine he's a lot like you. What he needs is someone who will understand him and love him as he is."

Gold shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure he approved of being compared to Jefferson. _At least I never have hat hair,_ he thought.

"You always had a natural gift for understanding others," he agreed. He began reminiscing about all the opportunities in his castle when Belle could have shied away, but didn't. She always saw past the constructed walls and glimpsed beautiful things in a person that even they might have forgotten about themselves. "You were never one to judge a book by its cover, literal or figurative," he murmured mostly to himself.

Belle made a small _hmm_ sound, nodding her head along with his words. Then she spun with new interest radiating from every inch of her graceful form.

"Now, what is it you really wish to discuss?" He blinked innocently.

"What do you mean?" Belle was not to be taken for a fool. Her expression was nothing short of serious, pressuring him to come out with the truth. If she hadn't spoken, he might have caved right then and there.

"Rumpelstiltskin, I lived in your castle for months. I can recognize when you're building up your confidence to ask something. Everything before it is a ploy while your devilish half is trying to convince you that it's not worth asking in the first place." She waited for him to offer a defense and prove her wrong. She wasn't.

"What did you and Emma talk about in Granny's Diner yesterday?" Belle smiled knowingly. This time, she had no trouble seeking out Emma in the crowd. She shrugged apologetically.

"That's for me and Emma to know….and for you to figure out," she replied vaguely. Clearly, she had spent too many months in his castle and his cryptic nature had rubbed off on her. He sputtered in alarm.

"But…I…." She left him standing there, mind buzzing with unanswered questions. He huffed in annoyance. "Women."

…..

The sun had long since set by the time Emma showed her parents to the door. They had been gracious enough to help her and Gold clean up after the party, except for the moment where Gold was forced to take the microphone away from Charming for excessive foolishness like quoting the famous cinematic reveal in _Star Wars, _replacing Luke with Emma. Now the only issue that remained in the Gold household was how to get Henry settled for bed. During the party, he used his birthday boy status to eat as much cake as he wanted. He and Gold even had a competition about who could eat their slice fastest.

Henry won.

"I can't go to bed yet! You guys still haven't given me your present," he reminded them, bouncing on his toes from his sugar high. Emma had wondered if the kid even noticed his lack of a birthday present from his parents. He strummed a guitar—a gift from Archie and the Crickets with their signatures—without taking his eyes off them.

Gold was the first to bend.

"Your mother and I have a gift that we shall present to you together…but I happen to have another gift that is entirely my own," he said cryptically, earning surprised looks from Henry and Emma both. He knelt down by Henry and lightly grasped his shoulder. "The next time you visit my shop, you may pick out any item you desire for a birthday present."

Henry's eyes glowed with fascination. No doubt he would stay up tonight with a notebook and a flashlight and make a list of all the items he remembered being in Gold's shop. The Mickey phone, the shield, a boat; the possibilities were endless.

"What's my second present?" Gold chuckled at Henry's eagerness. He gradually rose to his feet and gestured for Emma to lead the way. It seemed she climbed the stairs purposely slow to tease Henry. He shoved his hands into her back, propelling her forward.

At the top of the stairs, they took a left in the hallway, the opposite end from Gold and Emma's bedroom. In a few strides, they reached the appropriate bedroom. Emma curled her hand over the doorknob of what was meant to be the nursery door. She leaned her forehead on the wood of the door.

"Take your time," Gold advised in her ear, his hand brushing her back.

Even Henry's excitement drained at the sight of the door, brief sadness for his lost sibling weighing heavily on his shoulders. Emma's throat constricted as she imagined what lay beyond the door. Gold had been the one to furnish the room with his magic; the last time she stepped foot in it was right after the miscarriage.

Twisting the knob, she thrust the door open and stepped aside for Henry to see. It was hardly recognizable from the nursery Gold had constructed once upon a time. There was a fresh coat of blue paint on the walls, a mysterious smoky shade like the sky right before night truly fell. Transparent curtains fluttered from the open balcony door, two waving arms beckoning Henry to enter. There was a bed alongside one wall big enough to fit two Henrys, dressed in silk covers and sheets.

"Well? Do you like your new bedroom?" Emma asked, silently praying that he did like it.

It was an agonizing fantasy that Henry might be able to live in the same house as her and Gold, at least while he was in Regina's custody. Now that the curse was broken and Regina was hiding out in a tree somewhere with binoculars, the safest place for Henry was right here. His body rotated like a disco ball, his face just as bright.

"I take it by his stunned silence that he does," Gold said, watching his stepson with a relaxed smile. Henry was a child in a candy store—it was impossible for him to concentrate on every detail at once. There was even a walk-in closet that he could get lost in.

"Like it? I love it!" The kid ran back to Emma and Gold and flung his arms around them both, burying his face in the fabric of their clothes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thanks Mom…Thanks, Dad." Gold stumbled for a moment, awed as he was by the unexpected term of endearment that came from Henry's mouth. Emma ruffled Henry's hair while Gold merely patted Henry's back. Emma thought she heard him sniffle once and knew that handkerchief was close to coming out.

Eventually he released them and was immediately drawn to the balcony, where he looked out over the quiet town of Storybrooke.

"Don't stay up too late exploring your personal Wonderland, got it?" Emma warned Henry, but the only response she earned was an unconvincing thumbs-up. Kids. She and Gold slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind them.

"See, dear? Not all magic is destructive," he whispered into her neck. "Sometimes, it has the power to create quite a beautiful thing." He kept rubbing the spot on his chest where Henry's head had rested. No doubt he was replaying the scene in his mind where Henry dubbed him his father. Emma guessed no one had accepted him that way in a long while.

_"Woo-hoo!" _ They heard Henry shout inside his room. Emma wondered how long that sugar high would last. They made their way to their own bedroom, where Goldie was sound asleep on Gold's pillow.

"Sometimes I feel like I have three children: Henry, that little one growing in your belly, and our infamous ball of golden fluff who tends to hog my pillow," he sighed tiredly, shoving open the closet door. "It'll be four if I ever locate my son." He began to undo his tie and Emma frowned with disappointment. She crept up behind him and slid her palms along his back.

"You're not getting ready for bed yet, are you, old man?" She teased him, entwining her fingers through his gray-streaked hair. He tilted his head back into her touch. His fingers were no longer working on his tie. "I haven't given you your gift yet." She sensed his intrigued smile before he turned around.

"What ever could it be, I wonder?" His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. He craned his head closer to kiss her lips, but she deliberately reared her head back. He groaned in frustration.

"You're so arrogant; you think you already know what I'm offering you. For all you know, I could have signed you and Charming up for father/son day. That includes three-legged races and pie-eating contests." Gold scrunched his nose. He shook his head fervently.

"No, no, no. I already had a swordfight rematch with Charming today. That's enough for me. If Charming and I indulged in a three-legged race, we'd most likely come in last on account of Charming stopping to ask for directions." Emma scowled at him, but he did not retract the comment.

"In that case, I won't tell you how I went to Granny's Inn yesterday," she goaded him. It was like baiting a mouse into a trap with a cube of cheese; Gold sprung into it without thinking twice. Before she could escape his embrace, he held her firmer than before.

"You went _where?_ Should I be worried?" Emma smirked. This secret thing was starting to pay off. Watching her husband squirm was amusing.

"I went to Granny's Inn yesterday," she repeated while Gold barely blinked. "I asked Granny to watch Henry for a day so that my parents will have an evening to themselves…and you and I will be free to take a ride up to the cabin. Do you want me to stick a shiny bow on the roof of the cabin to make it official?" Gold relaxed in her arms. His thumbs traced small circles into the skin of her back.

"Sounds much more pleasing than that hideous tie Jefferson gave me," he said. Emma figured he would bury that tie in the woods or give it to Charming for Christmas. "That reminds me….Since I won that duel with Charming, he agreed to arrange a night out for the two of us. You and I…not Charming. We could enjoy a night out and then let Granny keep Henry for a few more hours while we enjoy reacquainting ourselves with that dusty old cabin. S'mores included."

Emma playfully entwined her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her.

"Any chance I could get a preview?" He smiled and kissed her again.

…..

Emma moaned blissfully and reclined in her husband's comforting embrace. Her fingers threaded through his silky hair, her muscles stretching and uncoiling with ease. No words passed between them yet, but words were unnecessary. Ever since the curse broke, she could hardly stop studying him. In the car while he drove, over her shoulder whenever he moved beyond her vision, during the birthday party, always sneaking glances here and there.

It was like he had been cast in a whole new startling spotlight and she was helpless to shield her eyes from it. He was content with returning her probing gaze while she lay beside him in his bed.

"It's still a bit strange that my husband is Rumpelstiltskin. If you pinch me, I won't wake up?" He laughed deeply, a few wisps of his hair floating up from the outpouring of his breath. She traced a fingertip along the curve of his jaw in childlike wonder. He swiftly snatched it up and kissed the tip of it.

"Would you like me to pinch you, Emma?" He adored the rosy hue that glowed within the apples of her cheeks. She was unexpectedly modest, taking after her mother. He had no idea why she had a reason to be at this stage of their relationship. Pinching wouldn't be the strangest thing they'd done in bed. "The one and only, dearie," he replied with a luscious roll of his tongue.

It wasn't that Emma suspected it was a ruse, exactly; it was simply that she had trouble wrapping her mind around the concept sometimes. Her memory of the Rumpelstiltskin tale was of a dwarfish man who had torn himself in two upon being swindled by a maiden turned queen. The truth, however plain, consistently repeated in the pattern of a broken record in her mind_: I'm married to Rumpelstiltskin. I am Rumpelstiltskin's wife. And I'm carrying his child. _

It was as thrilling as a fantastical trip to Wonderland. She leaned on one elbow as her curiosity peaked. Dozens of questions bubbled inside her mind, questions that hadn't had a proper chance to be released. There was no stopping them now.

"You know how to spin straw into gold?" Her eyebrows practically rose to the ceiling in her skepticism.

At that rate, their family would not want for anything. It was more than Emma had during her rough, unsavory life-style and it was something they could offer Henry and their unborn child. Everything she never had, never having to experience the ache of hunger pains or unhappiness.

Gold dipped his head positively, a charming smile pasted on his intricately curved lips.

"I do," he confirmed. A finger lightly tapped her nose. She scrunched it and pretended to bite his finger, but he whipped it away. He clucked his sharp tongue disapprovingly. "Feisty one tonight, aren't we?"

Just to please him, Emma scooted further into his arms, her leg rubbing across his thigh. Ooh, she could sense his excitement from here. She curled her arm under her head, only a breath away from his face.

"When did you regain your memories?"

He should have known this question would come up sooner or later. He stalled for a moment, wondering how she would react. But Emma was stubborn; she would undoubtedly persist until she got her answer, especially if he made a show of dodging it. Her stare was heavy as lead, burning into his skin.

"The night you and I first met," he murmured. The memory swam to the surface of his mind—oh, he remembered it well.

Clearly, Emma did too since her eyes flashed with instant recognition and thoughtfulness. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked tonight, with the moonlight accentuating her golden locks? So strong at heart, the endless amazement brightening her features until her skin glistened pure white and milky, so soft to the touch…

"My name," she whispered. The realization had struck her with the impact of a sledgehammer. Her lips parted, the pearl white of her teeth just beyond it. "That was your loophole. Your key to remembering."

Clever girl, indeed.

"It's still a lovely name," he complimented, softly stroking the velvety curve of her cheek. "I doubt Mr. Gold would have invested in a woman like you or take you as his lawfully wedded wife."

Emma's warmth faltered for a moment, much as he hated it. The truth was sour on his tongue, poisoning the roof of his mouth. It must have stung to know that—had her loophole not been successful—they would not likely be lying in each other's arms. He would be basking in Belle's.

"Why not?"

It was hesitant, yet inquiring. It was riddled with a warning tone, telling him to tread easy because she knew she would not like it. Maybe she assumed his reasoning involved something along the lines of "Mr. Gold only goes for women with pig-tails" or the old classic "it's not you, it's me, dearie."

Actually, the latter was inches shy of the truth.

"Darling," he attached the term of endearment for good measure, "you are much too good and brave for his taste. It would have been an impossible task to open his heart to you, no matter how much he might have admired you. It would only be from a distance, always carrying a lonely heart, never intersecting with your precious world. You, Emma, have a passionate fire that he would never begin to know what to do with."

He winced, imagining that not too long ago his body hosted that miserable soul. With the past few months weighing heavily on his shoulders, he could no longer envision a world without Emma or Henry. That type of world no longer existed, lest he crumble in fatal despair.

Emma must have sensed that same truth, for she offered him one of her half-smiles, her limbs entangling with his. He groaned from the sensual teasing of her touch on his hip.

"Then I'm glad I met you instead. It's always been you, only with a stage-name. Besides, you seem to have experience with stoking passionate fires," she moaned and rolled over so that her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and snuggled into her warmth. "So, how old are you really?"

Another question he should have anticipated. This one he dreaded more than the last. It was easy to see where Henry got his insatiable curiosity.

"That's rather rude," he chided, squeezing her waist a little tighter. "It's improper to ask a Dark One his age." Emma threatened to wiggle from his grasp. It only made him pull her more firmly against his chest. There was no escaping for her, though she hardly put up much of a fight. If she really wanted to be free, there would be no stopping her.

"Stop being a drama queen. Just answer the question. Or do I have to guess?" Briefly, he entertained the idea of Emma following behind him all day, yelling out random numbers. Her only hope would be that he did not look younger than 35.

"Guessing would take you forever," he stated. He nuzzled his face into her hair, his lips seeking the cusp of her ear. "350 years," he whispered.

It was like a gunshot went off instead of a whisper—Emma's head snapped up from her pillow, a tremor of shock rippling through her body. Her mouth hung open as she gawked at her husband. Her skin paled, her eyeballs in danger of popping out of their sockets.

"I'm married to a man who is over 10 times my age," she surmised more to herself than to him. Immortality was such a fickle concept. He waited for the shudder or the disgust to traverse her lovely features. He prepared his heart for the pain of having her toss back the covers and refuse to warm his bed. Instead, she smiled. "Does that mean I have to buy 351 candles for your birthday cake next year? Well then, happy birthday, Rumpelstiltskin."

A pleasurable shiver skated down his spine, a fine thread of golden satisfaction stretching from the middle of his chest all the way to his toes.

"Ooh, say that again. My name." Emma rolled her eyes, but returned to his embrace. She mirrored his behavior in dragging her lips from his neck to his ear. His skin scorched with the temptation of her touch. She repeated his name huskily in his ear, sending immense pleasure along his nerves. "I like the way you say it. But, Emma-dear, I cannot fathom why you'd still want me."

Of course he had chosen her over his love with Belle, but he had been ready for repercussions given his true nature. Now, her face softened with remorse. She pressed a hand to his chest, directly over his beating heart. It belonged to her; he conveyed as much as he gently clasped her wrist and silently pleaded to never let the moment end.

"You insecure little man," she berated lightly and thwacked him on the head with her palm. "You think I'd walk out on you just because I found out you're actually Rumpelstiltskin? We've been through too much—we're even having a child together. And Henry adores you. There is no one else in this town I will ever want. I don't care what name you're using—hell, walk around town calling yourself Ryan Seacrest if that makes you happy. You're the man I fell in love with. So…you're stuck with me."

Gold had never heard sweeter words in all his years of living. If Emma weren't lying across his chest, he might have floated right off the mattress like Linda Blair.

"A terrible fate," he quipped. It was too good to resist in his gleefulness. Emma punched him playfully on the chest. He grabbed her fist the next time she tried it and he placed a tender kiss on her knuckles. He cupped her chin to bring her down to him, enough so that he could kiss her forehead. "I would never think to change it."

….

_**Shout-outs: I must thank DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, orthankg1, Guest45, Newland Archer, Lady-Shiroi, Wandz, Revenessa, helikesitheymikey, The-Writer2012, reginamillz, sbcarri, discotimelord, Sarah Kent-Duke, BundyShoes, PrincessofSea, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, SwanQueen4055, and sundancemc for their spectacular reviews. Thank you, everyone, for reading. **_


	61. Chapter 61

Emma woke up with a smile on her face and her husband's lips nuzzling her neck. His fingertips caressed over her inner thigh. By all accounts, he knew she was stirring in more ways than one and she decided it was smarter not to resist this morning. Moaning and stretching to full length under the sheets, she curled into his embrace.

"Good morning to you, too," she said, kissing his bare chest. His fingers moved from her thigh to stroke her hair, holding her firmly in place.

"I was ready to begin my daily guessing game. How many touches and nips it takes to wake you up," he replied. He tilted his head back into his pillow as her mouth made its way to his neck. Just as he flipped her onto her back to take over, her cell phone began to ring. He dropped his head on her shoulder and growled in frustration, his hands refusing to loosen up from her hips.

"Gods, do they have radar?"

Before Emma could stop that mischievous gleam in his eye from becoming full-on chaos, he leaned across her body, across the bed to take the cell phone from the bedside table. One click and he was in touch with her parents. Stubborn as he was, he continued to trace his finger up and down Emma's body while he chatted.

"On my honor as a Scotsman, I did not touch her yet," he exclaimed into the phone. _Lie, _she thought as he purposely squeezed her hip. She bit her tongue while trying to stifle a groan of pleasure. He winked down at his wife. Emma covered her face with her arm, her body trembling underneath his from laughter.

The intimate touching stopped. She failed to notice how frozen his face had become.

"Oh…um…top o' the morning to you, too, Snow. Yes…yes, I have a very detailed imagination about where your arrows will protrude from my body should I take that tone with you. My apologies." Emma watched with wild amusement as Gold struggled to get a decent word in. "It's for you," he said, offering her the phone and rolling off her. He mouthed _PMS _before she placed the phone to her ear and she ended up snorting into it.

"What's so funny?" Her mother snapped, sounding angry and worn at the same time. It made Emma feel like a child who just got caught doing something she wasn't supposed to, like coloring on the walls or sneaking her first cigarette in the bathroom. She only hoped there wasn't a full moon coming or Red would share that monthly gift. And probably chow all the meat products in Clark's store.

"Oh, that? See, you scared Gold so much that he tumbled off the bed," she said, earning a pinch for such boldness. She elbowed him in the ribs for it, especially since she nearly squealed. Her neck warmed and she fought to keep her voice normal. "I may have to rub his boo-boo," she said and buried her face in the pillow to hide her laughter at Gold's appalled—and slightly turned-on—expression.

Clearly, her mother wasn't impressed. There was a tired sigh in her ear.

"Emma, this is serious. Something terrible has happened."

The serious tone, mixed with the obvious hesitance of something her mother did not want to voice aloud, caused Emma to sit upright in bed. Only a name circled her mind on a loop: _Regina. _The humor drained visibly from Emma as her mother explained it to her. A cold feeling seeped into her bones and twice her emerald eyes flickered to Gold, who seemed to be holding his breath.

He must have sensed that there was something wrong. Dread stiffened his muscles as lines of worry marred Emma's lips and brows. He stretched out a hand to smooth the lines away in her brow, as if he could rub the problem away, but the minute his fingers left her skin the lines would return twice-fold.

"Thanks for telling me," Emma murmured into the phone and tossed it atop the covers, the line disconnected. She hunched her shoulders in dismay, finding it difficult to choose the proper words that would make her husband understand. He did not pressure her; he simply placed a hand on her belly and waited.

"This morning, the dwarves decided to test out the border, to see if anything changed after the curse broke," she began shakily. Hot tears pricked her eyelids. She did not want to tell him this; she just knew it would shatter him to pieces. But it was better coming from her than someone else, especially now that he knew she knew. "Even with the intention of returning…Sneezy crossed the border, but he…he lost his true memories. That's what Snow told me. If you cross the border, you'll lose your true memories and they don't know how to restore them."

They both heard the real message beneath her spoken words. She wasn't generally saying _you _as in everyone in Storybrooke. She was using it solely for his sake. If he crossed the border to find his son, he would make it one step, maybe two, then lose whatever memories he held dear of his son. He would lose all his memories since awakening, of Belle, of Henry, of his marriage to Emma.

He'd become a stranger.

For a long time—perhaps minutes, perhaps hours—he didn't say a word. He didn't meet her concerned eyes. Painfully slow, he withdrew his hand from her belly and pulled himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his bare back facing her. It felt like he had withdrawn by miles instead of inches. She hesitantly reached out to stroke his rigid spine.

She had no way of knowing, but she had a sinking feeling that they were both coming to the same conclusion.

There was no way to cross the border without losing one's memories, possibly forever. It was the price of bringing magic to Storybrooke, it had to be. A snow-globe had formed around them, its formidable walls trapping the cursed ones inside. It was a stroke of dark, cruel irony; he needed magic to find his son, but magic was the reason he could not cross the border to find him.

Like a toy whose string had finally been yanked, Gold suddenly came to life, leaping up from the bed. At first he was resigned to pacing unclothed in fast, agitated strides until he had the sense to magically sheathe his body in a fine-pressed suit. Emma recalled that every show of magic had a price as well. What if every ounce of magic only strengthened the walls of the cage that was Storybrooke's border?

Gold seethed, his breaths being exhaled in rough pants through his nose. At one point, he paused in pacing long enough to curl his fingers around the gold handle of his cane that had been leaning against the wall. Emma instantly knew that he wanted that cane for more than walking.

"Rumpel," she quietly warned, using his real name so as not to remind him of his cursed counterpart, the man who would be too afraid to love Emma. The man he would become if he crossed that border.

It didn't matter which name she used. The minute she said it, the spell keeping him grounded broke. In a flourish faster than Emma's eyes could track, he lifted the cane and brutally slammed it into the closet door. The force of it was tremendous, but still he did not stop. Red-faced and breathing heavily, he drew that cane down again and again. Only when the cane splintered in two did he relent, the pieces falling to his feet.

Emma slipped out of bed to go to him and realized that, in clothing himself in a suit, he also clothed her in jeans and a tank top, though her feet remained bare. There was to be no comfort between them, at least not that kind. Perhaps he wanted it that way. Perhaps he felt he needed to stop running and face the pain and consequences of what he'd done.

"Emma, stay away," he advised in a raspy voice, his hand blindly waving in her direction. She ignored his self-pity.

Walking up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his chest, her palms splayed over the silk of his dress shirt and wishing suddenly that those layers weren't there at all. Her face burrowed between his shoulder blades, his back rippling and swelling under her cheek as he inhaled every harsh breath.

His head hung down, his hair cascading over his darkening face, but she could feel his breath begin to slow. She felt the fury drive out of him, leaving behind raw hurt.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into his collar. What if it was Henry lost out there and the only path that led to him had crumbled? She'd probably throw things, too. Or break a few toasters. "We'll find a way." It was a hopeful promise at best, with no possible evidence to support it. Not even she was entirely sure it rang truthfully.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, there was a tiny knock at the bedroom door, followed by a creak as it edged open. Henry entered the room with his hand over his eyes and Goldie trailing behind.

"Is it okay if I come in? Or are you two…doing things that I'm not supposed to see?" Emma peered over Gold's shoulder, but his eyes were distant and he did not reply. She didn't know if he even heard Henry at all.

Slowly, she pulled her hands away from him and turned to her son, who was fumbling around for the bedpost. Goldie bounded on top of the bed without second thoughts. What if they had been…up to something? Would Goldie have minded or would she crawl right in there and lick Gold's face?

"You can look," she told him. He gratefully removed his hand and latched onto Gold's distress. He looked like he wanted to dole out a free hug to Gold.

"I heard a loud banging noise and I came to check if you guys were okay. I thought it might have been the bed," he said. Despite the innocence flanking Henry's words, Emma blushed. _If that sound came from the bed…I'm pretty sure it would be broken right now instead of Gold's cane,_ she thought, which only made the heat climb faster.

As though just realizing that Henry was there, Gold met the kid's bright eyes. The minute he did, his defenses were destroyed. It was the sight of Henry standing there, his stepson, that broke him. Sorrow flooded over his face like spreading ink, his eyes grew watery and wide, and his bottom lip began trembling. His knees buckled and he collapsed onto the edge of the bed.

_Not that anguish face! Who could possibly survive through Gold's anguish face? _Emma thought, though she supposed she should be more considerate. But, dear lord, those eyes…Henry was good enough to hurry to Gold's side and throw his arms around his stepfather. Gold held Henry tightly to him and buried his face in Henry's shoulder.

"My boy," he murmured, his voice fragile and laced with sobs. His body shook in Henry's embrace. "My boy, my boy, my boy…" Emma watched the exchange silently, wondering if Gold's use of _my boy _was meant for the son currently in his arms or the one that continued to be ripped away.

…

During the next couple of days, the basement had become Rumpelstiltskin's official workroom. It was the place where he conducted most of his magical experiments and mixed together most of his potions in his goal of finding his son. Finding him was tricky enough, but now he was forced to find a way past the border without losing the memories he held dear.

Half the time, when he scarcely mentioned his work down there, Emma half-expected their roof to pop off into the sky from some magical experiment gone wrong.

One time the entire first floor shook as it would in an earthquake. The chairs wobbled, the lights fizzled, the china in the cupboard rattled and chipped as it toppled, and even Ms. Ginger next door called to complain about their "vibrations." Emma only stared at her fingers, wondering: _what did I do this time?_

Her husband explained that, as the savior, there was powerful magic running through her veins, magic she would need to learn to control one day. She'd only been watching _Harry Potter_ with Henry; it wasn't like she was flicking her fingers and saying _alacazam!_ Onscreen, Harry had yelled _Expecto patronum _and their house had gone _boom! _

That was when her husband emerged from the basement with the ends of his hair sizzling, his clothes hanging in tatters, and his skin black with soot. He coughed up smoke while wisps of it trailed his every move. He looked like a person cosplaying the Black Smoke Monster from _Lost_.

It was precisely why Emma quickly got into the habit of keeping a fire extinguisher near the basement door.

Usually, Gold didn't permit her to venture down to the basement while he was working. He always feared that something could go devastatingly wrong with the ingredients and she, Henry, or the baby could be hurt. Lately, he had begun leaving a sign for her—if he hung his cane on the doorknob of the basement door, it meant he was busy brewing away and thought it was too risky for her to be down there. On the days that he went down there to sulk and calculate, she convinced him to let her stay for a while.

Not even Goldie was allowed down there after the golden pup trotted up the stairs one afternoon with her fur dyed sapphire blue. It took exactly ten washes to scrub the color out and it stained the inside of the bathtub so that it looked like they were smuggling away a band of Smurfs in their house. Emma refused to let Gold use magic to fix Goldie because she figured it would turn the dog green or purple or red instead. The tub he handled with magic, not only removing the stains but making it bigger in size as well. Big enough to fit two.

Today, there was no cane. That meant he wasn't dealing with any tricky substances or potions and that she was more or less free to visit him for a time. Emma started down the rigid basement stairs.

The smell of must and vinegar made her gag. As she descended the stairs, the wall of the basement opened up over the railing, allowing her to seek out Gold. In the center of the basement was a long wooden worktable crowded with vials bubbling with potions, velvet sacks filled with strange glittering powder and gems, strings of gold forged by his skilled fingers, and tools of all shapes and sizes. The only thing missing was a professional white lab coat and a dry-erase board scribbled over with nonsensical mathematical equations.

He hunched over the worktable, the muscles of his back stiff and throbbing under his dress shirt. Emma wished he wouldn't slouch like that. It was a challenge to rub those knots out of his back before they went to bed.

From the look of it, he was severely distressed and in dire need of a distraction.

"Here I thought you'd be tossing things like eye of newt and mouse tails into a cauldron," she quipped, grasping at a small chance to lighten his mood. His shoulders tightened and he briefly glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge her presence. When he fully turned around, he had a bemused expression on his face.

"First of all…eye of newt? Rat's tail? What kind of potion do you expect me to make with such ridiculous ingredients? This is Storybrooke, not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Emma half-smiled, crossing the room to perch on the stool in front of his spinning wheel. It just appeared shortly after the curse broke and he'd been spinning ever since. Something about having to break it in again and he kept blinking like he had something in his eye.

"You know, most people stop at _Hogwarts_," she commented. He didn't seem impressed by her jeering. "To answer your question: how the hell should I know? I'm not the Boy Who Lived. Which reminds me…Henry wants to dress up like Harry Potter for Halloween this year and that means someone is going to have to play Lord Voldemort."

_Hint, hint,_ she thought, her eyes burning into him. Assuming they were still living here by the time Halloween rolled around. A bald mask should do…and some flour…He waved his hand irritably and turned his attention back to the worktable. His eyes roved over it, as though trying desperately to understand it.

"Sign Charming up for the role. It's Halloween, a day to be something that you're not. Let him unleash his wild side," he said. She tried to picture Charming dressed as Lord Voldemort, but failed. "As Mr. Gold, I tried my hand at a Harry Potter movie marathon. It was difficult to put much stock in a villain whose powers were vanquished by an infant, let alone one that tried several times to kill the boy and failed miserably. Though, I did have a soft spot for Hagrid and Dobby the house-elf."

Emma wondered how offended he would be if she suggested he tag along with Henry and Charming on Halloween dressed as Hagrid. For one thing, he'd have to buy stilts. She tried not to laugh as Gold maintained his seriousness while nitpicking over the world of Harry Potter, especially when he compared Umbridge to Regina, minus the pink cardigan.

Then he whirled around with the urgency of remembering something that had been eluding him.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Second of all, why would I use a black cauldron? I'm not a witch, dearie."

Emma leaned her back on the wide support of the spinning wheel. The arch of the wheel towered over her head. She never thought it would be so huge and impressive, nor his fingers so graceful while spinning. Then again, Gold proved to be graceful in almost every aspect of his life, more so when she least anticipated it.

"Fine, then what kind of creature are you?" Gold's eyebrows rose as though he was astonished by the fact that she was challenging his claims. On the contrary, he should have expected nothing less from someone so stubborn. He grumbled, prepared to defend his pride.

"Why, I'm…I'm a…in the books, it's called…the proper term is…" His tongue clucked against the roof of his mouth as he searched for the right phrase. His knuckle tapped his teeth, his foot slapping the cold basement floor. What was he? A genie? That was degrading. A magician? In this world, that meant card tricks and illusions like pulling a quarter out of someone's ear. A warlock? Wizard? Perhaps…He refused to call himself an imp…

In the end, he tipped his nose in the air defiantly, his nostrils flaring.

"I am _not_ a witch," he insisted.

"Whatever you say, Gold."

She enjoyed seeing him ruffled and knowing that she held the power to undo him in a way no other person ever would. He tried avoiding her lingering eyes, but his focus always returned to her eventually, attracted to her like a moth to a flame.

"Now, now. If you choose not to behave in my territory, I'm afraid I'll have to resort to—"

"Punishing me?" Emma steadied her chin, reveling in the way his body stumbled into the worktable. She was his undoing, indeed. Though, at the moment she seemed to be filling him up instead of emptying him out if the way he was using the table to shield his lower body was anything to go by.

For the first time, he stopped what he was doing to cast a long, observational look. His brown eyes swept over her head to toe as she stretched leisurely against his spinning wheel. His lips lifted and there was an almost carnal desire in the way he visually devoured her whole.

"I was going to say I'll send you back upstairs, but I much prefer your line of thinking," he purred. His hips rolled as he leaned his weight on the worktable. She sensed it was an attempt to hide how much pleasure she stirred in him. "Unfortunately for both of us, I'm a bit busy at the moment. Forgive me, Emma."

He turned back to the worktable so rapidly that his hand shot out and accidentally knocked over an emerald glass vial, causing a stream of fizzing sour-apple-colored liquid to spill across the table. He cursed under his breath and mopped it up with a ragged gray cloth. Emma watched with slight amusement.

Shaking the awkwardness off with a violent shudder, Gold was determined to get back to work. He picked up a crimson vial and examined its contents by placing one eye over the rim of the bottle and peering inside. His fingers scrolled down a crumpled piece of paper, his handwriting elegant even from her perspective. Was that an old Dark One family recipe or something?

"Whatcha making?" Emma inquired from her stool. There was only so long she could stay in the dark before the light of knowledge became too tempting to ignore. Gold's concentration wavered only for a second as he equipped himself with a sharp, gleaming dagger and positioned the point of the blade on his thumb.

"I thought you didn't like magic," he commented while slowly dragging the silver blade over his soft skin, slicing it to release a thin line of red blood. Emma pursed her lips as the blood clung to the end of the dagger.

"No, I just don't _understand_ magic. It's never been part of my world before. That doesn't mean that all magic is bad or that I might never appreciate it. Maybe if I understood it, things might change," she replied. She could tell by the smirk on his face that he valued her benefit of the doubt.

"Keeping an open mind, I see." Jefferson would be proud. Or dancing in front of her face saying _I told you so. _"To quench your curiosity, I am creating a special kind of finding spell. With it, I hope to be able to locate my son's whereabouts. There's a song at Disneyland called _It's a Small World_. Let me be the first to warn you: it lies."

Emma snickered but the laughter soon died away as Gold's thumb hovered over the crimson vial. Squeezing his self-inflicted wound, three drops of blood rained into it. Emma squirmed. Ever observant, her husband noticed immediately.

"Faint of heart, are we?" He wrapped a bandage around his finger to staunch the bleeding and capped the crimson vial with a stopper. He shook it like it was a carton of orange juice. _Please don't tell me that's the kind of potion that has to be consumed by mouth, _she thought, her nose wriggling in disgust. _I'll choke him until he spits it out. _

"I don't have a problem with blood. I've watched _House_ and _Vampire_ _Diaries_ without blinking. I just have a problem when the blood comes from my husband," she said, unable to stop staring at his bandage. It was too close for comfort.

"Emma, it'll take more than a cut on my finger to kill me. A pirate once thrust a hook in my chest and I walked away without even shedding a tear." Emma made a mental note to ask Henry whether Captain Hook was mentioned in his book. Was he the one that ran the fish market across from Henry's bus stop?

"That's good to know for future reference," she mumbled under her breath. In other words, if someone tried to attack her husband with a hook, she should point her finger and laugh instead of jump on the idiot's back and tackle him to the ground. When the time came to handle that situation, she figured laughter wouldn't be one of her first instincts. "What about crossing the border?"

He did not answer, nor did he remove his eyes from the colored bottle on the worktable. She wondered if it was because he didn't know the answer or because it required something she would not approve of. Deep in her heart, she knew he trusted her more than anyone in this town; he just made a habit of choosing which battles to fight. He often lumped lying by omission together with protection. He had a desire to shield her from what needed to be done.

It surprised her when he silently handed over a tan piece of fabric. It was rough and dusty and at first she thought it was the scratchy fabric mostly used for scarecrows. She carefully unraveled it after noting how delicately he had surrendered it to her care and realized it was a cloak.

"It belonged to my boy," he said quietly as she draped it over her lap to examine it. "It's one of the last items I have to remember him by and one of my dearest possessions. It's exactly what I'll need to cross the border." Emma folded the cloak up and handed it back to him with the hesitancy of balancing an egg on a spoon from her mouth. His sudden openness granted her leeway to ask a question that she had been pondering for some time. It just wasn't something she could easily bring up over dinner.

"What…happened…to your son?"

It happened gradually, but she could sense the change come over him. The skin around his eyes crinkled as they narrowed, his body shifted away by degrees, his lips thinned until they were barely noticeable. He was shutting down. Emma jerked forward in her seat, refusing to let the silence convince her to drop the subject.

"I'm your wife. You're supposed to be open with me. _Talk_ to me."

She was willing to bet he never told another living soul what happened to his son all those years ago. Was there anyone in Storybrooke who even knew? Did he ever tell Belle?

"That's not a pretty part of my past. You'll not be pleased with the tale," he warned.

She rolled her eyes. If she wanted sugar-coating and happy endings, she would talk to her parents. Charming was the master of bedtime stories, according to Henry. Whenever there was a dragon, he roared like one; whenever there was a sweet, beautiful princess, his voice shot up several notches. She had to have the kid videotape it the next time he slept over at his grandparents' place.

"If I wanted fairies, unicorns, and fireworks, I wouldn't be asking," she retorted. Gold half-turned in her direction, studying her in a long period of stillness. He finally nodded in agreement. He told her everything with only few interruptions as she blurted out questions like: "if the Blue Fairy was so small then, why is she so big now?"

He told her about the Ogre Wars, about nearly losing Bae to the recruiters, about gaining the Dark One's powers to save his son before ultimately losing himself to its tempting power. He confessed how he let his son fall through a portal into a world without magic, leading him to a 300-year quest to make a curse that would allow him to locate Bae.

With a bit of prodding, he even told the story of how he lost his wife to an arrogant pirate who turned out to be her true love and the day he crushed her heart, a story that depressed Emma a bit. On one hand, she felt little sympathy for this Milah woman for abandoning her son and husband for a pirate without so much as a note on her pillow. On the other hand, it did not sit well with her that he resorted to killing her to solve the problem, no matter how enraged he was by the betrayal. But he warned her that the stories he had to tell weren't going to be pretty, so she swallowed her complaints for the time being.

Emma didn't know how long she sat on that stool, listening as her husband recounted the darkest events of his life. When he finished, his words faded away into the air, wrapping uncomfortably around Emma's head. She didn't know which detail to pick at first, so she dove in headfirst.

"She shouldn't have left you and your son," she started irately. Being bored with marriage was one thing, but purposely abandoning your child for a life on the seas irked Emma beyond communicable words, especially since she had never had the luxury of giving Henry the life he deserved. She could never picture a world without her son and it would be the same with the one in her belly. "You would never have been able to win that swordfight, either, which would have left your son fatherless. No offense."

"None taken," Gold said rather calmly. That was probably the exact same thought that went through his mind while standing in front of that pirate with the sword at his feet. He crossed the room to her and gazed down on her, his hand capturing her shoulder and squeezing it tenderly. "Thank you for understanding."

Emma squirmed out of his grasp and stood up to meet him eye to eye.

"I'm not completely agreeing with you," she argued hotly. He took a step back as her finger poked his chest. "You shouldn't have killed her. You could have been angry and you could have wished her dead all you liked, but you could have also walked away. Not…rip her heart out and crush it to spite her and her Brad Pitt pirate boyfriend. It solved nothing except earning you an enemy."

Gold knew that she was right. It was why he staggered back another step, stunned by her turnaround argument. The next time he spoke in his defense, there was less confidence. He was like a child who'd been caught pulling his sister's hair and tried to blame it on something his sister did in the first place.

"She…she…" Emma's resolve softened when misery contorted his features and the fight drained out of him.

"I know what it's like not to feel loved. I might as well be the poster-girl for it. My childhood was never remotely pleasant, I bounced from foster home to foster home, the first guy I thought I loved broke my heart, I didn't have the means to care for my son when he was born…When I was three and put into my first foster home, they sent me back after they had their first child. I know how it feels and it hurts worse than anything in the world," she told him, her voice breaking more than once. He stared at her unblinking as her tragic story unfolded. "But here's the thing: the way you choose to handle that grief ends up defining you. You can drown yourself in it and return the pain to those who hurt you, become something darker and unrecognizable than when you started out…or you can work past the hurt, endure it day to day, and keep some measure of hope that there's something better waiting around the corner."

It was obvious which path Emma wanted him to choose. Centuries ago, he had traveled down that dark path with no sign of returning. This time, instead of pushing her away, he drifted toward her comfort, drifted into her arms. After all, what they had together could be the better something that had been waiting for him. Emma smiled as he bent his head and kissed her cheek.

"Do you blame me? For the curse and all it's done to you?"

Emma grew quiet, thinking. The knowledge of the curse and its implications on her life had been spinning around her head since the day it broke. If it hadn't been for the curse, would she have grown up with her parents? Would she have lived a better life than the one in this world? Would her walls be so thick?

Then she knew her answer.

"I should…Sometimes in the back of my mind, I do. Then, I think about how I might not be as happy as I am today if not for you. If the curse never happened, would I still have Henry? Would I still be married and know how to love someone else the way I love you? Besides, I'm not going to blame you for sacrificing everything you have to find your son. If it were Henry out there, I would have done the same."

Gold's tense muscles relaxed. Apparently, he'd been afraid she would blame him entirely. Despite her acceptance of the curse's repercussions, the guilt was still written plainly on his face. He reached up to cup her cheek and she tilted her head into his palm.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm sorry for what I've done to you," he murmured. Emma responded by turning her head enough to kiss his palm.

"Don't be."

…..

There were times when Jefferson honestly didn't mind the house on the hill, especially now that he had his daughter back. He remembered the light in her eyes when she saw it for the first time, as though he were presenting her a castle instead of a sprawling house on the outskirts of town. He would do anything to keep that light from going out ever again.

Grace adapted to the place immediately, but why shouldn't she? It was ten times more than anything she had ever had in the Enchanted Forest. That hovel of theirs could fit snugly in the living room or kitchen. He gave her the grand tour, starting with the enormous first floor and working his way up.

"This would be the perfect place for hide-and-seek," she said excitedly as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. It instantly reminded him of their days and their games in the forest. After so many years without her, he'd probably be a little rusty at hiding.

"Even after all these years, I'll bet you're still part bloodhound, Grace," he said, tousling her light hair lovingly. She giggled, which made him smile genuinely. In this house, Grace would likely sniff him out easily. She might even be a match for Red. On the other hand, it would take him ages to find her hiding spot.

He showed her the hat room with the decorative hats in neat rows on their shelves. Grace tried one on, but it was a little too big for her head. He allowed her to hold onto it, telling her that she could always give it to Henry. Grace beamed and blushed at the thought, but Jefferson's mind was racing with one single thought: _what have I just done? _He wasn't supposed to be pushing her toward boys; he was supposed to be protecting her from them. He didn't have the heart to take the hat away, but he made a mental note to keep a close eye on Henry, check him out before allowing anything to flourish with his daughter.

He showed Grace the candy closet, the trove of chocolates and sweets making her eyes impossibly wide. She picked out a few pieces of candy and he did the same…until he realized their willpower was weak and they returned quickly for seconds. One bite of Twix and his fate was sealed.

Furthermore, he never realized how much of a challenge it was to get his daughter ready for bed when she was hyped up on candy. Those companies should really put a warning on their labels: _Note to parents: give to children at your own risk. _The Enchanted Forest never had Skittles or Twizzlers. How was he supposed to know the effect they had on children? He must have played _Sorry _and _Clue _seven times each. Grace won every round of _Clue _and always took pride in knocking his pieces off the _Sorry _board. He would have suggested Monopoly, but he had a feeling Grace would take the Boardwalk and Railroads.

At long last, he finally got Grace settled in her new room, one that she picked out herself. It was just down the hall from his own bedroom, which would make it convenient for him to check on her during the night. It would take some time to get used to the idea that she wouldn't disappear with the blink of an eye. She looked so small and delicate tucked under the blankets, the bed being big enough to fit three kings.

_Now it's just me, myself, and I, _he thought glumly as he trudged down the stairs and into the living room.

He gazed around the room without any indication of what he should do to pass the time. It was too big and quiet now that Grace had left it for the night. _What do I do now? _He supposed he could make some tea…maybe take a soothing bath in the Jacuzzi-size tub…prank-call Rumpelstiltskin using a fake accent….watch the Discovery Channel…

Or, at least that's what he might have done had there not been a knock on the door. He frowned, puzzled at the sudden noise. Last he recalled, he wasn't expecting any company and he didn't order any food. Was it Belle, perhaps? Was she lonely and in need of entertainment? Jefferson couldn't think of anyone else it could be. Unless it was Rumpelstiltskin….nah, the imp would definitely be in bed with his wife by now.

It had to be Belle.

The knock came again, this time more urgent. _I'm coming, sweetheart, _he thought, his mood lifting considerably. He stopped by the mirror and combed his fingers through his hair. He fixed his cravat and then tossed it away, remembering how Belle touched his scar. He even sprayed some breath freshener in his mouth before pulling open the door.

"Hello there, Be….gina?" _I take it back. I wish Rumpelstiltskin were here. _

There she stood, decked out in extremely dark and imposing layers, standing in the spot where he expected Belle to be. Regina. Whatever progress his mood made in lifting suddenly plummeted tenfold. He was almost tempted to slam the door in her face, but his curiosity got the better of him. If she were here to kill him, she might have done it by now.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Was she selling poison-laced apples door-to-door now? Running around the neighborhood frightening children into eating their vegetables? Or was she just bored with her devious plans enough to want to poke fun at him?

"I need your help." The admission was obviously hesitant in forthcoming. That had been nowhere near one of his guesses as to her presence on his porch. Jefferson didn't budge, though he was blatantly surprised by her gall. Then again, Regina never was very smart.

"You have a lot of nerve asking me for help after screwing me over twice," he barked in her face. Never mind all the hurt she doled out to the Charmings and Emma. He hadn't forgotten his oath of fealty. Hell, she locked Belle up for nearly three decades. For that, he was tempted to feed her drugged tea. She made a show of pretending to wipe spittle off her cheek. She did not look pleased.

"And you have a lot of nerve releasing my only ace into the arms of her true love, regardless if he rejected her for that conceited duckling," she sneered, echoing his thoughts. "Yes, I know about Rumpel's unexpected valor in staying with his little wife. Remember, I have eyes and ears all over this town. I screwed you over, you screwed me back. That makes us even."

This time, Jefferson could not hope to shield his outrage. He exploded with a thunderous _hah, _making Regina take a step backward on the porch.

"Not even close! You think you can just wipe your slate clean? I wouldn't hold your breath. Not after what you did to me and my daughter."

Regina's lips twisted with that fake smile he always loathed. It was sickly sweet and meant she was about to add fuel to the fire. Her eyes pierced daggers into Jefferson's body and she stepped so close that he got a huge, suffocating whiff of her perfume. He could almost taste it.

"And Belle, right?" Belle's name rolled off her tongue slowly and menacingly. As if she were a bug that kept buzzing around Regina's head and desperately needed swatting. Jefferson's fingers tightened over the edge of the door, so much that it began to shake. "You know, I never pegged you for a man who settled for sloppy seconds."

Jefferson ground his teeth together behind his lips. It was getting harder not to strangle her. Listening to nails sliding down a chalkboard would be a sweeter sound than her voice.

"You didn't answer my question. Not really. What do you want?" _Do I even want to know? Another trip to Wonderland so you can feed me to the hedges or trap me there again? Here to take my daughter and corrupt her as your minion? Set fire to the Charmings' happiness? Sounds like you. _

"All I want is to use your hat one last time. So I can send a message to someone I left behind in the Enchanted Forest." She made it sound so tiny a favor when Jefferson knew the price would be enormous on his head.

Jefferson's eyebrows rose despite his efforts to tune out Regina's nonsense. She left someone behind in their land? This was news to him. He felt confident their land still existed, but he'd been under the impression that the curse swept everyone away, leaving no survivors.

"What kind of message is that? Greetings from Storybrooke? An advertisement for your homemade apple cider? Or are you hoping someone will come to your rescue against the Charmings?" He hoped she wasn't getting the idea that he was agreeing by asking questions. He was just curious.

Regina pursed her crimson lips, a sign that she was running low on patience. She slipped off her sleek black gloves and pocketed them inside her pea coat. He took that as a bad sign. Was she planning to wrench out his heart, throw him through the Golds' window, and squeeze it?

"Do this for me and I will allow you to return home with your daughter. You can even bring your little princess girlfriend. You think those so-called heroes will show you the same generosity? After you stole the savior's child? You're as doomed as I am in their eyes."

Jefferson shook his head, his gaze wandering everywhere but directly at Regina. He couldn't even stand to look at her. She must have been desperate and itching for revenge if she was coming to him. Unfortunately for her, he was done. Her minutes were beyond up and he seriously considered calling Emma to alert her about the black cow outside his home.

"Regina…go to hell."

And he slammed the door before she could rip out his heart for his insolence or come up with a smart reply. He enjoyed the sound of the door slamming, the sudden boom ricocheting off the walls and throughout the quiet house. He hoped Grace didn't wake up. He slumped against the front door and waited to hear Regina leave.

And yet, even with the thickness of the door between them, he still felt her formidable presence on the porch. Was she waiting to see if he would change his mind? He dared not breathe, waiting to hear her heels clicking as she walked away. But it never came.

And then he heard her voice slithering in his ear, loud enough for her to be standing beside him in his foyer. _If I'm going to hell, Jefferson, you can be assured I'll be dragging everyone down with me._ When he looked over his shoulder, all he could see was the dark wood of the front door. She was nowhere to be found. There was no black shape lurking inside his house; only the white shaggy living room carpet, the intense white lights above his head, the white walls that had been his prison.

A feeling of apprehension spiraled down the length of his spine and he found his muscles tense and still, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. This wasn't the end of Regina's visit. It couldn't be. He ripped open the front door, but the porch was empty. No Regina anywhere.

_Maybe she finally took a hint, _he thought as he peered over the porch to the bushes below. His relief was short-lived. The next sound he heard slicing through the air was one he never wanted to hear again, but one which he had heard thousands of times in his darkest nightmares. His daughter's bloodcurdling scream.

Jefferson didn't even waste energy or time closing the door; he just sprinted for the stairs that would take him to his daughter's bedroom. His feet pounded on them, taking them two at a time. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and he got a cramp in his leg halfway up, but he ignored it. All he cared to think about was Grace.

_If she thinks she can go after my daughter and get away with it, she has another thing coming. Oh, please, leave Grace be! _He sent up hundreds of prayers in the span of several seconds. _I should have armed myself with a coatrack or fireplace poker on my way up. _

In record time, he reached the second floor landing and he would have charged eagerly into Grace's bedroom like a soldier rushing into battle, if not for the roaring flames in the doorway. The sight of them sent his mind into a whole new wave of panic. _I told her to go to hell. Is this her way of saying the same?_

_"Grace!"_

He shouted at the top of his lungs. He could almost hear the sound of her crying, but it became harder and harder to distinguish it from the monstrous roar of the flames. He raced as close to the bedroom as he dared, enough to see Grace wide awake and curled into a terrified, trembling ball on her bed. In the light of the fire, tears glimmered on her flushed cheeks. Flames surrounded both sides of her bed, creeping closer with every passing second.

Her frightened eyes connected with his through the shadows and the flames. She reached a hand out, begging for him to come save her. His throat constricted when she started crawling to the end of the bed, as yet unblocked by flames. What if she reached the end and began to hope for safety, only to have another wall of flames swallow her? Could Regina be so cruel?

"Grace, don't move! I'm coming for you!" She must have heard him because she immediately stopped moving, kneeling in the center of the bed. He studied the wall of fire at her door and wondered if he had any chance of vaulting over it. He had to try.

Backing up to the wall, he bent his knees and prepared for the worst experience of leap-frog in his life. Taking a deep breath, he kept his focus on his daughter, so small on that gigantic bed, and he ran straight for the flames. He leaped into open air and it seemed like time slowed down as his body sailed over the fire and into Grace's bedroom.

He'd only ever seen that type of thing on television. He would gladly argue with any action movie buff that it wasn't as easy as it looked. Getting over the flames was surprisingly the easy part; it was the landing that hurt. One of his pant legs caught on fire before he crashed on his side. He shook his leg and did the whole _stop, drop, and roll _routine. Either way, his leg was covered in soot and black smoke and blisters. His jeans were ruined. _I just picked these up from my shopping trip with Belle, too, _he mentally complained.

"Papa, I'm scared," Grace shrieked, peering down at him over the edge of her bed. Now the wallpaper on one side of the room was peeling and the wall itself was covered in writhing curls of flame. He quickly ignored the blisters on his leg and gathered his daughter into the security of his arms just as her pillow caught fire. He saw that his hat was clutched tightly in her fist. _Never mind what I said about Henry. He's a good kid. He can spend as much time with my daughter as he wants if we get out of this alive. _

"It's okay, Grace. It'll all be over soon, I promise," he whispered to her, holding her head so that it was buried in his shoulder. He didn't specify whether the end would involve a fate in which they were burned alive or not. After all, he didn't know it himself.

Acting on instinct, he planted his foot on the half of the bed that wasn't covered in flames and sprung off it, aiming to fly over the flames that were blocking his path to the window. It was harder to accomplish with Grace in his arms and blisters on his leg, but he managed to land on the untouched floor. Grace nearly tumbled out of his arms and pain jolted up from his ankles as his feet slammed down on the ground. Grace cried out, but he held her tightly.

The flames, he knew, were not natural by any means. They were produced by magic. They seemed to only focus on Grace's bedroom instead of the house beyond her threshold. They also moved slowly, whereas normal flames would have swallowed the bed entirely before he even reached Grace. He supposed he should thank Regina for her black-hearted nature or else the price for her use of magic.

Knocking the glass out of the window with his elbow, he shoved it open and carried Grace onto the ledge outside. He eyed the ground far below and then the drainpipe on the corner of the house. It would be impossible to climb down with Grace in his arms.

"Okay, Grace, you're going to have to be brave and do something for me. It's extremely important. You're going to have to climb on my back. You remember how you used to do that whenever I held you?"

Grace's eyes shined with fear, but she nodded. No doubt it was the urgency in his voice that convinced her. Even though she was bigger than she had been the last time she did it, he allowed her to shift in his arms until she swung her legs around his back, her arms encircling his neck.

Her arms rubbed across his scar, her fingers still holding onto his hat for dear life. Placing his hands on the white siding of the house, he inched along the ledge toward the drainpipe. When he reached it, he grasped it with both hands and swung his body onto it, his thighs hugging it. Grace almost choked him with the way her arms suddenly squeezed his neck.

He was able to squirm and shimmy his way down, though it was slow-going. A few feet above the ground, he somehow lost his footing and slid the rest of the way as though he were a fireman gliding down the pole to answer the call of duty. He and Grace landed in the bushes, but he saw stars blinking in his vision and he couldn't feel below his waist.

"Ah…ow…note to self…sliding down the drainpipe…not as fun as it looks…." Grace stood up in the bushes and tried to help him up by the elbow, too. He held his palm out to her in a stop motion, silently asking her to give him a minute. He bent at the waist and dry-heaved. "I…I think I…just became a eunuch."

Grace tilted her head, the flash of fear replaced with childish curiosity.

"What's a you-nick?" He groaned and straightened up. At least the world stopped spinning. A cold sweat dripped down his forehead and the back of his neck. Suddenly his injured leg wasn't the only thing making it difficult to walk.

"It's…it's my way of saying…you're probably going to be an only child, Grace."

He scooped Grace into his arms once more and limped away from the house. His eyes scanned the hill, wondering where Regina was hiding out. There was no way she'd miss this. The adrenaline seeped out of his body, which meant he was starting to really feel the extent of his injuries.

When he and Grace were a safe enough distance away, he looked back over his shoulder and watched the flames engulf one whole section of his house. Sirens wailed in the night air, most likely belonging to Storybrooke's only fire-truck. He thought he wouldn't mind if his prison went up in flames, but somehow he still felt a pang of scorn for Regina. This was no longer his prison; it was meant to be his home with Grace. Ruined, just as with everything else she touched.

_My hats…my telescopes…my living room…my candy closet…_

Even more terrifying than thousands of Reese's and Snickers melting away was the idea that Regina had done this. She had purposely tried to kill his daughter. Maybe she intended to kill him too, knowing full-well he would jump through flames for his daughter.

_I'm going to get her, _he vowed. _I don't care if she hides in every bush, tree, and mirror in Storybrooke. I will find her. _

…

Jefferson was still coughing from the overexposure to the flume of smoke when Emma showed up, the blinding whiteness of her headlights cutting through the shadows on the hill. He remained seated on a nearby tree stump with Grace in his lap, even though she was much too old for it. Her eyelids kept fluttering, but she insisted she was too frightened to sleep.

He groaned as Rumpelstiltskin emerged from the passenger's seat of the yellow Bug. It seemed the imp could not resist tagging along. _Or maybe he wants to watch my candy closet go up in flames. He must have been jealous about it, assuming his wife told him the whole story of the man who held her captive. _

"What the hell did you do? Got impatient waiting for New Years' and set off your own fireworks?" Emma approached him cautiously, her eyes narrowed in her _don't mess with me tonight _way. He must have interrupted something at the Gold household. Rumpel trailed behind her with Henry following behind him. The whole Gold family, come to watch the debacle.

"No. If I were to set fireworks off in anyone's house, it would be Regina's," he muttered. Grace's sleepy eyes brightened when she saw Henry and she climbed off his lap. She and Henry began to wander, already talking a mile a minute, especially when Grace handed Henry the hat. "Grace, not too far!"

There was no way he was letting Grace out of his sight now, not when Regina could be hanging out in a tree like an overgrown bat. Rumpel nudged his foot against Jefferson's burned leg and Jefferson couldn't stop the growl of pain bursting from his mouth.

"Would you like me to heal it?" Rumpel waved his hand and a cloud of misty purple smoke enveloped his hand. Jefferson was astonished that the imp was offering his services so freely, but perhaps he figured Jefferson had been through enough disdain for one night. Jefferson tucked his leg closer to him, away from Rumpel.

"I've had enough of magic," he spat, picking a ruined strand of the jeans from his wound. Rumpel shrugged carelessly.

"In that case, you and I can compare scars and canes the next time you visit," he mocked. Jefferson stared at Rumpel's bad leg, now healed by magic, and the cane he continued to sport hanging on his elbow. Except this one had a silver handle instead of gold. He imagined limping pitifully around town like Rumpel and gulped nervously.

Grudgingly, he plopped his foot in front of Rumpel. _Do it quick. Get it over with. _

The imp knelt down and waved his hand in front of Jefferson's leg, the magic barely touching him and yet working its wonders to take back the damage Regina had done. It was heavenly as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water on Jefferson's blistered leg. There was no saving his jeans—or else Rumpel didn't want to—but his leg only had a faint pink hue to it afterwards. He nodded his thanks to Rumpel.

"I take it Regina stopped by to say hello," Rumpel commented dryly, standing up to full height. Emma's leather-clad arms crossed over her chest. It was clear she didn't expect him to stay true to his oath of fealty.

"She was practicing target-shooting with her fireballs. I was the sitting duck," Jefferson replied tersely. For a half a second, he thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in Emma's eyes. Unfortunately, her steel wall wasn't budging until she earned the truth. "She showed up on my doorstep. Claimed she wanted to—and I quote from the cow's mouth—'use my hat to send a message to someone she left behind in the Enchanted Forest.' I told her to go to hell. So she said the same to me by trying to murder me and my daughter. Now I know what Thanksgiving turkeys feel like in the oven."

He didn't realize he was shouting until several heads turned in their direction, including Henry and Grace. Emma dropped her hands limply to her sides and with them he felt her wall chip. Rumpel flinched as he looked upon Jefferson, no doubt wondering what it would be like if Regina tried to take one of his children this way.

Jefferson's suspicions of the inner workings of Rumpel's mind were confirmed when he stepped close to Emma and briefly ran his palm over her shoulder and down to her belly. The silent detail made Jefferson's eyes widen.

"Whoa…wait a minute…you two are…" His mind was buzzing and the special word refused to come out. He gestured to Emma's belly, completely oblivious to the warning look in her eyes. "You're pre—"

He never got a chance to finish. The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back and Emma was hovering over him, having shoved him off the stump. His body cushioned her pregnant belly as she straddled him, her hands covering his mouth. He tried asking what the hell she was thinking, but it came out muffled. Taking one hand away, she began to punch him in the stomach.

"Do…not…say…that…word!"

Her fist buried into his midsection with every syllable. He was gasping under her palm by the time she was pulled away from him. He rolled onto his side and groaned into the soil. _What did I do to deserve this abuse? Is this the cost of fealty nowadays? _Then again, maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea to announce Emma's biggest weakness to the world while her archenemy might still be lurking around.

"I think you've got him, sweetheart," Gold said in her ear, patting his wife's arm encouragingly. Jefferson lurched to his feet. "You'll have to forgive Emma's emotional reactions. When she doesn't earn a proper nightly release for her raging hormones, they're left up for grabs. A ticking time-bomb, if you will."

Jefferson didn't know how to respond to that factoid. _I did not need to know about Emma's…nightly releases. _

"I'm going to kill her," Jefferson said under his breath. Gold gently moved in front of Emma protectively. "Not her! Regina." Part of it was meant for vengeance for Regina's foolish attempt on his family's life, but part of it might have been a promise to Emma as well. He cost her one child, he refused to let Regina take the second one. Emma's defiance returned, quick as those flames that nearly stole Grace.

"No, you're not," she snapped back. Jefferson cocked an eyebrow. _Why? You'll slap the cuffs on me? I should be given a medal for it, _he thought bitterly. "I'm the savior, remember? It's my job to protect the people of this town from deranged beings like Regina, not yours. Besides, I don't think you want your daughter to be parentless, do you?"

Jefferson rubbed his exposed neck scar anxiously, but did not deny his fear of Regina ripping out his heart and crushing it in front of Grace. As much as it pained him to admit it, Emma was right. He would not make the same mistake as before, leaving Grace to fend for herself.

"Shall I call Granny and let her know you're coming? Perhaps I can secure you a discount," Rumpel offered.

Jefferson knew the dealmaker long enough to know that this mockery was a shield to hide his insecurities. He kept glancing over at Henry, as if he thought the boy might vanish in a puff of smoke. _You and me both, _Jefferson thought, watching Grace clap as Henry tried on the hat. It fit him nicely.

He jumped when something touched his hand. When he looked down, he saw that another hand had covered his wrist, albeit hesitantly. It belonged to Emma.

"Look, I am going to find Regina. I swear it," she insisted, her voice confident and resembling that of a fearless leader. Still, all he had to do was look past her shoulder to see Grace and reflect on how close he'd come to losing her tonight. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Emma's savior abilities; he just knew there would be casualties in this war between her family and Regina. Would Grace be one of those casualties? What about Belle?

"I'll believe it when I see her body on a platter with an apple in her mouth," he finally said. Emma's gaze hardened and she removed her hand. Gone was the sympathy.

"Here I thought she had your loyalty. Fleeing with your tail between your legs so soon?" Rumpel scoffed sourly. Jefferson suddenly wished the imp had stayed home with the furry garbage disposal, even if he had healed Jefferson's leg.

"She does. I bent the knee, didn't I? I'm just saying…Regina will be as easy to take down as Michael Myers," he responded with a false smile stretching across his lips. Emma wore a hideous frown. He could tell by her restless shifting that she no longer wanted to be here, savior or not.

"We're done here," she said coldly and turned her back before he responded. Jefferson wondered if she meant interrogating him or the fealty. Even if they didn't exactly see eye to eye, she had to admit that she needed all the help she could get. Rumpel leered at Jefferson's now healed leg. Was he regretting healing it so efficiently?

"Let me know how your experience goes at Granny's. I've never had the pleasure of trying it myself," Rumpel said before following his wife. _That's because you're wealthy enough to have a secluded cabin in the woods where no one will hear you two scream, _Jefferson silently retorted to the imp's retreating back. _Ugh, great. I just cursed myself with those gruesome mental images! _

Those disturbing thoughts flew right out of his head when Belle rushed past Rumpel and Emma and into his arms. Over her shoulder and through the flowing shade of chestnut curls, he saw Emma turn halfway to watch the two of them. She must have been the one to call Belle.

"Jefferson, I'm sorry. Your beautiful house," she moaned into his neck. He glanced at the charred framing where Grace's window should be and immediately felt a twinge of sorrow. He rubbed Belle's back, trying hopelessly to soothe their worries away.

"I've been meaning to redecorate, anyway."

….

"Jealous?" Emma nudged Gold in the ribs as her husband struggled to remove his eyes from where Belle embraced Jefferson. Between that, Regina's latest insanity, and Emma's habit of keeping him awake at night, he was visibly worn. Through the exhaustion, he forced a light smile and guided his wife into his arms.

"Why should I be? She's not the one with the magic touch," he drawled.

Clasping her hand, he brought it to his lips to kiss the pads of her fingertips one by one. It was when he daringly took one whole into his mouth that she let out an excited gasp and punched him on the chest. Not too hard, but enough for him to know his place. She suddenly wished it was cold out. That way, no one would think to question her raw, red cheeks.

"What do you think about that?" Emma jerked her head toward Jefferson's burned house. Most of it was still standing, but the tragedy of the fire was easy to see from the half of the house that hosted Grace's bedroom.

Gold wondered if answering her question truthfully would increase his chances of being her Deputy. Of course, as Emma put it, there was a reason she was happy to come home every evening. He wasn't sure that friendliness would last if he was around her all hours of the day.

"It seems Hell is not a destination on Regina's bucket list," he quipped. She gave him a stern look that was meant to silence any further remarks.

"I meant…what do you think about Regina's purpose for being here? Who is it that she's trying to send a message to in the Enchanted Forest? Who does she want to bring over here? The giant from _Jack and the Beanstalk?" _

Gold gave an unconvincing shrug. His gaze was distant and thoughtful, the way it often was when he was in the process of calculating something in his head. His brown eyes roved over the still smoking section of the house, but Emma sensed he wasn't truly seeing it. She stepped into his line of vision, forcing his mind to return to reality and his eyes to befall her.

She knew he knew something.

"Who?" She repeated more forcefully, willing him to tell her the truth. Whatever it was, she was sure she could handle it. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting his words carefully before allowing them to slip through his lips. There couldn't be anyone in the Enchanted Forest worse than Regina…right?

"I…have a few candidates in mind," he admitted reluctantly. Emma laid her hand on his arm, pressuring him to continue. He released a ragged sigh, one born of pure aggravation. "I just don't understand how the curse bypassed them. Except for those in other lands, it was meant to take everyone away into this world." He curled his fingers into his palm and unfurled them restlessly.

"After the curse, could they have transported into the Enchanted Forest? By some…ship or portal? Or whatever you guys used to travel between worlds," Emma suggested. Gold did not hesitate to shake his head.

"Portal jumpers were often used to travel between worlds, Jefferson being the best of them. Unless, of course, one knew how to access individual portals. I suspect it would be futile, though. Entering the Enchanted Forest then would be the same as trying to enter Storybrooke while the curse was in place. Ever wonder why you were our first tourist, Emma?"

She peered over the edge of the hill to the view of the town below, as if she could see those magical barriers shimmering in the air. Gold grew more flustered with every passing second to the point of pacing back and forth beside her.

"For the curse to sweep over their heads and not touch them, there would have to be some kind of barrier. Magical, obviously. The Big Bad Wolf would only wish he—or she—could blow the Three Little Pigs' houses down that fast," Gold said, thinking out loud. Emma waited quietly.

Finally, he paused in pacing and the expression on his face was one that cartoon characters often wore whenever the light bulb clicked on over their heads. The euphoria lasted a mere second before dismay overrode it. Emma craned her neck to stare up at him expectantly.

"Regina once told me that her mother was dead, that she had seen her corpse with her own two eyes. The funny thing about our world is that people who are dead have trouble staying dead." That she had not been expecting at all. Was Regina's mother going to come here with dentures, gray hair, and chasing them down with a walker as she vowed world domination?

"So, you think Regina's mother might come to Storybrooke? Is she really that much of a threat? Granted, she gave birth to Regina," Emma said dubiously. Disquiet settled over Gold's shoulders, which made Emma think twice about laughing off the matter. If the Dark One was worried, they should all be ducking for cover.

"Believe me, dearie, she's no pushover. As dark as Regina may be, her mother is far worse. Whereas Regina is content with burning a child alive after being rejected, her mother would transport an entire orphanage onto a crumbling cliff to make a statement. Also, I may have…taught her magic."

Emma blanched.

"In what part of your magic-fused mind did you think it was a good idea to teach someone like Regina's mother how to do magic? That's like handing a pyromaniac a bucket filled with gasoline, matches, and fireworks and saying Happy Halloween," she stated. Inevitably, she looked toward the house again. Apparently, the pyro already struck. Gold's face contorted with guilt and despair.

"It's complicated to explain. I never had a pupil before. Cora…" All he had to do was voice her name and everything clicked into place for Emma. She gaped openly at her husband until he lowered his eyes to his expensive shoes, now caked with the dust from the hill.

"Oh, my God! You _liked _her! Like…_like-liked _her! You…and Regina's _mother_?"

He waved his hands in an attempt to calm her, but it was too late. Emma bent over at the waist and pretended to stick a finger down her throat. She was suddenly thankful that Belle was his closest ex-girlfriend. There was no way she would have lunch and compare notes with Regina's mother.

"Please—and I cannot stress that word enough—please tell me Regina is not your…you know…daughter?" That word suck to the roof of Emma's mouth like peanut butter, except for the fact that it tasted rancid. Gold's eyes couldn't get wider if you put clamps on his eyelids. "I'll take that as a no. I was afraid you were going to tell me that Regina was my stepdaughter as well as my step-grandmother. Something along the lines of _Emma, you are Regina's mother_ in a breathy, raspy Darth Vader type voice." _Thank God, _Emma added in her head, her knees weak with relief. _As if our family tree isn't messed up enough. _

"What happened between me and Regina's mother was…a very long time ago and nothing but a lustful fling. It was not true in any sense of the word. I thought I fell for her, but she never loved me. All she craved was power, much like her fireball-happy offspring," he explained in a dour tone. Emma remembered he once told her that he'd never been very lucky in love. No wonder he was convinced Belle would be the same disaster after several black marks on his record.

"Should I worry?" He brushed a stray curl out of her face and tried to smile reassuringly.

"About Cora potentially making her way to Storybrooke, assuming she is still alive? Perhaps. About her sweeping me off my feet? Absolutely not. Whatever I felt for Cora died shortly after her betrayal. I feel nothing for that woman except pain of heart and contempt," he assured her. He wagged his finger as though a new thought had occurred to him. "Although, Regina's father was not a bad fellow. A bit like a field mouse that happened to wed himself to a lion. Everyone seemed to forget about him, even when he was in the room. It made me want to invite him to teatime to give him an escape from Cora."

Emma snickered in the back of her throat at the idea of Rumpelstiltskin's tea partner.

"I'm sure you two would have enjoyed comparing notes on Regina's mother. Just as I compare notes on you with Belle," she teased.

She started back to Henry and Grace, the hill now clearing out of firefighters and onlookers. The fire had long burned out and it was still the middle of the night. She would have to drop Jefferson, Grace, and Belle off to Granny's Inn. Jefferson was already hanging around her Bug, asking Henry how many times the backseat was sprayed down with Lysol. _I'll have Jefferson, Grace, and Belle in my backseat. Wonderful. It's a good thing Gold and I prefer the cabin or his shop. _

"Regina will not give in so easily," Gold abruptly announced from her side. "If we're lucky—a doubtful thing when she's concerned—Jefferson's rejection will have deterred her plans to send any such message to the Enchanted Forest. If she is intent on bringing her mother to Storybrooke, it might mean…we have less time than we thought."

He walked on without Emma, whose stride had slowed. She observed Jefferson and Grace, all the while weighing the truth in Gold's words. Were they truly running out of time? She almost felt it slipping through her fingers. The time for happiness was ending and Regina's revenge was only beginning.

…

He stood alone on a flimsy strip of beach, watching the sun burn on the horizon. The sky shifted from its white emptiness to pale pink to blood red while the crystal blue waters of the seemingly endless ocean seeped away, becoming darker and darker until it appeared black. A world stained with blood and fire, ink and darkness.

The thumb of his right hand methodically traced the icy curve of the silver hook that sprouted from his wrist where his left hand should be. The phantom sensations were worse these days now that time had begun to move again. Some mornings he awoke and tried to wiggle the fingers of his forsaken left hand and swore that he could almost feel it there, as if that nasty tragedy from 300 years ago was nothing but a nightmare. But every time he looked, there was only a crude hook that mocked him.

His precious hand.

It had been useful for so many things. For one thing, it took him ages to figure out how not to stab or poke a woman when he had her on her back. Whenever he tried to brush a hand over her body in all the right places, he would use the wrong limb and she'd scream for the wrong reasons. It was a major turn-off.

Everything that was once so simple was suddenly made a challenge for him. He couldn't dress himself. Every time he reached out his left hand to grab something, he only knocked everything down. He had to eat food one-handed unless his hook poked through the food. Though, he figured his hook might be good for fishing.

Habitually, he used his hook to drag up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing the skin of his wrist. There was a tattoo, with the name _Milah _in scripted black letters. If he had his left hand, he would clench it tightly. _I shall have my revenge soon, Milah. I swear it, that imp will not go unpunished for what he did. And if I fail the first time, I will try again until I get it right. I've had plenty of time to come up with back-up plans. _

Hook peered up and down the beach, turning his head left and right. He snapped his fingers a couple times, secretly wished he could do the same with his left hand, and dug his boot in the sand impatiently. At this stage of his boredom, building a sand castle seemed extremely fun. Perhaps he would even fashion a sand-Rumpel and use sand-cannons to blow him down.

How long would he have to wait for her? Did she perhaps fall in a ditch? If that were true, he would find that ditch, stand near the edge, point at her far below, and laugh until his sides hurt. _Here's to hoping she won't return and know I was wishing for her early demise, _he thought, checking over his shoulder. Sometimes it seemed that woman was a mind-reader.

Nightfall. He'd give her until nightfall. After that, perhaps he would seek out the crocodile's lair and make himself at home. He closed his eyes and began to fantasize about it. Oh, yeah…he would dine like a king, feasting on all of Rumpelstiltskin's food and wine. He would burn that spinning wheel if it was still there and dance around its ashes in glee. He would scribble his name all over the walls, trash his library, ransack his closets, sleep in his bed. Nude.

Hook giggled euphorically.

"Boo," a voice hissed in his ear at the same exact time that a pair of fingers crawled up the back of his neck. He yelped and scrambled away across the sand, kicking flurries of it over the hem of Cora's satin skirts. The evil witch towered over him in all her dark glory, smiling that creepy smile of hers.

"Gods! Why must you do that? Are you trying to kill me?" _Please don't answer that question truthfully, _he added in his head.

He concentrated on slowing his pounding heart. He hated it when she appeared out of nowhere! Would it kill her to sneeze or cough or walk along the beach like a normal person? No, instead she had to pop up behind him and touch him all the time. He scowled as he got to his feet and brushed the sand off his leather pants.

"That's a good way to get a hook buried in your chest," he advised.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said calmly, her voice more sultry than Hook could ever stomach. He hoped that shudder he felt wasn't too noticeable.

"Remind me again why I agreed to work with you?" _Or am I just that desperate?_

Cora's ebony eyes darkened a shade as she stepped closer to his side. Her skirts swept over his boot and he took a step back to put more distance between them. Usually he was used to having women undress him with their eyes, but this…this was torture. More than once, he seriously considered going celibate from now on.

"Because you want revenge on the man who stole your heart," she said slowly, as though speaking to someone exceptionally slow in the ways of thinking. He cringed. Why did she have to phrase it that way? "And I wish to find my daughter." He fought the urge to scoff in her face. Right, the daughter who sent him to Wonderland to kill her. The daughter who cast this curse and kept them isolated here for….oh, he lost track of the time years ago. Oh, yes, her daughter was quite the gem.

Cora abruptly slapped him on the back of the head.

"What was that for?" He rubbed the spot just above his neck. It felt as if Cora literally plunged her hand into his skull. Her scarlet lips pinched in an unsatisfied frown.

"For berating my daughter inside your head," she snapped coldly. _She really is a mind-reader, _he thought nervously. "If there is something you need to get off your chest, Killian, be brave enough to do it. Do not act the coward or take me for a fool." The term _coward _stung him worse than her blow. She was mocking him, wasn't she?

"It's about time you arrived," he complained. "What the hell were you doing? Taking a detour to jump on Rumpelstiltskin's bed? Need I remind you my time is precious?" Any amusement that Cora might have had in thinking about Rumpelstiltskin's bed vanished. He could swear a cold wind skated over his body as she sneered.

"Please. You've waited 300 years. Another hour wouldn't kill you," she retorted. Her focus returned to the waters that stretched wide before them and Hook desperately tried to rid the sensation of watching the sunset with someone like her. He almost assumed that Cora would not tell him what she was doing. "I was busy brushing up on my intimacy skills in hopes that you and I will soon repopulate this desolate land with our smiling pirate children."

_And that is where I draw the line, _he thought in alarm. Why did she keep _smiling_ like that? Hook deliberately slid a step away from her. And then another. Cora chuckled deeply in her throat.

"That, my dear Killian, is what most people refer to as…a joke," she taunted. He wasn't entirely convinced that she was kidding. He only prayed that his dreams tonight would not be filled with the disgusting visuals of the children Cora was planning to share with him.

Her hands dipped into the folds of her dress and for a minute he was afraid she intended to free herself from it until she revealed a vial filled with some strange powder. _If that's some kind of pixie dust from this land, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground. I've had too many bad experiences with flying. It's not like pixie dust comes with a set of instructions. _

"Do you know what this is?" She held the vial out to him, though she did not allow him to accept it into his one good hand. He stroked his jaw with the curve of his hook as he studied it.

"That…is a jar of ash," he pointed out flatly. He wondered which creature it belonged to. Though he always associated Cora with ripping out the beating hearts of her victims. It reminded him of that grisly day, the worst day of his life. Cora cradled the vial close to her bosom, drumming her razor-sharp fingernails over the stopper.

"Precisely," she said.

Hook scratched his head in confusion—with the wrong hand, of course, taking a few strands of black hair with it. Three centuries and he still had trouble accepting the fact that he had a hook for a hand. It was embarrassing enough that his first-mate, Smee had to help him with the buttons on his shirt and tying his boots.

Cora was clearly waiting for an answer. She was staring at him expectantly. Had she finally lost her sanity? How was a jar of ash supposed to help? The most they could do with it was throw it in the air and pretend it was snowing. Ash-angels didn't sound as pleasing to make as snow-angels.

Finally, Cora's impatience won out and she growled under her breath. It came without warning, a flip of the switch. One minute she was smiling eerily, the next she was looking at him as if she wanted to roast him up for supper and stick an apple down his throat. One of these mornings, he was afraid he would wake to find Cora looming over him with his heart in her hands.

"Incompetence becomes you. These are the ashes of a wardrobe I discovered in the ruins of a castle. King George's, I believe. The wardrobe was brimming with magic. I was quite happy when I found it. So happy…that I accidentally unleashed several fireballs and burned it down."

Hook took another step away from her. A long step. If that's what happened when she was overjoyed, what happened when she was furious?

"And you're certain these…enchanted ashes are the key to finding Rumpelstiltskin and your daughter?" Cora tilted her head at him condescendingly. She carefully tucked the vial of ashes back into the hidden folds of her dress. He averted his gaze.

"The least you can do is lend me your faith. You will have your revenge, I promise you. In time, you'll see I never break my word." Hook rolled his eyebrows doubtfully at her. _You'll have to forgive me if I don't hold my breath, Your Majesty. _Thankfully, she turned her attentions elsewhere. "There are only a few other items we'll need, of course. Then you and I will be able to create a portal that will lead to Regina's land without magic."

Hook wondered how deprived Cora would be in such a world. She used magic for everything—straightening her hair, traveling long distances, opening doors, flipping pages of a book…For that matter, he wondered how Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous Dark One, was faring without magic.

Not for the first time, Hook considered the idea that a world without magic didn't even exist. What kind of world was a world without magic? It was preposterous. Fate would be cruel if that world did not exist and Regina unknowingly sent everyone in this world to their untimely doom. Robbed him of his vengeance.

What would he even do if he got revenge on Rumpelstiltskin? What meaning would his life have after that? He supposed he would settle down on some remote beach and enjoy the rest of his days under the sun with a coconut in his…hand. Perhaps he would ask someone to craft him a golden hand to replace this ghastly hook.

"Soon I shall reunite with my daughter," Cora finished.

"And I shall skin a crocodile," he added, admiring the way his hook gleamed in the sinking sunlight. He longed for the day when it would pierce Rumpelstiltskin's beating heart. The next time he looked up to meet Cora's eyes, that unnerving smile was plastered on her lips again. A bad feeling fluttered in his stomach. _Something tells me she's not thinking about how beautiful the sunset is. _

"Tell me, Killian…how much experience do you have with climbing beanstalks?"

…..

_**Hmm…I suppose I should have mentioned there might be a couple of guest appearances this chapter. (-; While I might include some events from Season 2, some details might change to fit my own story, Emma going to FT Land with Snow being one of them. In that case, I might have a few surprises up my sleeve for this story. **_

_**Shout-out time! For wonderful reviews, I thank DaesGatling, Huntress4455, The Auburn Girl, Revenessa, The-Writer2012, megumisakura, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, orthankg1, PrincessofSea, Fairy Demon26, TheOreoBrit, I am Tiny, BundyShoes, Sweetangelz18, reginamillz, sbcarri, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	62. Chapter 62

"Emma, please _slow_ _down_," her husband huffed, trying desperately to keep up with her.

She had driven Jefferson, Belle, and a sleeping Grace to Granny's Inn and did not leave until they were safely settled there for the night. After that, still seething about Regina's latest treachery, she had dropped Henry off at his grandparents' and returned to the hill to search for the evil witch. Of course, her husband insisted on trailing her every step of the way to make sure neither she nor the baby were hurt. Even if it meant using the trees as support because his engines were failing.

"I have to find her. She went too far this time; she almost killed an innocent child! I am not letting her get away with it," she roared over her shoulder.

Hot tears blurred her vision, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Twigs snapped under her boots as she stomped through the woods surrounding Jefferson's hill. The milky beam of her flashlight wavered unsteadily as her hand trembled in anger. The other hand curled restlessly into a fist, swinging close to her holstered gun.

"I understand, dear. I loathe Regina's arson and attempted murder as much as you do. But you shouldn't drive yourself so hard while…delivering packages," he advised. Emma winced at his use of the term _packages_, code for her little one. As if Regina wouldn't be able to translate. "I, for one, am in need of a rest and perhaps a deep tissue massage."

_Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, _Emma envisioned it in her mind, if Gold wasn't too tired to run ahead and do it himself. It might have been nice to stop, return home, indulge in a few massages inside and out, be happy instead of angry…but Emma couldn't think about doing that tonight. She had sworn to protect the people of this town, so the woods were where she would stay.

"There's no time for resting. Regina's obviously not resting or taking a trip to the spa. She's plotting her next move on the chessboard. And I promised Jefferson I would find her, so this is me keeping that promise. I'm the savior; I have to do _something_," she argued, pushing on even harder than before.

Her feet narrowly missed the gnarled roots uplifting from the ground while her green eyes scanned the shadows for any sign of a moving figure. She considered places that were near the hill, places Regina might lay low. She thought about trapdoors and hidden burrows in the ground, with Regina huddling in a corner like a rat beneath Emma's boots. Was Regina that smart or resourceful? Emma doubted it. Yet, Regina somehow continued to elude her fishing net.

She had to be here somewhere. She was slinking around under their radar and it bothered Emma worse than if she'd been wearing a sweater fashioned out of shards of glass and itchy eyelashes.

Where the hell was she? Hiding in a tree like Tarzan? What if she transported by magic? Emma would never find her if that were the case. _I have to try, _she thought, snuffing out the poisonous notion of giving in early.

"Emma, there are countless variables to consider in terms of Regina's lair and mode of transportation," Gold pointed out in a thick rasp. Even if his limp was cured, his body wasn't as young as it used to be and not well-suited for this sort of power-walking. "Remember: she has magic. In the blink of an eye, she could move from this hill to anywhere in this town. For all we know, she could be a little green worm living in an apple on a branch of her apple tree. It'll be as difficult to track her down as it is catching the Roadrunner."

Emma finally halted in her tracks as Gold echoed her fears. Unleashing that negativity into the universe only made Emma feel as if she were falling further away from Regina, not closer. She turned to face her husband with a fierce glare.

"Are you insinuating that I am Wile E. Coyote? That I'll continuously fail to find Regina and I should quit while I'm ahead? Tell me, _honey_, how do you like sleeping on the couch?"

The color drained from Gold's face. He was struck silent for a moment. From the look of his troubled expression, he was replaying his words in his head to see if they really sounded that bad. The way he nervously fidgeted with the collar of his suit suggested they did.

"No, no, of course not," he rushed to cover his mistake. He reached out to her, but she took a step beyond his reach, causing his hand to fall limp. "You are much more productive than that. I'm only suggesting…it's a lot of ground to cover. Regina would have stayed for the bonfire, but I fear she returned to her hole a long time ago. She won't be here. I know you feel it's your responsibility as the savior, but it will not help matters if you endanger yourself before the battle has even begun."

He gestured to her belly. In a sense, Emma knew he was right. Regina would relish it if Emma hurt herself in hot pursuit, more if she learned Emma lost a second child.

Emma's resolve weakened. In the darkness, the woods appeared suffocating and endless, a labyrinth of trees and shadows. There were too many places for Regina to hide and Emma was admittedly running out of steam. A pregnant Sheriff and a previously lame imp weren't very promising in terms of conducting a search.

"I have to do something," she insisted, though this time it was less forceful. Gold took the opportunity to sweep forward and rest a hand on her arm. It was the comfort needed to break Emma. "Grace could have died tonight. That scares me, because it means I'm not doing my job as savior right. Where would that leave Jefferson? He'd perish in the flames trying to save his daughter or live for the revenge and go mad afterwards. Well, mad_der. _It shouldn't be his job to find Regina, it should be _mine_. If I don't fight for the people of this town, what right do I have to call myself a savior?"

Gold cradled her body against his, her head falling to his shoulder. The hot, furious tears could not be stopped any longer. They dampened his suit and Emma's body shuddered in his arms. He whispered 'shh' in her ear over and over, stroking her hair.

"I just wish I knew where she would think of hiding," Emma exclaimed. Her nails dug into Gold's back, her frustration radiating off her body in waves. She was tired, she was angry, she was pregnant, she craved pickles and ice cream…Not a good combination.

"There are a few possibilities," Gold hinted. Emma lifted her head, listening intently. She wiped the moisture off her flushed cheeks. If there was anyone who knew Regina well in this town, it was Rumpelstiltskin. Dare she hope?

"Tell me," Emma encouraged impatiently. The wheels in his head were turning rapidly; she could almost hear their cranking and spinning, never slowing just like the spinning wheel in their basement.

"If I know Regina, she'll choose a place she views as belonging solely to her, a place she declares her rightful territory, somewhere dark, desolate, and beyond your influence. In our land, she had Snow's father's castle, earned by ruthlessly murdering her dear old husband. Here…she has her glorious mansion, the seat of power in the form of her office, and the Mills' family crypt in the cemetery."

Emma pictured each one as Gold rattled them off. Simultaneously, she knocked each one down.

"She wouldn't go back to her house; she knows it's the first place I'd tear apart inch by inch after the scene of the crime. She wouldn't go back to her office, either. It's right in the center of Storybrooke. Unless she thinks she can hide under the desk or she has a secret room. The crypt is too small and cramped. What would she do if I went there? Hide in the casket?"

Despite the way she despairingly rejected each location, a hint of a smile broke out over her husband's face. It wasn't just any smile, either. It was the sly, cryptic one he wore whenever he bested someone in a deal or when he possessed knowledge that no one else was privy to. Clearly, there was something she missed.

"You'd be surprised what secrets Regina keeps close to her overexposed chest. Secrets I happen to know," he lilted, leading the way back down the twisted trail from whence they came. Emma followed slowly, drifting as if stuck in a strange dream. "Shall we try the crypt first? Or would you prefer her office? I must admit, there are many things I'd like to do atop Regina's desk."

This time, Emma felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips.

….

The Mills' family crypt was located in the heart of the cemetery. It seemed Regina liked to be the center of everything in this town, even in death.

Emma trudged up to it and stared demurely at its door. The last time she was here was with Graham the night he died. Her throat grew thick with the memory of Storybrooke's late sheriff. _Another casualty because of Regina. Another good man struck down, _she mused bitterly, clenching her hand into a fist.

"Ladies first," Gold said, gesturing to the old door that led to Regina's father's burial ground. Emma wondered what secrets could be buried here. _There's nothing here. Graham and I already checked. What does Gold expect me to do? Open the casket and question Regina's father?_

"How charming of you," she shot over her shoulder, heading for the crypt's entrance. Better to get this over with as soon as possible. "This should only take two minutes."

A dry chuckle licked at her heels. She slammed her shoulder against the door, but it only cracked a few inches. She didn't remember it being this heavy.

"Your skepticism reminds me of our dating days," her husband said. Emma spun to gape at him incredulously. She figured he only ever said something like this because he loved getting a rise out of her. Unfortunately when it came to Gold, she was the stupid fish who never failed to bite the hook.

"Um, we didn't have 'dating days,'" she argued, hooking her fingers into air-quotes. "You put something in my drink and married me. I just happened to fall in love with you." Gold shrugged, though the forming smirk on his lips claimed he was quite satisfied with the way things turned out between them.

"I put a lust potion in your drink, if we're being technical. You obviously harbored some previous admiration for me or it wouldn't have worked half as well as it did." Emma kicked the door with the toe of her boot. She searched her mind for some form of protest against that accusation, but too many details were rising to the surface.

Even when she thought she didn't like Gold, there were times when she appreciated the way he appeared to hold unspoken respect for her. There were times when she considered Gold's accent to be smooth and seductive, even if she dreaded hearing it pop up unannounced in her ear. There were also times when she begrudgingly admitted that, for all his mockery and unsettling aura, the man knew how to dress well in those suits.

The smirk transformed into a full-fledged impish grin. He knew what she was thinking. Heat filled her cheeks, so she pretended to be busy with the door. She could reach her hand in, but not her whole body. How did Regina get in here? With a pickaxe? Or did she just enjoy blowing the door down?

"It makes me wonder who else you tried your love potion on," she grumbled.

Ruby, perhaps, in an attempt to wrangle some free sundaes or cherries out of her? Nah, Ruby didn't need love potions—all it took was compliments and attention. Granny probably wouldn't budge even with several love potions…unless _she _ended up marrying Gold. Oh, God, what if he tried it on Mary Margaret? Both Mary Margaret and Snow seemed to have respect for Gold. Gold wouldn't be that bad of a choice; the woman slept with Frankenstein, after all.

Not that Emma wanted to reminisce about those traumatic post-childhood memories.

"Lust," Gold insisted. "There are no such things as love potions because love cannot be fabricated. There are lust potions and there are ways to brainwash a person into _thinking _they love you, but it does not resemble the beauty of love. I certainly never put a lust spell on you when you drank one too many in Georgia and offered to massage my leg. That was all you."

Gold nudged her out of the way. He removed a black handkerchief from inside his suit and used its protection to wrap his hand around the crypt's door handle. Emma suspected he was afraid of catching Regina's cooties. He gave the door one hard thrust and it creaked open, allowing them entrance.

"I loosened it," she insisted. Gold patted the small of her back before tucking the handkerchief back into his suit.

"Of course you did, sweetheart."

Emma gave him a warning look to silence his jeering before taking a deep breath of musty air and stepping inside the crypt. The sound of her boots clomping on the cement floor echoed off the walls, followed by the thunderous slam of the crypt door. The casket filled up almost the entire room, forcing Emma to sidle alongside it and press close to the dusty, cold wall. She flicked on her flashlight and swiveled it around, sweeping over the crypt's interior in less than one minute. _And Gold and I still have one minute to spare, _she thought.

"Nothing here," she concluded. A wave of disappointment unexpectedly washed over her. She didn't realize until that moment that she'd had a tiny bit of hope for the opposite, that she and Gold would stumble upon something to use against Regina.

Gold stepped up behind her and she turned her head to inhale his scent. Not even his cologne could trump the disgusting fumes of dust and decay in this crypt.

"You think so?" Emma tilted her head at him, trying to figure out what detail she was missing. New hope sparked to life inside her and she ran her hands through every crevice, crack, indent, and over every surface she could find.

Was there a hidden button somewhere that would open a secret hiding spot in the cemetery? Was there a jar filled with strange ingredients or disturbing trophies? She even debated whether to open the coffin before deciding that she didn't want to know what Regina really used it for if not her father's late corpse.

Emma's search came up empty-handed. She sighed in defeat, tugging through the strands of her blonde hair.

"Gold, there's nothing here. It's a waste of time," she moaned, slumping against the casket. There was an odd shift under her butt, making her jump back. It was almost as if the casket…moved. Aiming her light at the floor, she saw it. The grooves embedded in the floor and a sliver between the floor and casket that wasn't there before.

There was something down there.

She glanced suspiciously at Gold and saw his brown eyes gleam in the dimness.

"You knew about this?" She pointed the beam of her flashlight to the disturbed casket. His lips pressed tightly together like he was holding in a laugh.

"I'd rather not be the one to say _I told you so_, given your no-nonsense nature," he said, moving to her side to help her shift the casket. His breath warmed her neck as she started to push. "I told you so."

Emma paused long enough to swat him on the back of the head. The casket groaned, sliding easily under the power of their conjoined strength. As the casket was pushed farther to the right, a hole opened up below it, leading into some dark, hidden space. A set of stairs beckoned them to descend into the unknown.

Emma's eyes widened in awe. How many other secret rooms did Regina have in this town?

She carefully stepped down into the darkness, only to find a short hallway and a circular chamber beyond it. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with mysterious boxes. No, not boxes, exactly. Drawers. Cabinets. Some had symbols carved into the front, which were glowing off and on a deep, sinister red, blinking like Christmas bulbs. _What the hell is Regina keeping down here? _

"I would put your mind at ease about what Regina stores in this vault, but I know you've always preferred to have evidence. It'll be best if you look for yourself," Gold said, answering her thoughts. He leaned against the wall and waited for her to conduct a search.

Emma scanned the wall of strangely glowing cabinets. Choosing one at random, she wrenched it open to reveal its contents. The drawer contained a wooden box. Emma pulled it out and flipped the lid open. A second later she dropped it, leaving it to crash at her feet.

"What…the hell…is that?" Part of her already knew precisely what it was, but her mind refused to put a proper name to it. It had to be some sort of trick or hallucination. It couldn't be what she thought it was. It had been sitting in that box, just sitting there, and it was beating…

"You know what it is, Emma," her husband said gloomily. He crossed to her side and bent to retrieve the box at her feet. Opening the box, he dipped his hand in and scooped it out, a glowing, red…a…"A heart. One of many that Regina has stored away in these walls. She learned the habit from her mother, I believe. They didn't call Cora the Queen of Hearts because she was as charitable as Mother Theresa."

Emma couldn't stop staring at the pulsing organ in Gold's palm. The Queen of Hearts was Regina's mother. There were dozens—no, hundreds—of hearts hidden in this vault. Hundreds of people tortured and struck down. She swore she could hear every one of those hearts throbbing and beating, begging to be released.

"Oh, God," she murmured.

Her stomach twisted with vicious knots as her mind jumped to conclusions. Her legs grew weak and started to buckle, but Gold quickly caught her in his arms before she hit the floor. Tears stung her eyelids and no matter how hard she tried, she failed to block out the sight of those glowing carved symbols.

"Graham. Graham was right. He told me Regina was keeping his heart here and I…I didn't listen. If I listened…he'd still be alive…" Her body shuddered violently, straining against Gold's arms. He gently set the box down and held her closer, his hand smoothing her hair away from her forehead.

"Emma, please, do not do this," he whispered in her ear. "Graham's death was _not_ your fault; it was Regina's. She's the one who ripped his heart from his chest and she's the one who crushed it mercilessly between her fingers. Not you. You may not have saved his life, but you managed to save his _soul. _He did not die as Graham, Storybrooke's cursed Sheriff and Regina's bedmate. He died as the Huntsman, his true self. Please, dear, this stress is not healthy for the baby."

Emma sucked in harsh breath after harsh breath, all the while feeling as though the walls were closing in on her. She struggled to regain her composure and feebly rose to her feet. She confined herself to one side of the room and rested her head against the cool, gray wall. When she turned back to face her husband, she had constructed her face into stone again.

"Sorry. Must be the hormones," she mumbled. Guilt passed over Gold's face and he reached out to stroke her arm.

"No, Emma. You deserve to grieve for Graham. You never truly had the chance before; you've let it build up inside you. If anything, you are strong for being able to remember him as he was. He was a good man," he admitted respectfully. Emma turned into his warmth slightly. _When I take down Regina, _she thought to herself, _Graham will be one of those people I'm fighting for. _

"I want to return the hearts," she announced without warning. The minute she saw that heart in that box, she had no doubt about what she would do to correct the matter. How many people in Storybrooke were walking around heartless? Numb to their loved ones?

Gold gazed at her, stunned.

"You want to…what?" Emma gestured to the walls filled with countless drawers.

"I can't let her keep these hearts here. Who's to say she won't use them against the people of this town? If she crushes even one of them and kills the owner of that unfortunate heart, their life will be on my head and Regina knows it. I want to stop her before she starts on a warpath. I want to return them to their rightful owners, assuming they're still alive." Gold nodded considerately, his eyes shining with deep respect for her.

"If their owners have passed, the hearts will be useless. They'll have stopped glowing. That one, for instance—" He nudged his shoe on the edge of the box at his feet, "—is still very much alive. The trick will be locating each owner. Regina wasn't courteous enough to attach nametags. Or do you expect us to go door-to-door, ring the bell, and say: _excuse me, but are you by any chance missing a heart?_"

Emma wasn't amused by his sarcasm.

"What about that finding spell you're using to find Bae? Can't you use some kind of finding spell to locate the owners of these hearts?" Gold's fingers curled over the head of his cane until the knuckles turned white.

"I could…" Emma's spirits lifted. That was the first bit of good news she'd experienced all night, save for Grace and Jefferson not perishing in that fire.

"Great. Now why do I sense a _but _in this statement?" Gold's eyes averted to the cracked floor. Sometimes she hated being right.

"_But_….it will take an extraordinary amount of magic to produce enough of the finding spell to locate hundreds of heartless owners. Then there's the matter of restoring the hearts, which consumes even more magic. The price will be astronomical at the least," he warned. Emma weighed it out in her head. Paying the price to restore the hearts of hundreds of Regina's victims. She refused to let Regina keep this vault of hearts in business.

"Please," she pleaded, moving to his side and wrapping her arms around his body. He bit the inside of his cheek and fought the urge to give into her touch, but she already sensed him breaking. "Think of all the good it would do. Think of all the power we could take away from Regina with these hearts."

He exhaled deeply and she knew she had him. His hand curled around her waist.

"Very well. You'll have to keep me awake tonight, then," he said, kissing her temple. It would be a fairly simple task, encouraging Gold onward through the night to concoct a batch or two of the finding potion. Pride filled her chest and she felt like she had actually done something worthwhile as the savior.

"Your parents would be proud of you for fighting back the way you are," he murmured, stroking her cheek. Emma turned her head away so he wouldn't see the blush rising to her cheeks. After Henry first showed her the story of Snow White in his book, she secretly aspired to be as good, as strong, and as fair as her apparent mother.

"So, what else does Regina have in here?"

She slipped from her husband's embrace and wandered to the inner circular chamber. An ancient mirror covered the wall opposite the stairs, a thin sheen of dust and grime shielding the glass. On the wall to her left, there were more hearts. On the wall to her right, there were various alcoves that held unfamiliar items and bottles. Emma's curiosity led her to those alcoves to examine each item in her fingers.

"Oh, trinkets and spells Her Majesty could not resist leaving behind in the Enchanted Forest," Gold replied, watching her test each item in her hands. He walked to the mirror and stared into it for a few moments. Emma figured he was admiring his reflection. It took her by surprise when he lifted up his cane and drove it into the mirror, shattering it into tiny shards and fragments.

"Are you upset about Graham, too?" Gold observed the way the shards rained around his feet and he deliberately crushed a few under his shoes.

"No. I don't like people spying on me without my permission." Emma arched an eyebrow. It was the same look someone gave another when they were concerned about their sanity and were deeply considering shipping them off to a padded cell. He waved his hand over the glass and they dissolved into a fine powder, blowing away on some invisible wind. "Regina uses mirrors to watch others." She was no longer concerned with Gold's state of mind. She was musing over Regina's.

"Gold, when we get home tonight, I'm covering up the mirrors," she said.

"I figured you would." It's what he did in his Dark Castle. Too many times he sensed a presence watching over him while he spun. Emma replaced a green-colored vial in one of the alcoves and took up another, this one sapphire blue. She had a perplexing look on her face, the look of someone who just thought of something funny.

"We can always put mirrors on the ceiling of our bedroom," she suggested. He chuckled, enjoying the way heat spread throughout his entire body. My, Emma was a feisty one; he could hardly keep up with her. Plus, it would be nothing short of gut-wrenching hilarity to picture Regina's expression should she ever think to spy on them in bed. It would cure her eavesdropping permanently.

"I like the way you think, sweetheart," he replied approvingly. Emma didn't answer. She was too busy studying the label of the vial in her hands. The humor was gone, replaced with creases on her forehead that signaled confusion.

"What is this? A potion to turn someone into a sea creature?" Gold frowned. He moved to where she stood to see what she was looking at.

"Why would you think that?" He held out his hand for the vial and Emma willingly passed it into his care. Her finger tapped the label that was peeling off the vial. It was yellowed with age and dryer than any material found in this world. There was only one spot of ink on it.

"There's a picture of a whale on it. Do you know what it's for?"

He turned the bottle around in his hands. His lips curved upward and he couldn't help but reflect on Regina's wit this time. Another mystery solved, even if Emma didn't realize it yet. She must have sensed the knowledge brimming in his mind, for she switched her gaze from the vial to his face and back again.

"Yes. I know what this is." He smoothed his thumb over the poorly drawn whale. Were those lines supposed to be water shooting from the whale's blowhole? Because from here it looked like the whale was shooting out fireworks instead. And if that was the real size of its fin, that whale wouldn't be able to keep up with a guppy.

Emma tapped her foot impatiently when she got the hint that he was not yet prepared to share his wealth of information.

"Care to elaborate?" Instead of giving her a verbal explanation, he twisted the stopper out of the vial. A stream of pink smoke wafted up from the rim, evaporating in the air. There was nothing else inside the vial, a detail Emma found stupefying since she held it up to her eye.

Gold wondered if there would be any chance of Emma running into Dr. Whale tomorrow.

"Depends…How familiar are you with the tale of _The Little Mermaid?"_

…..

"Come on, one drink," Whale proposed, eyeing Belle hungrily. It was no wonder that most people predicted he was the Big, Bad Wolf with his wide, white grin and ravenous appetite for voluptuous women. The real wolf in their midst poured Whale another drink. She was secretly hoping he would drink enough to pass out on the floor so she could happily discuss the idea of moving in with Archie.

"I don't think I should," Belle said, still trying to be polite despite Whale's increasing annoyance. She reached for her book, but Whale snatched it up and tucked it under his elbow. If she wanted it, she would have to lean across the bar, lean into him, and retrieve it.

Now Belle was annoyed. No one touched her books in such a careless manner and got away unscathed. It was the same as endangering one of her children.

"Do you mind? You're being rather rude," she gasped. Her blue eyes flickered to his glass. It seemed she was contemplating dumping it over his head.

"Some things don't change, Whale," Red scolded, tugging the book from under his elbow. He banged his elbow on the bar and yowled in protest. "Fair warning: her boyfriend is capable of stuffing your greasy head in a hat and shipping you off to Wonderland." That wasn't half as bad as what Rumpelstiltskin would do, though Whale didn't appear the least bit perturbed. Red wondered how smug he would be when he was missing a limb with the snap of Rumpel's fingers.

"Technically, he's not my boyfriend," Belle admitted softly, her cheeks growing pink. Red heard _yet _in that statement and winked at the brunette bookworm.

"It's just one drink! What could it hurt?" Red rolled her eyes to the ceiling. The man never knew when to quit. While that was an extraordinary quality for a doctor, it made getting rid of him at the bar impossible.

"That's what you said the night you had your one-night stand with Snow. One drink turned into three drinks and then the two of you drunken fools were waltzing out the door singing the _Friends _theme song! Off-key, too!" Archie's curly head lifted to join in on the conversation.

"I love that show," he cried. Red patted his hand. She was thinking about having a _Friends _marathon tonight, in which case she would eventually fall asleep on Archie's shoulder. Of course, there was the sticky situation of explaining it to Granny the following morning…

"Half a drink? A shot!" Whale loomed toward Belle, whose forced consideration had slipped away long before.

Someone came to her rescue before she could show Whale the darker nature of her books, poking Whale square between the shoulders. Whale tilted his head back to meet the narrowed eyes of a displeased Jefferson.

"I hate to burst your flirtatious bubble, Victor, but the young woman you are currently trying to seduce happens to be my lady-friend." There was a warning wrapped around his words: _back off, buddy. _

He had come here for some late-night food since sleep eluded him due to lingering worries about Regina; Grace was still fast asleep in Granny's care. Granny, of course, was armed and ready with a crossbow in case Regina strode through the door. And this is what he found. Whale barking up the wrong tree…again.

Whale grimaced.

"Hatter. Long time no see. You know, you should really use a hair-trimmer up there." Jefferson's eyes boggled and his hand soared to his nose to hide from Belle whatever monstrosity was growing up there. "And according to her, you're not her boyfriend. By definition, that means she's up for grabs." He dared to examine Belle head to toe longingly. "Would you change your mind if I put a pink umbrella in that drink?"

As if the once-overs weren't nauseating enough, he flashed an in-your-face grin.

"If you're looking for companionship," Archie hinted, intruding on Whale's attempts to flirt. Whale scooted away on his stool, giving the therapist an alarmed look that plainly read: _stranger danger. _"I would be willing to help you find your true love. She has to be out there somewhere. I found mine."

The human cricket reached over the bar and warmly clasped Red's hand. The gleam in her eyes rivaled the brightness of the diner's overhead lights. Whale made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"No, thank you. I refuse to take dating advice from a cricket with a fake Ph.D.," he sneered. Belle's head reared around his shoulder to study Archie in awe, as though trying to figure out how his human form remotely resembled a cricket. Jefferson poked Whale in the back again.

"Perhaps I should warn Belle that your title as _doctor _is as authentic as George Clooney's on _ER." _Whale's bravado deflated. He stared dismally into the bottom of his drink. "If your horse isn't shot enough, I'll have you know that I am taking Belle out on our first date tomorrow night."

Silence shuddered throughout the diner. Whale was terribly disappointed by the news while Red and Archie sported matching excited faces, the word _awww_ not far from their tongues. Belle's eyebrows rose in blunt surprise. He…may not have…mentioned the idea to her yet.

"You are?" She didn't sound ticked off about his unexpected announcement. She sounded…impressed. Jefferson reverted to the shy side of his personality, blinking up at her from under his eyelashes.

"Only if you want to," he said meekly. Oh, no, what if he was pressuring her to agree? A new wave of nervousness overtook him and he rushed to correct his mistake. "If you don't want to, I understand. I'm just hoping you'll say yes." _Please say yes, please say yes, _he silently begged. Belle's nod of approval made him sigh in relief.

"I would love to have a date with you, Jefferson," she agreed. Confidence flanked every syllable, leaving no room for doubt. Jefferson wanted to strip naked and swing off of lamp posts, he was so thrilled. Whale solemnly raised his glass in the air in a mock toast.

"Cheers to you," he muttered and gulped it down in one go. He hiccupped. "Great; now I have the hiccups. Holy Mother of Dracula!" The cup toppled and cracked along the rim as Whale's hands flew to his mouth, his fingers fumbling over his lips as though realizing they were there for the first time. Everyone gaped openly at him—even Jefferson was rendered speechless.

Red was the first to realign her jaw.

"Uh…not to boost your ego or turn you into a raging alcoholic, _Victor…_but did you know you talk with an accent when you hiccup after you drink alcohol?" Jefferson gradually scooped his jaw up from the floor and reacquired his sense of speech. His gaze pivoted to an astonished Red.

"I don't think he can hear you. His ego just sky-rocketed him to Cloud Nine," he remarked dryly. To Whale, he said: "May the two of you live a long and happy life."

"Fascinating," Archie gasped, his eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses.

"Does this mean that your true love…is your accent?" Belle looked even more confused than before. At the same time, she seemed relieved that Whale had forgotten about her desirable presence. For now.

"My accent! It's returned to me at last! It's alive, it's alive!" Whale took a flying leap off his stool. He wrapped his hands around his throat as though prepared to strangle himself. It took everyone a moment to conclude that he was either massaging his throat…or using his hands to hug it. "Oh, how I've missed you! We must never be separated again. I must….I must tell everyone! I must shout it from the rooftops! I have an accent!"

In a wild flurry of movement, Whale tossed a handful of crumpled bills on the bar to pay for his drink and dashed out the door. A few seconds later, he returned to Belle's side, sucking in deep breaths of air that made his chest puff out.

"Do I have a chance now that I have an accent and he doesn't?" Whale had the gall to thrust a finger at Jefferson's chest. Jefferson slid protectively in front of Belle.

"Don't make me send you to Oz and let the flying monkeys have their way with you," he threatened. Whale's face paled several shades. He obviously didn't like the sound of that, though Red was fighting back snorts of laughter.

"Here I assumed her accent and my accent could make sweet lo—I mean, music together. Who else will my accent join harmoniously with? Rumpelstiltskin's?" Now Belle was the one growing red-faced and struggling not to laugh. Jefferson insistently pointed to the door and Whale had the sense to see himself out.

No one in Storybrooke would be getting any sleep tonight with that obnoxious lunatic screaming on the streets.

"Thank you," Belle said to Jefferson once Whale was long gone without any sign of coming back. Though, they could hear every step he took simply because of his exhilarated shouting about his good news. Her sincere gratitude made Jefferson blush.

"Anything for my lady-friend." He gently claimed her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Archie and Red couldn't resist this time.

"Awww…."

….

They took precautions to hide their trespassing in case Regina came around again.

Gold had already whisked the boxes of hearts—at least, the ones whose owners were still alive—to their basement so that he could begin working on the finding potion that would help them return the hearts. They made sure that every vial was returned to its spot, even the now empty sapphire one. They double-checked that every drawer was closed. They moved the casket over the hidden stairs again and closed the crypt's door tightly.

It was only when Emma and Gold were maneuvering around the countless gravestones that she remembered the broken mirror. She told Gold as much, but all he did was make the excuse that if Regina had been looking into her mirror, she would already know that they had been down there, anyway. She figured he also didn't feel in the mood to move that casket twice more. He had enough knots in his tired back that required her massaging as it was.

Emma didn't exactly put up a big fight to return to the crypt, either. The broken mirror, combined with more than half of the hearts missing, would be a satisfying, well-deserved slap in the face to Regina. She could live with it.

"Wait," she called out again, pulling Gold up short by the crook of his elbow. He stumbled for an instant, nearly walking on someone's grave. She supposed she should be lucky that there weren't any open graves around here.

"Have you had a change of heart and decided to indulge in my idea of leaving a calling card?"

His idea of a calling card to Regina was spray-painting (in red, no less) a sympathetic letter on the side of the crypt that said the following: _Your Majesty, Emma and I paid our respects to your late father. We also helped ourselves to your hearts. Ha-ha. Hope you are having a fabulous day. Love, Rumpelstiltskin. _According to his description, there would even be a smiley face at the end.

"No. I'm the Sheriff; I'm supposed to prevent vandalism, not support it," she said, though she did not meet his eyes. Her head was bent as though she was praying, her hands clasped respectfully in front of her, and her attention was focused solely on one of the gravestones. He glanced over her shoulder to read the name and understanding hit him like a sack of bricks.

Emma was standing in front of Graham's grave.

"I think…I need a moment," she murmured, turning her face away from his view. Gold reassuringly squeezed her shoulder.

"I know. I'll meet you at the car. Take your time."

She heard the crunch of leaves and grass under his shoes as he walked away, leaving her in peace with Graham's memory. The moment she was entirely sure he was gone, she sank to her knees and ran her fingers over the etched letters in the gravestone, spelling out _Graham Humbert._

It bothered her that Regina didn't even have the decency to bury him with his true name, regardless if there was a curse or not. It was a mockery to his memory. It also unnerved her how his grave was located just a few feet beyond the crypt, a few feet where his heart had been imprisoned. This world was unfair to everyone in Storybrooke, but it was especially cold and cruel to Graham.

"I'm so sorry, Graham," she whispered to the gravestone. It was so lonely, without so much as a single flower. Didn't anyone care to remember him at all? Or did Regina prefer it that way? "I know you'd never hold your death against me, but that doesn't mean I don't blame myself. Gold tells me I should blame Regina and I do, but…I'm the savior. And I feel like I failed to save you."

Her fingers splayed over the moist earth of his grave, her fingernails becoming caked with dirt as she dug her fingers into the soil. She tried to picture him resting peacefully in a casket six feet under her feet, but couldn't. She tried to picture his friendly smile, the soft brown curls of his hair, the way he smelled when he came into the station in the morning, the way his lips felt when he kissed her that first and last time….but somehow she couldn't do that, either. The memories were foggy, as if they were swimming in water and might easily ripple away. And if she ever tried to imagine anyone kissing her nowadays, only Gold's face came to mind, coupled with his Scottish accent whispering in her ear.

_I'm so sorry, _she repeated in her mind, where no other being in the world could hear it.

The regret made her body curve in on itself until the hand that was pressed to the earth was the only thing holding her upright. She wished she could leave some sign, a flower or something of the sort to mark the fact that she had been here and that she remembered Graham. For a brief second or two, she had known the Huntsman before he faded away in eternal sleep.

Something twitched under Emma's palm. At first she thought it was a worm until she whipped her hand out of the soil. She watched, mesmerized as fresh flowers sprouted and bloomed around his grave. Rich shades of red, pink, yellow, white, and blue brought color to Graham's grave. It was a miracle of magic. She stared at her fingertips accusingly.

She dipped her head one more time to say a small prayer for her friend. _Rest in peace, _she sent to the heavens. Then she got to her feet, wiped the dirt from her knees, and headed for the car where her husband waited. Along the way, she curled her fingers into her palm to prevent any other magic from slipping out.

If she wasn't careful while trekking through the cemetery, she might even cause a zombie apocalypse.

….

It was the second time in the span of one week that Emma was having lunch with Belle. The only difference was that Snow decided to join them this time. Snow and Belle hit it off easily enough, delving into a discussion of a book they'd both read before the drinks were even ordered.

_I could really get used to this, _Emma thought, generously sipping her drink while her mother and her new friend chatted. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her husband's company or discussing trivial matters with him, but sometimes…she really preferred to have a second opinion. A _female_ opinion. She had never really been the type to have a lot of friends who were girls, but this was nice.

And as with everything else in Storybrooke, Regina eventually soured the mood.

"So what you're saying is that Regina has her own walk-in closet…of _hearts?_ Not shoes?" Snow's brows cinched together anxiously as she tried to mentally conjure the image of Regina's heart vault.

"Pretty much. She had hundreds of hearts down there. It was…disturbing," Emma explained miserably. She wrapped her hands around her steaming cup, but somehow the warmth failed to seep into her palms. "Gold is working on restoring them to their owners. I refuse to let Regina get away with having them locked down there in that crypt for her diabolical use."

Snow nodded gravely. Emma could tell by the look in her green eyes that she despised what Regina had done as well. Unlike her stepmother, Snow appreciated the sanctity of human life and could not bear the thought of Regina taking so many victims.

"It's curious that Regina never considered taking my heart after imprisoning me," Belle pointed out. She pressed a hand to her throat, as if checking that her heart was truly beating. Emma found it odd that Regina didn't display Belle's heart like a golden trophy to mock Rumpelstiltskin. Then again, Regina was never skilled in the area of _thinking ahead. _

"Maybe she wanted him to watch you have your heart ripped out, to cause him more emotional agony. Knowing her, she might have been planning to do it here and didn't expect Jefferson to release you before the curse broke," Emma suggested.

Belle didn't look too pleased with that portion of her life and Emma didn't blame her. She found it hard to imagine what life would be like if she were imprisoned by Regina for nearly three decades. In any case, Belle seemed a little more distracted when she returned to eating her hamburger.

"At least you're taking some power away from Regina," Snow commented proudly to her daughter. "Those poor people, victimized by Regina and walking around without their hearts. It reminds me of Graham all over again." It was clear she didn't mean to blurt it out, her eyes warily traveling across the table to Emma, who was a tiny bit stiff in her seat.

"Who is Graham?" Belle hesitantly asked, dabbing at her lips with a napkin to remove a spot of ketchup. It was easy to forget that Belle hadn't been here for Regina's reign of terror. Even though it was spoken in innocence, Emma felt her mouth turn down in a grimace and a warning sign flashed in her mind: _Dangerous Territory! Turn Back Now!_

"Graham was the Sheriff before Emma here in Storybrooke," Snow informed Belle quietly. "His true memories belonged to the Huntsman. He was a good friend of Emma and I, and he was severely victimized by Regina, as we all were. It was because of her that he suffered an early death. She…"

Snow's voice had been unwaveringly strong and true up to that point. Like water vaporizing into steam, her words dried up. Emma avoided her eyes, instead choosing to pick apart pieces of crust from her grilled cheese. She sucked in a deep breath.

"She tore out his heart and crushed it. She murdered him," she finished in an icy tone. Water welled up beneath Snow's eyelids, which she hastily wiped away. Belle appeared highly sympathetic.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Emma," Belle said earnestly. Emma's mood remained low and dark even with the reminder of Gold being able to restore the hearts. Their table descended into an uncomfortable bout of silence, all of them paying attention to their food a little too much.

"Why don't we change the subject to a lighter one?" Snow said, forcing an enthusiastic smile. Belle was quick to jump on that wagon. They watched Emma closely, waiting for her approval. She felt their gazes roaming over her face and the fingers that massacred her food.

Truthfully, she was relieved for the change of subject. She wanted to think about something other than Graham and she hadn't decided yet how to inform her mother that she used magic on Graham's grave. Not even she enjoyed the idea of being able to perform magic; it was way beyond her comfort zone. It was like going through your whole life with a loving family and then being told out of the blue that you were adopted.

Of course, she never had _that_ problem.

"Jefferson is taking me out on a date tonight," Belle said happily. Her face lit up with the intensity of one thousand bulbs. Snow gasped and embraced her. Emma's mood fluctuated with surprise. "And I would really appreciate some dating advice. Considering this world is not based on traditional courting and arranged marriages."

Emma reared her head back.

"You guys had arranged marriages? That sucks," she said bitterly. Snow shot her daughter a warning look and nudged her leg under the table. Belle simply laughed. _Okay, there's an upside to not being raised in the Enchanted Forest, _Emma thought. _I wouldn't have to date some guy that was handpicked by my parents. I doubt Rumpelstiltskin would be on that list. _

"For starters, make sure he pays for dinner," Snow instructed. Belle nodded obediently. She looked to be one step away from taking notes. "I had a date with Whale—before the accent—and he claimed there was a hole in his pocket."

"Yeah, I'll bet his fly was down, too," Emma muttered under her breath. This time she anticipated Snow's reproving kick and tucked her legs up onto the pleather seat to avoid the attack. "If this guy really appreciates you, he'll treat you like a princess. Anything less than Queen of England status is unacceptable. That includes holding your door, paying for your food, walking on the part of the sidewalk closest to the street so he'll fall into oncoming cars, not you—"

"Laughing at all your jokes, kissing your hand romantically, shielding you with his coat if it starts to rain," Snow added, cupping her chin with her hand. "Oh! And whatever you do, do not mention children. Of any kind. I mentioned the kids in my class to Whale and he assumed I wanted to pop out thirty kids."

Belle's head moved back and forth between Emma and Snow, trying to take in all the information at once. She waved her hands for a moment to breathe.

"What should I wear?" She inspected the sophisticated attire currently clinging to her petite body. Snow tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Something sweet," she said.

"Something sexy," Emma said at the exact same time. A faint blush rose to Belle's cheeks. Snow slapped her hand down on the table, but Emma did not apologize for her risqué bluntness. "What? Make him do a double-take. Make him eat his heart out. Make him stare at you and only you because it's your night to make an impression."

"Let's just hope he takes you somewhere with good food," Snow sighed. At the bar, Granny whirled on her heel to face their table. Nothing ever got past that woman, armed or not. Snow licked her lips nervously. "Not that Granny's isn't appetizing. You know what the ad says: _Just look at those sausages!"_

Emma hung her head pitifully. These were the times when she was convinced Snow was her mother, simply for the reason of being able to embarrass her daughter at any given moment. To make it worse, she lived in a small town where everybody knew her. This would get around by midnight.

"How's the hamburger?" Emma motioned her chin to Belle's plate. Ever since trying them for the first time, Belle was in love with them. Not as much as books, but it was close. It was like a child indulging in hot dogs, thinking they were the most brilliant edible invention in the world.

Belle eagerly scooped the burger into her hands.

"Delicious," she insisted, taking a generous bite. A piece of tomato slipped out of the burger and fell onto her plate, but Belle ate that up, too. "You know, I told Rumpelstiltskin I was planning to have a hamburger during lunch with you today, Emma. Do you know what he told me? He advised that I use ketchup because, and I quote: _Condiments are this world's most powerful magic. _It was so…so sweet…why are you laughing?"

Emma burst into uncontrolled laughter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she banged her fist on the tabletop as she hooted. People turned their heads to stare. She might have been able to stop laughing…if Snow didn't join in. Ooh, her belly ached so much, but still she couldn't stop.

Snow buried her red face in her napkin, though the shaking of her shoulders betrayed her laughing fit. Belle was the last one to hold out, but soon even she was helpless to form coherent words through her bubbling giggles.

_Oh…oh, it hurts…but it feels so good, _Emma thought euphorically. She hadn't laughed like that in a long time. Their laughter finally died down, long after everyone else in the diner had given up in trying to figure out what was going on at their table. Emma wiped the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Oh…Ah…There is no way I'm letting him live that down tonight," she sputtered. If he asked her to pass any condiments over dinner, she knew precisely how she would respond. She would even fake a Scottish accent. Suddenly, her mood brightened considerably and the rest of the day ahead did not seem so gloomy. In fact, the three of them walked out of Granny's feeling better than when they walked in.

_Oh, yeah, _Emma mused as she and her mother wished Belle luck on her date before leaving her company. _I could definitely get used to this. _

….

"Rumpel…your dog likes my leg," Jefferson said for the third time that afternoon. Rumpel's concentration on the finding spell shattered and he brutally slammed a fist against the worktable, making the vials hop into the air.

"You said that five minutes ago!"

"Yeah, but she's doing it _again!"_

Rumpel grumbled and spun around to see Jefferson flapping his arms like an oversized bird to keep his balance while Goldie attached her furry body to his leg and humped it feverishly. Henry was fighting off the urge to giggle, which only seemed to spur the dog on even more. Rumpel picked up a spray bottle filled with water and spritzed Goldie in the face, making her recoil from Jefferson's leg.

"And I thought I was the only one worthy of your personal bubble invasion," he griped. He tossed one of his older ties from the worktable. Goldie went after it immediately, taking it between her paws and tearing her teeth into the silky fabric. That should keep her preoccupied for a while.

Jefferson might have made some smart remark about how Rumpel was jealous about not being the sole male object of Goldie's attention, but he was too busy scrubbing stray fur off his pant-leg.

"Another dose done," Rumpel announced, handing another colored vial to Jefferson.

He rubbed his eyes, which were quickly becoming sore. Using so magic at once was taking a toll on him physically and mentally. Still, he staggered back to the worktable and began the next dose. Thankfully, he found they could prolong each dose's use by adding a few drops to each heart instead of half a bottle.

The three of them—Henry, Jefferson, and Rumpel—had secluded themselves in the basement to work on the finding spell for the hearts. Emma had been down there earlier, but he told her to go have lunch with Belle and Snow. She would have worked herself to the bone on these hearts otherwise. Jefferson was helping in hopes of proving his loyalty to their cause. As Rumpel concocted batch after batch of the finding potion, Jefferson and Henry had the task of pouring the finding potion over the hearts, allowing them to get a glimpse of whose heart it was.

"Pour it gently. A few drops will do, dearie," he advised Jefferson. The hatter was in the process of tilting a vial over a glowing red heart. The crease in his brow suggested he was annoyed by Rumpel's nagging. "Gently. _Gently!"_

"I am being gentle!" Jefferson objected, jolting up so quickly that a few drops spilled out of the vial. Rumpel glared unforgivingly. Every drop counted. Every drop wasted meant more batches he had to make to accommodate the hundreds of boxes of hearts piled up against the basement wall. "Stop nagging me!"

"You're making me nervous! You would be testy if you were working over a hot experiment table all day! And have I gotten any appreciation for it? I think not." Never mind the fact that Emma would likely be showing her appreciation when they were alone tonight. Rumpel angrily turned back to the table, pretending not to notice the stares drilling into his tense back.

"Sorry…dear," Jefferson mumbled. "Should I sleep on the couch tonight?" Henry snorted with laughter, but all Rumpel did was tip his nose at Jefferson. Sometimes Jefferson could be so unappreciative of Rumpel's hard work. Did he ever mock Jefferson's hat? No. At least not recently.

"So, did you ask Belle yet?" Henry swiftly changed the subject, looking at Jefferson from where he sat cross-legged on the basement floor. Rumpel's curiosity peaked.

"Did you ask Belle…about what?" It wasn't that he was territorial in terms of his ex-love, exactly. He just wasn't sure how well Jefferson would treat Belle. That's what he told himself, anyway. He wanted to be comforted by the notion that his former love would be okay.

"I asked Belle on a date. She said yes," he revealed tentatively. Rumpel's eyebrows rose in surprise. Jefferson finished with one heart and set it back in its box. He took a felt-tip pen and scribbled a name on the cover. "Got any last minute advice, old man? Since you're the Enchanted Forest's version of Hugh Hefner."

Rumpel scrunched his nose in disgust. Henry looked blank and he prayed to the gods that his stepson remained oblivious about these things for a couple more years. He almost didn't answer, but then he didn't want Jefferson to screw up Belle's night, either.

"Never forget that Belle is a royal princess by birth. You are to treat her as you would royalty. Don't be arrogant or show off—she doesn't fancy shallow men. She does like roses, though. Make her laugh. You'll like the sound of it. Don't wear that ridiculous hat of yours; you'll only give yourself hat hair. And above all, do not take advantage of her. Belle gives her heart easily and passionately. I will not have you breaking it between your crude fingers."

His tone implied what Jefferson's fate would be if he ever hurt Belle.

"I wasn't planning on it. What kind of monster do you think I am?" Rumpel did not answer. He always viewed himself as more of a monster than Jefferson, but the hatter had his fair share of skeletons in the closet. Before he settled down with a wife and child, Jefferson hadn't exactly been a role model for anyone.

The basement grew eerily quiet, with Goldie's intense cloth-tearing and the pouring of the finding spell the only sounds to be heard.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Henry piped up as he handed another wooden box to Jefferson. Neither Jefferson nor Rumpel would let him handle the hearts or the potions. The boy didn't need to verify who _they _were for the two men to understand.

"Henry, I'll let you in on a nugget of male wisdom," Rumpel stated. Jefferson rolled his eyes. "When the women we love gather in one spot to enjoy lunch together, it's usually an excuse to vent about the men in their lives, be it fathers, husbands, lovers, or even children. In fact, I'll place a fresh pot of spun gold on the table that Emma is making fun of my accent as we speak. Knowing her, she'll be using it to mimic that little leprechaun fellow on the Lucky Charms commercial. Really, what else do they have to discuss?"

"Well," Jefferson intercepted, commanding the spotlight. The way he waved that heart around in his hands, Rumpel was surprised it didn't slip from his grasp, fly into the wall, and kill the person right then and there. No do-overs. "Considering the fact that they're all women, they might be….gushing over the latest bargains at Clark's, adoring any new jewelry or haircuts, experimenting with baby names for Emma's child, talking about those extra five pounds they want to shed, talking about their nighttime activities…and moaning about menstrual woes."

As Jefferson ticked the topics off, Henry and Rumpel dropped what they were doing to turn their heads in his direction. All they could do was stare in bewilderment. Even Goldie lost interest in the tie.

"What?" Jefferson shrugged. "I lived in a cramped hovel with two women for years. I'm almost an expert in their language."

He returned his focus to the heart in his palm. Tipping the colored vial, he poured a few drops of the finding potion on it. Cupping his hands around the heart, he closed his eyes and allowed the magic to give him glimpses of what lay beneath the throbbing, red surface. Peering into one's heart was the rawest way to learn about that person—nothing was left unknown.

Jefferson frowned deeply. Then his eyes shot open faster than two blinds being pulled up from their windows. He stared incredulously at the heart in his hand. At the same time, he looked as though he preferred not to touch it any longer.

"Rumpel…You won't believe whose heart this is," Jefferson whispered. Rumpelstiltskin turned to observe the beating heart. It looked the same as all the others; it was what lay inside that counted. A beat of silence passed and Jefferson realized the imp was waiting to be informed. "It belongs to the Queen of Hearts. Regina's mother."

Cora.

Rumpel eyed the heart with fresh vile and dread. If it had been dull and lifeless, they would have left it behind to rot in the crypt. It was pulsing a deep scarlet, stronger than half the hearts they had worked with so far. The fact that it was glowing this radiantly and still beating meant…

"So, it's true then," Rumpelstiltskin sneered, his voice thick in his growing frustration. "Cora is alive."

…

"Don't look down, don't look down…whatever you do, Killian you old fool, do _not_ look down," Hook recited the mantra under his breath.

He never knew how difficult it was to climb a beanstalk with one hand and a hook. His palm was raw from gripping the thick vines that coiled around the beanstalk. Sap from a few of the weaker vines had burned his skin. Whenever he stabbed his hook into the beanstalk, it was a challenge to haul the rest of his body up, so much that his arm felt like it was being yanked out of its socket. Sweat dripped into his eye, momentarily stinging him into blindness.

Even worse, the beanstalk was so…so high! So high in fact that he swallowed more bugs than he could count and a bird mistook his head of hair for its nest. He tried to forget about the fact that his body was dangling about…oh, hundreds of feet above the ground. The only person who could survive a drop like that was Rumpelstiltskin. And, with his luck recently, probably Cora, too.

_ Just keep climbing, just keep climbing, just keep climbing, climbing, climbing…._That was a much cheerier mantra.

A black and blue form floated up beside the beanstalk; he could see it out of the corner of his eye. He cursed, his enthusiasm for the catchy mantra shot to hell. He shifted his head to give Cora a sideways glance as she drifted on air via an enchanted black lacy umbrella. _Why does she get the scenic route? _

"Killian, I'm beginning to think this is your first beanstalk," she said, smiling that sickly-sweet grin. It nearly caused him to let go of the beanstalk. Whether the fall would be on purpose was irrelevant. "Come now. I know you can work with your hands faster than that." His stomach didn't feel right. It was twisting into knots and flopping upside-down. His lunch was coming up.

"Why don't you try climbing a beanstalk without a hand, you crazed hag," he muttered viciously. Cora's smile diminished and she zoomed toward him, her feet swinging back and forth as she floated. _I wonder if falling from this height would kill me. _

"What was that you said?"

If eyes could burn, Cora's were caught in a wildfire. Hook gulped nervously and hung onto the vines for dear life. He debated whether to really answer her for fear that she would steal his tongue magically. According to some old Sheriff in one part of the Enchanted Forest, it wasn't a pleasant feeling. But then, the old chap had been too drunk to sit on his stool.

"Nothing, Your Royal Highness of Cardiac Splendor," he said.

She grumbled and soared into the sky, rising above his head. _I have to get me one of those umbrellas, _he thought enviously, snatching up the vines at his disposal. Ooh, his foot got stuck again. At least Cora was no longer badgering him. Out of sight, out of mi—

"Faster, Killian! I'm not getting any younger up here," she squawked from the heavens. _That's for damn sure, _he silently retorted. Sometimes he forgot that _he_ was the one who was over 300 years old.

"Coming, Your Royal Highness of Cardiac Splendor," he shouted and picked up his pace. _These giants should put signs on this beanstalk: _Two Hours From This Point._ And maybe they'll be courteous enough to attach a bar as well. Just be careful not to walk out drunk. _

At the very top of the beanstalk was the land of the giants, though very few remained to inhabit it. Supposedly, there were mountains of gold the giants had stored over the years. As a pirate, his heart sung for such treasure. However, Hook had little mind to appreciate it at the moment since he could not breathe. He climbed off the beanstalk and rolled onto his back, gasping for air. _When I head back down, I think I'll just do a cannonball. _

"Took you long enough," Cora spoke from a few feet beyond Hook's napping area. He stiffly turned his head and saw Cora sitting comfortably at a table and sipping tea, crafted by her magic. _Oh, look, a mad tea party, _he thought and tried not to giggle at the ludicrous idea. It hurt too much to laugh.

With a wave of her gloved hand, the table and tea vanished in a puff of lavender smoke. She crossed to his side and nudged his leg. He groaned.

"No sleeping on the job," she berated sharply. "We must find that compass as soon as possible."

Hook groaned again.

"One more minute…" He let his eyes drift closed, his muscles uneasily relaxing.

The sound of rolling thunder caught his attention. Overhead, formidable black clouds swept around them. He knew Cora was controlling it. The clouds lit up with a flash of white and Hook rolled to the side, a jagged fork of lightning narrowly missing his body. The spot where he laid was charred and curls of steam rose from the crisped earth. He jumped to his feet, hands up in surrender.

"Alright, woman, I'm up, I'm up!"

"That's my man," Cora purred approvingly, sweeping over to pat his chest. He shivered despite the sweat collecting around his temples.

He was starting to think this world was his form of punishment for his misdeeds. _First, I lose my true love. Next I lose my hand. Then I lose my crew and Smee. Now, I'm about to lose both my lunch and my sanity because I happen to be stuck in a deserted world with Regina's creepy mother who cannot seem to keep her hands off me. Where's my Princess Charming? I need rescue. _

"So, what's the plan?" Hook's sultry eyes examined the towering structure before them, the home of the giants. The courtyard was shadowy and empty. No sign of giants anywhere.

"You mean you don't have one?" Cora stared at him condescendingly. She was the mastermind of this plan, not him. _Wait, _he thought, realizing he just insulted himself.

"Pirate. By nature, we usually barge in and take what we want when we want it. Mostly it's under the influence of rum," he protested. Gods, she was still staring. Waiting. Was she even blinking? He gazed around and an idea hit him. "I've got it. You and I strip some of these vines off the beanstalk. When the giant comes after us, we pull it tight and trip him. He takes a dive off the beanstalk, we take the compass, have a drink or two, climb down the 'stalk, and run like hell. It's foolproof. The only other thing I can think of is if you shimmy around to distract the giant while I steal the compass."

Cora's pinched expression showed what she thought of that plan.

"My dear, if anyone is doing any shimmying, it shall be you," she hissed. Tucking her umbrella under her arm, she clapped her hands two times. A great stone statue near the entrance collapsed. The sound reverberated off the walls. A minute later, the ground began to quake and an ugly roar erupted inside the stone structure.

The giant was coming.

_We're dead, _Hook thought and said his last prayer. _May I be reunited with Milah in another life. May Rumpelstiltskin forever be haunted by my restless ghost if I don't. May Smee find a hat that actually fits his head. May they invent flying carriages so that when I am reincarnated, I'll be able to get around in style. _

The giant emerged from his home, a staggering fifty-foot man that could blow Hook and Cora to the other side of the Enchanted Forest if he ever sneezed. His moon-sized eyeballs rolled in their sockets, roving about for any sign of intruders. Hook stood stone-still, never taking his gaze off the massive creature. _Maybe if we stand extraordinarily still, it won't notice us. Yes, we can sneak toward the compass, freeze when he looks at us…it should work. _

Or it might have, if Cora didn't take it upon herself to whistle. The giant's head spun in their direction and a terrible bellow thundered from his throat.

"I should warn you, Cora, my sword is impressive…but that thing will swallow me and use it as a toothpick," he murmured to Cora. She didn't look bothered by the enemy that was now rampaging toward them. Maybe she was mad, after all. _We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to die…_

He didn't even register the movement beside him as Cora slipped behind him, frozen as he was in facing his oncoming doom. A hand roughly propelled him forward, just as the giant raised his gigantic foot. It descended over Hook's head, a lumpy roof of flesh that would squash him into the earth.

Panicking, Hook unsheathed his sword, crouched low to the ground, and raised the blade high above his head. He closed his eyes and waited to hear the sickening crunch of his bones. It did not come. _Am I dead yet? _

He felt the pressuring weight of the giant as the mighty foot dropped over the sword, but the giant had stopped for some reason. Then the weight lifted away, there was an earthquake, and he heard shouts of pain, but they were not his own. Hook opened his eyes to see his sword bloodied and bent at an odd angle. The giant was on the ground, cradling his foot in his hands.

"Ow! Ow! Oh…that hurts! Why…why would you do that? You humans…are so mean!" Hook's jaw hit the ground. He eyed his sword with new respect and then the wailing giant. _It must be like stepping on a rusty nail, _he thought in amazement. "Ah, my foot! My foot! That's it; it's useless. I'm going to lose my foot! Seriously, just finish it! I've seen it before—my foot will get infected and then I'll suffer a slow and painful death. You need to chop off my foot! Ah, I'm going to die."

Hook tilted his head. He didn't know how to respond to that request. He glanced back at Cora, but she had a teacup in hand, clearly enjoying the show. _Oh, sure. Leave it to little ole me to quell the giant. I hope that tea scalds your tongue. _

"Listen here, mate," he shouted up to the giant. He didn't dare get too close unless this was one of those cruel pranks where the giant pretended to be down only to catch his prey in his fist. "I may be a pirate, but I'm not terribly fond of chopping off limbs. It's gruesome, it smells, and blood would splatter all over my leather clothes, so I'm afraid you'll just have to—"

"Just do it! Chop it! For all I know, that sword was poisoned!" Hook eyed the blade of his sword. That wasn't a bad idea, actually. It might even work on Rumpelstiltskin.

"I assure you, it's not poisoned—"

"Liar," the giant shouted, rubbing his foot. "Chop it! Do me that favor before the poison spreads!"

"No, I think not," Hook argued.

"Chop it!"

"No!" Now both of them were screaming on the top of their lungs. Hook waved his hands, yelling 'no' over and over, trying to get the giant to calm down. The giant kept waving his foot at Hook, trying to get him to chop it.

"Oh, for the love of mushrooms," Cora snapped, pushing Hook out of the way. Her patience had grown thin.

At first, Hook assumed she would abide the giant's request and chop his leg off, but instead she relied on her magic to summon several slithering black vines from the earth to coil around the giant's limbs, securing him to the ground. He moaned and wriggled, but the vines refused to break. Cora approached the giant's head, reveling in the power she now held in the palm of her hand.

"You are an extremely uptight lady," the giant complained, struggling against his bonds. Hook wondered if he should duck down to avoid whatever maelstrom was coming in the form of Hurricane Cora.

"Why, thank you," Cora replied, fluffing the bun atop her head as though the giant had served her a compliment on a silver platter. Even though the last 28 years had been hellishly frozen, Hook had known Cora for those three decades. Her smile was a little too icy, her gait a little too precise, her eyes too reminiscent of diamonds, impenetrable and bloodthirstily sharp. This was a dance she was performing; Hook and the giant were the spectators. "I am also the one with the power to grant you life or to wipe your existence away from this pathetic rubble you call a home. Be obedient and I shall consider sparing your life. Where is the compass?"

The giant's eyes flickered back to his home, revealing where it was. Even so, finding one small compass in a giant's home was no easier than finding a needle in a haystack.

"If I tell you where it is, will you make my foot stop hurting?" He jerked his leg, managing only an inch. Hook unexpectedly felt sorry for the big guy. Who would ever want to be tied down while Cora buzzed around your head like a bothersome fly?

"Yes. Consider it a deal," Cora agreed without missing a beat. She batted her eyelashes for extra measure, but it reminded Hook more of a dragon beating its wings before unleashing hellfire.

"The compass...You'll find the compass in the treasure room. On a pedestal," the giant said, much to Cora's satisfaction. The minute the revelation surfaced, Cora gathered her skirts and headed for the entrance of the giant's lair. The giant squirmed more than ever. "Wait! What about my foot? You said you'd make it stop hurting!"

"I lied," Cora shot over her shoulder.

She never had a care in the world for the giant's wellbeing, nor anyone else's for that matter, Hook was starting to understand. The only person Cora looked out for was Cora. One of her biggest fears was losing the power she possessed. Anyone who blocked her way, anyone who threatened that power, wound up heartless or dead. Or dead and heartless. _So, where do I stand on that spectrum? _

"That's all you humans are good for! Lying, stealing, and killing!" The giant met Hook's wandering gaze, but that expression was not friendly in the least. It was cold, accusing, merciless. Hook sauntered past the giant, practically rushing around his tree-thick limbs.

"Enjoy the constellations, mate. Give a shout if you find the Big Dipper," he mumbled. For an old woman, Cora sure walked fast. In fact, she was nearly gliding, her mannerisms the likeness of someone who owned the place. He managed to catch her sleeve.

"Just for the record, love…You wouldn't have really let that giant step on me and ground me into dust, would you?" Cora paused on the threshold of the giant's home and turned to face him. Her mask was in place, betraying no emotions. It would take three or four dwarf pickaxes to crack that thing open. Or perhaps a lifetime supply of alcohol.

"Of course not, Killian." She swiftly carried on her way, infiltrating the giant's home and one step closer to what she truly wanted. Hook lingered behind, a cold chill skating down his back as Cora's words echoed in his mind. _Why don't I feel very reassured? _

…..

"There it is: our final destination. The bridge between this desolate land and the fabled land without magic," Cora declared, motioning her hand to the landscape stretching before them. Hook limped to her side, bruised and battered as he was from essentially sliding his way down that beanstalk. He rubbed his chin quizzically.

It was nothing but a dried-up lakebed. Nothing but long stretches of white sand, tumbleweeds, clumps of stringy black plants, and…was that a skeleton over there? Wearing a tiara? What happened to the women of this land? Or did Rumpel claim all the good ones? The women in this land used to be so lively and fierce…

His thoughts turned to the skeleton of Jack in the giant's home. When people spoke of Jack in the taverns, he never suspected she was a woman. Come to think of it now, he might have wooed a Jack before…after consuming ten or so mugs of rum with his crew.

"This is it?" Hook cast Cora a dubious look. She barely blinked. "I may be a simple pirate, but I do know…lakes have water."

Cora extended her hand to the lakebed and rotated her wrist in a circular pattern. A crack appeared in the middle of the lakebed, splitting the earth in two and unleashing a torrential fountain of water. It swelled and ebbed forward, pooling into a mini lake that was only a fraction of what the first had been.

How impressive.

"Any more questions?" Cora's clipped tone suggested she really did not wish to endure any more probing questions, but Hook could not help himself. Sometimes his tongue had a mind of its own—it was both a blessing and a curse.

"Now that you mention it, love, how exactly are we going to find this land without magic once we jump into the portal? There are dozens of worlds out there. I imagine it would be easy to be sucked down the wrong pipe," he said.

Cora dug around in her skirts and thrust a handful of brittle, folded papers at his chest. Hook took them and examined them closely. They seemed to be torn from someone's diary.

"I discovered these in my daughter's castle. She cannot keep secrets from me," Cora said, starting for the pool of water with the compass swinging from her grasp. So that's what took her so long to return to his company: she was reading her daughter's diary. "You two have a lot in common, Killian. You're both fascinated with Rumpelstiltskin. Apparently, she watched him through her mirrors whenever she could until he learned to cover them up."

Hook didn't want any of the details. The way Cora's gaze had grown dreamily distant, his imagination supplied enough of an answer.

He turned over one of the pages. Oh, yes, this was certainly Regina's diary. There were multiple doodles of Snow White's execution. One featured the princess tied to a tree while Regina let loose three fire-tipped arrows. Another depicted Snow hanging above a ravine with crocodiles, absurdly dressed in strips of meat. Oh, look—here was one of Rumpel! He was drawn hilariously short with frizzy hair and he was opening his castle door to Snow who happened to be dressed as his love, Belle. Regina was in a tree in the background with a telescope and what looked like a cannon aimed for the couple.

He would like to say that he would never understand the workings of Regina's mind, except he daydreamed of doing the same things to Rumpelstiltskin, with the exception of dressing him up like a woman. Though, the hilarity that would ensue from Rumpel's awkwardness might be worth it.

On the other side of her diary pages was a list of names. He recognized some from this world. Arrows sprung from the names, pointing to a second list of foreign ones. Snow White had an arrow pointing to the name Mary Margaret, Prince Charming was linked with Coma Guy, and Rumpelstiltskin's name was joined with Mr. Gold.

Beneath the list was a single word, scrawled bigger than anything else on the page. What the hell was….Storybrooke?

Cora and Hook stopped on the edge of the water. With a flick of Cora's wrist, the vial of magical ashes was overturned over the rippling waves, the ashes sprinkling down like purple rain and dissolving into the blue. The waters swirled and began to glow an eerie emerald shade that reminded Hook of the portal that brought him to Neverland all those years ago. Within moments, Hook was staring into the eye of an endless whirlpool.

"With this compass, we'll be on our way to…" Cora leaned far over Hook's arm to check the papers again. "Stor-y-brooke. Honestly, is that the best she could come up with?" Hook snickered and Cora raised her hand threateningly.

"If you don't mind my saying, your daughter isn't big in creativity. I'm surprised she didn't think to name it Not-So-Enchanted-Forest or Regina's Funland." Cora lowered her hand. It amused him to see that she agreed. She gripped the compass in one hand and latched onto his arm with the other.

"Are you ready?" Cora's stern face flickered with the emerald illumination of the portal. Hook licked his lips, sensing he was one step closer to killing Rumpelstiltskin. He just had to have faith that Cora wouldn't "accidentally" let go of his hand while they were tumbling and spinning down the portal.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied flatly. _Soon, Milah, soon, _he thought, picturing his true love's face in his mind.

Together he and Cora stepped to the very edge of the water. The whirlpool already seemed to be sucking them down into its center. He took a deep breath, repeating the name Storybrooke in his mind. The land without magic. And then they jumped into the portal.

…

_**I have an announcement to make this week (not a very good one, but one that has to be made nonetheless): Unfortunately, I won't have enough time in the next week or so to update for this story. Life is taking top priority this week. The next chapter should be up in a couple of weeks. Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys. **_

_**Shout-out time! I'd like to thank all those that left awesome reviews last time: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Ouatfan150, CallyMay, Wandz, Skadya, Aven, The-Writer2012, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, PrincessofSea, The Auburn Girl, discotimelord, orthankg1, sbcarri, Guest45, reginamillz, DragonRose4, and SwanQueen4055. I always appreciate hearing how much everyone is enjoying the story. Thank you all for reading. **_


	63. Chapter 63

For all their prolonged bafflement, Jefferson, Rumpelstiltskin, and Henry may as well have discovered the cure to cancer instead of Cora's beating heart. The red flash of light flickering inside it illuminated Jefferson's palms as he cupped his hands around the heart while Henry and Rumpel stared unblinking. Goldie leaped up on Henry's leg, black nose in the air to sniff out the strange object. What they were waiting for, none of them could rightly say, but it was clear that Cora was not ready to die yet.

Rumpel was the first to regain his composure.

"Give me the heart," he demanded, making a grab for it. Jefferson dodged, bolting away to the other side of the room with the heart tucked in his hands. Rumpel growled and chased after him. Henry watched the two with a stunned, amused expression.

"No," Jefferson protested, pointing at the imp as though he was commanding a dog instead of a human being. The hatter used the spinning wheel as a barrier between him and Rumpel, peering at his opponent through the spindles.

They dashed in circles around the wheel until Rumpel got so dizzy that he began to stagger on his feet. He turned to run in the opposite direction and hopefully catch Jefferson before the hatter realized his change of plans, but that only led to the two of them colliding face-first. They tumbled to the floor and the heart rolled from Jefferson's hands. Rumpel squirmed on his belly for it, but Jefferson was closer and managed to snatch it up before the imp could reach it. Rumpel weakly regained his footing and bared his teeth at the hatter.

"Give me the heart," he repeated more forcefully, extending his hand in request for the pulsing red organ.

Normally he did not bother asking twice for things he desperately wanted, but he offered Jefferson that luxury for Belle's sake. After all, Belle would not be pleased if she was unfairly stood-up because her ex-boyfriend made paper mache out of her current love interest. More than likely, she'd sic Emma on him.

It'd be so much easier if Jefferson didn't consistently make everything complicated. Or it'd be easier if he quit using the worktable as a shield. Rumpel would have knocked it over, if not for his hard work in the form of magical potions and spells.

"No! You'll crush it," Jefferson shot back. He swerved around Rumpel's swipes and danced around one corner after another. Rumpel's patience was growing dangerously thin. Any minute now, he was planning on tossing Goldie at Jefferson's face to serve as a distraction.

"Who said anything about crushing it?" He skirted around the table and caught Jefferson by the hem of his coat, but Jefferson shrugged out of it. At least it was a nice coat. Jefferson was only a couple of inches taller than Rumpel, anyway.

"I know you, Rumpelstiltskin," Jefferson said with a roll of his eyes, not caring for his lost piece of clothing. Sometimes Rumpel wondered why he insisted on letting his awkward acquaintance with Jefferson thrive. He was nothing but downright irritating, a thorn in his side. "The possibility of Cora coming to Storybrooke threatens you, your family, and your power. So you intend to squash her like a bug before that can ever happen."

Rumpel pouted childishly and tossed the jacket away onto the floor.

"Why do _you_ care if I crush the heart of Regina's morbid mother?"

What was in it for him to keep Cora alive; that was what he truly wanted to ask. Everybody had a price for their actions and Jefferson was hardly any different. He eyed the colored glass vials on his worktable, debating whether a certain type of potion in his inventory would turn Jefferson into a four-legged animal. A donkey, perhaps.

"Oh, _I_ don't care if you hype up on sugary sweets and do the Macarena on it," Jefferson admitted bluntly, smirking. His eyes switched to Henry, who was frozen in fear and astonishment as he watched them wrestle over the heart of Regina's mother. A pang of guilt rippled through Rumpel's chest, but he pushed it aside. He was doing this for Henry, for his wife, for his unborn child. "Have you considered the fact that killing Regina's mother will send her on a murderous rampage? Or that Emma will never forgive you for crushing one of the hearts she's working to restore?"

Rumpel averted his gaze to the cold floor, unwilling to prove that every one of Jefferson's accusations already passed through his mind. There was no doubt Regina would rain fireballs over Storybrooke if she learned Rumpel murdered her dear mother. Never mind that Regina had once planned to do the same.

As for Emma, he felt the most regret about what he needed to do. It was strictly against her code of honor as the savior to take the life of another human being, even an evil one, just as it had been against her parents' manners. Habitually justifying his dark deeds had led him to thinking that he could eventually win back Emma's trust with time. He was doing this to protect his family. She would forgive him for this cruel crime…he hoped.

He would make her understand. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made. Difficult choices often arose when one attempted to protect that which they held most dear. He knew that better than anyone in this town, having sacrificed his soul for Bae.

Rumpel narrowed his eyes threateningly, but Jefferson did not relent. In one graceful swoop, he bent and scooped up Goldie in his arms. She wriggled back and forth, fighting to get back to that shredded tie on the basement floor.

"Think fast," Rumpel warned and flung Goldie's furry body straight at Jefferson's face. Goldie latched onto Jefferson's neck, forcing Jefferson to free his hands and pry Goldie away. Her nails clawed viciously over his skin, drawing blood and making him screech shrilly. If he were more technologically savvy, Rumpel might have considered putting this on YouTube.

The heart fell free of his grasp, bouncing across the floor. It was a shame that didn't kill Cora. Rumpel spied it, but Henry dove for it first, stuffing it into his shirt to hide it from his stepfather. _You've got to be kidding me, _Rumpel mentally groaned as he faced another opponent. _Why must this body of mine be so ancient and slow? _

"Henry, give it here," he ordered, taking measured steps toward his stepson. Henry backed up until his body hit the railing of the stairs. He shook his head frantically, his eyes wide as if he just witnessed Bambi's mother getting shot.

"No, you can't do this! This isn't right! Can't you see that? This is not how our side is supposed to win. If you crush this heart, how will you be any different than the Evil Queen? She did the same to Graham," he whimpered, reasoning with him to see logic. It chipped Rumpel's defenses bit by bit. Those innocent brown eyes reminded him so much of Bae's that it made Rumpel want to curl up right there in the basement. Henry recognized the sway in Rumpel's demeanor and exploited it as any child would. "Please, dad. I know you can change and be good. It's what Emma would want. Don't prove me wrong."

Rumpel winced in remorse, though he did not falter entirely. Behind them, Jefferson finally freed himself from Goldie and surveyed the sticky situation.

"Anyone up for a game of Rumpel in the Middle?" He waved his hands over Rumpel's head, urging Henry to pass the heart. Before anyone could react, the sound of a door closing and boots clomping across the floor came from upstairs. Emma was home. Henry's head shifted in the direction of the stairs and Rumpel instinctively knew he was in trouble.

"Em-_MA!"_ Henry wailed up the stairs. It was deathly quiet afterwards, but only for a brief moment.

The clomping of those boots turned into an intense pounding and then the basement door was ripped open. A flash of gold flew down the stairs and there Emma stood in a battle-stance, training a gun in every direction of the basement. She stared alarmingly at Henry, Gold, Goldie, and finally Jefferson.

"I had nothing to do with it," Jefferson exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Gold glared daggers at Jefferson over his shoulder. Traitor. Thankfully, Emma lowered her weapon, but her stature remained guarded. It didn't take a brain-surgeon to understand that something serious was taking place in this basement. Something besides heart restoration.

"Hello, dear," Gold greeted a bit too cordially. "I trust your lunch with your mother and Belle went smoothly?" The way that Emma's lips pursed suggested she saw through Gold's attempt at evading the issue. He was aiming to appeal to her and he was failing miserably. Gods, he wished she would re-holster her gun.

"Emma, this heart belongs to Regina's mother. Rumpelstiltskin wants to crush it," Henry stated, holding out the heart to her in offering. Rumpel made a pitiful attempt to reach out for it, but let his hand drop away when he realized it was no use. Emma put away her gun and accepted the glowing heart in her hands, sheltering it from Rumpel's view. He grimaced.

"Tattle-tale," he muttered to Henry. He glanced at Emma from his peripheral vision. Even without directly confronting her, he could see the anger and bewilderment magnificently burning inside her. Yeah, he was in deep trouble.

"You were going to kill her?" Accusation flooded from Emma's emerald eyes, making them glisten like jewels. She observed her husband as she might a delinquent that landed in the station: unsympathetic, professional, aloof to their protests and pleas. So this was how Leroy felt day-to-day.

Gold writhed uncomfortably under Emma's scrutiny. It was pointless to play ignorant when the evidence was set kindly before her by little Henry. Might as well plead his case.

"Perhaps you don't grasp the severity of the situation," he argued hotly. For every step he dared to take, Emma retreated two steps back. The only way to gain that heart was by magical means. It was tempting. "If Cora manages to reach Storybrooke—improbable, but not impossible—then it will inevitably mean the suffering of everyone in this town. Regina will seem like Tinkerbell compared to her mother's tyranny. Crushing her heart would be a blessing. Now, be a good girl, and hand it over."

Emma's shoulders slumped. He entertained the fantasy of winning her over.

"Okay," she said, stretching her arm out to hand him the heart. Henry's face fell to the floor, broken by his mother's betrayal. Rumpel wiggled his fingers victoriously and prepared to take it…but Emma abruptly wrenched it away, making him stumble. Her eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. He had a feeling he had just been played by his wife. Oops. "No, I'm not letting you crush her heart! I can't believe you think I'd be alright with it! Are you insane?"

Rumpel tapped his chin and decided it was a good idea not to answer that question literally. Emma appeared to be weighing her options. Jefferson started to wave his hands over Rumpel's head again, earning him a few miniature blue lightning bolts to his feet. For his sake, he had better not be taking Belle out dancing.

"What if I restore this heart, too? Would she be as much of a threat to us without that gaping empty hole in her chest?" Rumpel rubbed his forehead. He didn't want to think about restoring Cora's heart. It would buy them time, but it would only be stalling the inevitable. Heartless or not, she was not friendly in any sense of the term.

"Technically, no, but…" Emma motioned her hand to Rumpel, satisfied with that answer.

"Then let's do that. Let's restore her heart. For all we know, she could resort to a hysterical, pampering mother worrying more about her daughter's boyfriends and eating habits than destroying Storybrooke in her name." Rumpel highly doubted it. Jefferson didn't seem so enthusiastic, either, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. It was clear he didn't want to be here any longer.

"It's a little more complicated than that, Emma," Rumpel sighed heavily, pinching his fingers together to prove how little. The odds of Cora being docile were fairly slim. "Yes, it will lessen her desire to wreak havoc a bit, but she was far from Snow White's purity even when she had her heart. It's not like those ridiculous Sour Patch commercials; she won't go from sour to sweet in the blink of an eye. She'll just be…less sour."

Emma cradled the heart and studied it uncertainly. He took one step closer and felt more confident when she didn't shy away. Once more, he held out his hand.

"Just give it to me…and I'll see what I can do," he negotiated. It twisted his stomach to speak to Emma using his silvery, serpent tongue, but it was his last resort. Henry tugged on Emma's sleeve insistently.

"Emma, don't!" She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jefferson hurried over to Emma's side of the room before Rumpel could track his movements and strike him with another lightning bolt. Rumpel slid back in defense as the three chose to gang up on him.

"Emma," Jefferson wrangled for her undivided attention. It was currently split between Rumpel and Henry, two of the most important people in her life who were pulling her in two opposite directions. "If you give Rumpelstiltskin that heart, I guarantee you the only thing he'll be restoring is his capability for villainy."

Rumpel sneered.

"Who asked you to be here, anyway? Don't you have some grooming to do? Starting with that messy mop you call hair?" Jefferson's hands jumped to his hair, which was always a little messy. Emma's shoulders squared and her chin rose high, meaning she came to her conclusion and no one would be able to change it.

"I'm not giving you the heart," she said resolutely. "I'm the savior and I'm not going to stand by while you take someone else's life."

Rumpel grumbled incoherently and stomped his foot on the ground. There was little he could bargain with to persuade Emma. Buttering her up obviously didn't work here. If he tried to force her to release the heart or command her like a husband in their land might, she would simply punch him in the face. It was a pain using magic to reset one's nose properly and he didn't feel up to chatting with Whale or Frankenstein or whoever he was now. Jefferson was no help, tousling his hair in worry.

Words would have to suffice.

"I know you're caught between a rock and a hard place. If you let Cora live, you'll be honoring your virtue as the savior, but it'll mean having to protect the town from her wrath. If you allow me to kill Cora, you'll never forgive yourself for that one forsaken life. Should I put it another way? Consider this: by letting Cora live, every ounce of tragedy in Storybrooke, every family torn apart, every death in her wake will be on your hands. To save the people of Storybrooke, you must extinguish the threat Cora poses. I am prepared to take the blame. Now, the heart, if you please."

Before Emma could anticipate his movement, Rumpel darted forward to caress her wrist. His fingers inched toward the heart, all the while swirling along her skin and applying pressure in all the right places. He noticed the way she responded to his touch, the way her green eyes grew hazy. This was the right thing to do, even if she did not realize it yet.

His hand was so close to the heart, about to descend over it, but Emma jerked away at the last second.

"Stop trying to manipulate me," she shouted venomously. "Don't you _dare_ do that to me! I don't care how powerful your magic is or how right you believe your actions are. It doesn't give you the right to play God."

Emma handed the heart to Jefferson, who made sure to lock it in a discarded heart box near his feet. Rumpel fumbled with the layers of his suit, agitated by Emma's rejection.

"I didn't know you held me in such high regard," he snapped.

The last syllable barely passed his lips when Emma's palm connected with his cheek, giving it a stinging blow and making his head twist sharply to the side. The sound echoed off the basement's walls, punctuated only by Henry's cry of surprise. Rumpel ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek and stroked his jaw, which was already turning a fresh shade of tomato red. Emma balled her fist and grabbed the heart box away from Jefferson.

"I'm hiding the heart somewhere safe, somewhere only I know until I figure out what to do with it. End of story," she bellowed before charging her way up the stairs. Henry followed on her heels, warily checking over his shoulder at his stepfather. Rumpel watched Emma's back as she climbed the stairs with his cheek still aching. That didn't go as well as he anticipated.

Jefferson coughed, the kind that was meant to signal the spotlight solely on him.

"I'm not an expert, but I think you'd have been better off saying _yes, dear._"

…

Jefferson fidgeted with his tie for the umpteenth time. How did Rumpelstiltskin wear these day in and day out? He wasn't even sure he did it right. He much preferred his cravats. The tie was restrictive enough to make him want to tear it off his neck and rip his shirt open to gain some sort of freedom. He might have done it, too, if not for the fact that Granny was watching him like a hawk a foot away.

He paced restlessly throughout the Inn's foyer, waiting for Belle to join him. Tonight was their first date; not a half hour went by without Jefferson thinking about it. Granny stood behind the front desk, poring over the books for the Inn and the diner. She was generous enough to watch Grace tonight, who was already sound asleep upstairs.

"So…" Jefferson spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. Granny's steely gray eyes fixated on him from behind her glasses. "How much longer do you think she'll be?"

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he swore Granny's hand shifted an inch closer to the top drawer of the desk. The drawer that contained her arsenal of deadly goodies. Jefferson fumbled with his tie again to release the lump in his throat.

"Impatient, pretty boy?" Her lurid gaze dropped to the exposed scar circling his neck, made even more gruesome compared to the small scars left by Goldie's nails. Forget the tie; it was times like these that he missed his cravat dearly. He longed to rub his scar, but forced his hand to stay still at his side. He jumped when Granny's fist drove into the desk. "Do I knock on your door in the morning to tell you to get out of the bathroom?"

Jefferson nervously took a step away from the desk, nearly plopping into a potted plant near the door.

"No, Granny," he responded solemnly. _Thank God for that, _he added in his head.

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps on the stairs saved Jefferson from further embarrassment. Simultaneously, he and Granny swiveled around to look upon Belle as she joined their company. He was pretty certain his jaw made physical contact with the floor. Was it just him or did the lights in this place grow brighter in the last few seconds?

Belle descended the stairs like a true princess appearing for a royal ball, her stance confident and graceful at the same time. She was clad magnificently in a sapphire sleeveless dress that matched the shade of her eyes and set them on fire. The fabric barely rustled when she moved, though it hugged her skin deliciously. She paused on the second-to-last step and twirled in a small circle, revealing the dress to be luxuriously backless. Her cheeks glowed bright pink with excitement, her rosy lips pulled into a genuine smile.

He had no words to prove the extent of his admiration for her. The only sounds emerging from his mouth were _ooh _and _ahh_, as though he were marveling over the _Mona_ _Lisa_ instead of his date for the evening.

"Say something, pretty boy," Granny barked, breaking his dazzled trance. "You're the one she wants compliments from, not me." Jefferson blinked numbly, but the wondrous vision of Belle did not vanish. If he reached out a hand, he would be able to touch her. Perhaps he didn't dare because he was afraid of tainting her perfection.

"Belle, you look…beautiful. More than beautiful. That dress…" He stopped himself before gawking like an idiot in love, especially when it came to the curves of her body that were only accentuated under the sleek fabric. Belle was modest, accepting his compliment graciously without any exploitation of her beauty.

"Yes, well…Snow suggested I choose something sweet and Emma suggested I wear something sexy. I decided on something in between," she said with a carefree shrug of her shoulders.

She allowed the hem of her dress to flourish as her hips turned this way and that, showing off her fancy attire in the subtlest of ways. One of her straps slipped down her shoulder, commanding Jefferson's attention to zero in on her ivory skin. His fingers had the urge to fix the strap and casually brush his knuckles in the junction of her neck, maybe feel her pulse beating, but Belle had moved on to studying his evening wear.

"You're not too bad yourself. Very handsome." She extended a finger to poke the end of his tie. Jefferson decided then to wear it proudly. If Belle was happy with it, he supposed it wouldn't kill him to endure it for a few hours. "What do you think, Granny?"

"I don't call him pretty boy for nothing, do I?" Jefferson swore he saw those lips curve into an approving smile. If it had been there at all underneath those spectacles, it vanished as rapidly as it had come. "Listen here, kiddos. I expect there to be the same amount of wrinkle-free clothing when you return as when you left. If there is so much as a button missing, pretty boy will get an exam in sewing and a crash course in Proper Dating Etiquette, hosted by yours truly. Feel free to have a drink or two, but I expect you to be able to walk in a straight line and recite your ABC's. Backwards. And I expect you to be under this roof by the time that clock tower strikes eleven. Pumpkins will be the least of your worries, Cinderella."

First he was "pretty boy." Now it was Cinderella. Apparently, he should be grateful not to be stuck as a nine-month pregnant teenager for 28 years. He also knew better than to pout in front of Granny. He shot Belle a tired look. _You just had to ask her opinion, didn't you? _

"And if we return by, say, eleven o' five? What'll you do, lock us out?" Jefferson snickered at the absurd notion. This was an inn, not his parents' house. Granny flexed her broad shoulders, shooting up toward the ceiling like mountains. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. He forgot the all-important rule: if you were under Granny's roof, paying customer or not, you followed her rules.

"I'd let Belle inside. No sense leaving the poor girl standing in the cold in the middle of the night with gods-only-knows-what beasts roaming the streets. But if you're the type of gentleman that thinks he can bring a lady home late, I'll be courteous enough to leave the key in a ditch and see how long it takes you to claw your way out." She peered at him over the rims of her spectacles. That was her serious look, the one most people thought could strip the meat off your bones and reveal every little secret wriggling underneath. "That's one special girl you're taking out tonight. You are to treat her with the utmost respect."

"Yes, Granny," he replied stiffly, feeling more like a soldier in battle than Belle's intended date. Fast as he could move, he escorted Belle out of the Inn, with Granny's piercing gaze centered between his shoulder blades.

If she was this strict when it came to Belle's well-being, he couldn't begin to imagine what Granny was like when Red brought a guy home.

…..

"Where are you taking me?"

Belle chuckled in the passenger's seat while Jefferson drove toward their destination for the evening. He made sure to tie one of his cravats over her eyes so she would not be able to peek. He reached over and clasped one of the delicate hands that were folded in her lap, squeezing it comfortingly. Belle squeezed back.

"You'll see. Just promise to keep the blindfold on until I tell you. No peeking or you'll ruin the surprise," he said firmly. Belle's lips lifted in a smile. She held her hand up to pledge an oath.

"I promise not to lay a finger on the blindfold until you say otherwise," she consented and lowered her hand, right over his. He was reassured by her oath. Belle was good at keeping her promises and, unlike Rumpelstiltskin, she seemed to adore surprises.

She turned her head this way and that, often leaning it closer to the window, as though she could actually see through the fabric. Jefferson hoped she couldn't. He had wrapped the fabric around her head twice; there was no possible way she could observe any details about her environment. He hoped.

"Hmm…I think I have an idea about where we are." She sounded like she was teasing, but he watched her closely from the corner of his eye, anyway.

"No, you don't," he retorted.

Concerned about keeping the surprise secret for as long as possible, he even drove in nonsensical circles for the first ten minutes just to confuse Belle. He had a feeling she was only saying that to unravel him or gain some insight by encouraging him to slip up. He knew that the other four senses generally became stronger when a fifth one was snuffed out, but it was much too quiet on the streets of Storybrooke for Belle to discern anything through hearing.

Finally, their destination loomed into view through the windshield. Acting the part of the gentleman, he helped Belle from the car. Without the ability of sight at her disposal, she leaned on him heavily for support. He enjoyed the way she felt in his arms, nothing but lush fabric, gentle curves, and soft flesh. He led her inside the building and positioned her in the very center of the room. He wanted her to be in the very heart of tonight's venue.

"Jefferson, please don't mistake me for being rude, but…where are we? It smells…" She twitched her nose, her mouth puckering as if she sucked on a lemon. "Musty. We're not in Rumpelstiltskin's basement, are we? There were no stairs…" Jefferson nearly toppled over a chair, startled by Belle's first solid guess.

"Trust me, Rumpelstiltskin's basement is the last place I would take you for a first date. It would give him an excuse to eavesdrop," he said. Belle laughed, but she had no idea how true those last words were. Having known the imp for longer than he liked, Jefferson knew Rumpel wouldn't be able to resist peeking in on them unless Emma distracted him. That was a big _if _considering their latest squabble.

He hurried around the expansive room, putting everything in its desirable place. Candles? Check. Scented ones that gave off the aroma of vanilla cookies, courtesy of Rumpelstiltskin. Food? Check, courtesy of Granny and Red. Music? Check, courtesy of Snow and Emma. The two of them had handed him CD's of music they thought would create the right mood.

He inserted Snow's CD into the old CD player hiding in the corner. _Time After Time _by Cyndi Lauper streamed from the speakers. Jefferson debated on switching to Emma's CD, which was guaranteed to be less cheesy. But he was afraid if he popped it in he would hear _Let's Get It On_ or something equally straightforward. He would stick with Cyndi Lauper.

"Okay, take off the blindfold," Jefferson instructed. Belle eagerly slid the fabric down, wearing it as he might have. Her blue eyes widened in awe as she welcomed the sight of one of her favorite places in the world.

The library.

Dozens of yellow candles scattered the room, topping shelves, desks, and the corners to drive back the shadows that nested there. The amber light danced over the walls and made Belle's skin glow. Jefferson quietly stepped up behind her while she was entranced and passed something into her palm.

"What is this? Not a ring already?" Her teasing made Jefferson blush. Her fingers unfurled to reveal a brass key. To Belle, it was worth more than roses and chocolates.

"It's the key to the library. Rumpelstiltskin gave it to me to give to you on our first date. This is your world, to do with as you please," he told her warmly. Gently, he curled her fingers until they closed securely over the key. The respect and gratitude radiating off Belle had Jefferson grinning like a foolish boy who happened to earn his crush's kiss after Spin the Bottle.

Before he knew it, Belle had fallen into his arms and caught him in a hug.

"Thank you, Jefferson," she murmured into his ear, her breath tickling the skin of his neck. He inhaled the fresh scent of her hair, swearing never to forget it, even if he came down with a nasty winter's cold. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

She pulled back to gauge his reaction. Overjoyed was an understatement. He hadn't felt this good in years.

"Come with me," he pleaded, tapping her elbow. She tilted her head, puzzling over what else he may have had in mind. He read it in her innocent blue eyes, in the way she drifted even closer to his body, bound to him by an invisible string: if he only asked, she would follow. "I have something better to show you."

Obediently she took his hand, letting him take her to the clock tower that existed directly above the library. Remembering Granny's warning, he respected Belle enough to carry her in his arms all the way up the stairs. Belle's arms circled his neck as he struggled to complete the lengthy journey. By the fifth flight of stairs, sweat clung to his neck and brow, the muscles in his legs went on strike once or twice, and Belle questioned if he would like to take a break, but still he pushed on. He swore to be a gentleman, no matter what. _Step 57…step 58…step 59…and…_

"Here…we…are," he huffed when his feet landed on the top floor. Even though his body swayed, he had enough decency to gently lower Belle to her feet. She kissed him on the cheek for his efforts while he bent over the railing and heaved in fresh breaths. At least the view was a pleasurable reward.

Before them was the gigantic face of the town clock, the black hands revolving and striking each second with a dull _tock-tock-tock. _Beyond the transparent glass of the clock was a spectacular view of Storybrooke, spanning miles across. There was a sea of green trees, broken only by the various colors of rooftops and the cement of streets below. Belle pressed her body right up to the glass to look out into the night.

"It's amazing," she breathed in wonder. Her head turned everywhere at once, trying hopelessly to drink everything in as though it was likely to vanish with the first hint of sunrise. "When I wished to see the world, this isn't quite what I had in mind. I love it."

While Belle looked upon the sleeping town of Storybrooke, Jefferson could not help watching her silently. He admired the chestnut curls framing her pink cheeks, the excitement dancing along every stretch of skin on her body as she stood on her tip-toes to glimpse even farther into the distance, the childish glee and hope that made his heart lift in return.

It had been a terribly long, lonely time since he was so fascinated by a woman. Too long, in fact. Belle knew exactly the words to say to make even his worst mood skyrocket to pure happiness in a heartbeat and her immovable kindness inevitably encouraged him to want to be a better man. Belle was so open-minded, so brave, so strong-willed, so…

"Beautiful," he spoke aloud. Belle's hands weaved together over her heart. For all he knew, she might have been sending a prayer to the heavens that this night never ended. It was the same wish he was making at that very moment.

"Yes, it is," she replied with a little nod, obviously mistaking the object of his attention. The whole town of Storybrooke could have been reduced to rubble while the clock tower was spared and he would have been the last to realize it, his whole focus trained on the individual standing next to him. His hand brushed her back, snagging her attention briefly.

"I meant you," he admitted. The breath left Belle's lungs. He knew it because her breasts were no longer falling and rising normally. Not that he noticed the pattern in which her breasts rose or fell at any time of the day or night. Every part of her body was breathtaking, in his mind.

A delicate whoosh of air escaped her lips. His thumb sensually traced her bottom lip as she curled into his arms. One of her hands caressed his jaw and he realized then that their mouths hovered only inches apart. He had a sense of what was coming, but he selfishly did not want to stop it from happening.

Belle's kiss was soft, softer than he ever imagined it would be. It was the same sensation as falling into silk, falling onto the world's most divine bed that happened to be covered with rose petals. He dove headfirst into it without once looking back, returning her kiss even harder. She tasted sweet, like strawberries and sugar. He only hoped he tasted as good. He tried to recall whether he used Listerine before leaving the inn, but every ounce of his capacity for thought dissipated when Belle's lips parted underneath his.

This was perfect.

There was a flash of bright green light somewhere beyond his eyelids. Whatever it was, it was gone by the time he opened his eyes.

"I think I just saw fireworks," he gasped, his breath coming in quick pants. Belle was doing the same, lounging casually in his embrace.

"So did I."

…..

There was a blinding flash of green light and then nothing but supreme darkness.

"Where are we? It's dark down here. And wet," Hook moaned, scrambling around to assess his new environment. It felt like they were inside a cramped cave, all cold and clammy. There were damp, pebbly walls surrounding him on every side and nothing but bleak shadows. A small slurping sound rose from the darkness. "Ugh! Bleh! Just so you know, the water here tastes funny."

His one good hand groped something soft and warm. He squeezed it, testing its roundness and size in his palm.

"Killian, that is my breast you're fondling," Cora's dry voice drifted to him. He could swear she leaned into his touch. Hook whipped his hand away in disgust. He spat on his palm and rubbed it on his knee to get rid of the sensation of Cora's lady parts. She cackled, the sharp laughter echoing eerily off the walls. "I believe we're inside a well."

Hook tilted his head back to view the sky above, but all he could see was a blanket of black. There weren't even any stars in the night sky or the moon's illumination. There was a strange howl in the distance. Perhaps they were in the middle of a forest. An icy breeze swirled down the well to cover his jaw and he shivered.

"How do you expect me to climb out of a well with one hand and a hook?" He struck his hook against the stone walls, but there were no crevices or jutting ledges to hold onto for support. He preferred the beanstalk.

"Simple. You carry me on your shoulders and lift me up. I will climb out of the well and return with rope to rescue you," she proposed. Hook wiggled his eyebrows dubiously at the mention of _rope _and _rescue._ Cora had a thing for the dramatic.

"How do I know you'll return with rope? For all I know, you'll leave me stranded down here while you play the role of Mommy Dearest to your daughter," he said. Even in the darkness, Hook sensed the change come over Cora, sensed the moment that her expression turned into one of displeasure. It had a vague smell of death to it.

"Must every pirate have trust issues?" Hook wondered how many other pirates Cora knew. No doubt she was the reason why it became unlucky to have a woman aboard a ship. "You have my word that I will not abandon you. You are my only companion in this world, remember?"

Hook raked his nails over the stone walls, hopelessly trying to claw his way out. Maybe it was his anxious mind playing tricks on him, but he swore the walls were closing in on him, trapping him in an infinitely small space with Cora. He jumped a foot, maybe two, before plopping back down. He gave up after landing on his butt in a stream of water.

"Why can't I climb on your shoulders? After all—" He gulped thickly, despising what needed to be said next. "I happen to be the cripple here. I should get top priority for escape." Something pushed on his hook. Cora must be touching it. He scowled and cradled it close to his chest. Only select women were allowed to touch his hook.

"I am a lady and that sort of behavior is wildly inappropriate," she taunted.

Hook tried seeking her out in the darkness, but it was impossible. It wouldn't surprise him if Cora were able to adapt to the darkness and become an invisible predator inside it. He gazed up at what he thought was the sky, pondering his options. He could refuse to let Cora climb on his shoulders—oh, the bruises!—but then he would be stuck down here with Cora until some old fool came along and kindly helped them out. At this rate, that could be hours from now. He wasn't willing to entertain Cora for that amount of time.

"Fine, have it your way. Hop on," he relented, crouching down so that Cora would be able to hoist herself onto his shoulders. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder, the grip as formidable as steel. He grunted as Cora's weight mounted his shoulders, his feet staggering backwards as he forced himself to stand up. _I should be getting paid for this kind of work, _he thought bitterly.

"A little to the left," Cora directed. He swung in the desired direction until he heard Cora crash into the stone wall. He would have chuckled, if his head were not being smothered by the layers of her dress. "Higher, Killian!" His legs wobbled as he struggled to lift her up. She wasn't exactly petite. If it were someone like Belle, Rumpelstiltskin's true love, then this would be so much easier. And more rewarding on his part. "Higher!"

"I'm trying! Stop yelling at me, woman! Why don't you whip out that black umbrella of yours and fly your way out?" He sputtered, blowing a piece of fabric out of his eyes. He felt a piece of rock fall on his head. He wasn't entirely sure it wasn't on purpose.

"There's no magic in this land, you idiot! I have as much capability to fly as a penguin," she remarked. Was that how she viewed herself in animalistic terms? A penguin? He could only imagine what sort of animal figure she would assign to him. A seahorse, perhaps, given his hook. Or a crab. _The crab, the crocodile, and the penguin. Sounds like a lovely tale. _

"Have you ever tried using magic? You might be surprised! We don't even know if we're in that land without magic. How do you know we didn't just transport to another well in the Enchanted Forest?" It was very quiet up there. Usually that was a bad thing when it came to Cora. It meant she was stewing like a vegetable and was calculating how best to attack her enemies.

Hook was amazed when Cora's weight suddenly left his shoulders. One minute she was there and the next she was gone. Had she reached the top and climbed out? Or did she really take his advice, try to use magic, and found that she could fly? Either way, he was relieved enough by her absence to flop down on his back in the center of the well, the water cooling his aching shoulders.

"Your turn," Cora called from somewhere far above his head. And then he started to fly.

The essence of magic—a heavy second skin that made his tongue taste as if it had been burnt—cloaked his shoulders and lifted him from the ground. He floated horizontally toward the opening of the well and he waited to see Cora's grin loom from the darkness. Something went awry halfway there and he started to do somersaults and hang upside-down in the air. His stomach flip-flopped and he reached his arms out to grab onto something to stop the spinning. It especially wasn't comfortable when the only substance in his belly was rum.

By the time he rose out of the well, his butt was the first part of his body to appear. Cora tossed him aside on the ground like a ragdoll and he landed jarringly on his elbow. Now there were stars everywhere, hanging over his head and blinking in many different colors. _Note to self: never mention flying to Cora again. _

"Next time I get a tattoo, I'll put _handle with care _on my forehead," he muttered, clumsily rising to his feet. Everything was sore, not that he was about to mention that to Cora. She'd probably take it as a compliment.

"You've fallen plenty of times before, Killian. One would think you'd be used to it by now," Cora retorted.

With awkward silence and wariness of the labyrinth of woods ahead, they trudged their way into the town. They eventually found a path out of the woods that led to a long stretch of ink. It took them a moment of wary glances to realize it was a road. From the center of the town towered a bright clock tower, its hands marking the time as 8:15.

Cora met his eyes over her shoulder and smirked.

"Welcome to Storybrooke."

…..

Hook had been to many foreign places due to his title as pirate, navigator of the seas. He'd flirted with Neverland's bloodthirsty mermaids and drank more mugs of rum than he could count on two hands in the Enchanted Forest's finest taverns. He had flown head over heels with pixie dust after saying the wrong thing to a particularly uptight pixie and he suffered Cora sticking her gruesome hand in his chest in Wonderland. Those stories would have been good tales for the ears of future Hook grandchildren.

This world, however, was stranger than any land he stepped foot in. Why, it didn't even make sense according to Wonderland's logic.

There were horseless carriages running amok in the street. Were the horses invisible? Two of those horseless carriages nearly ran them over as they traveled through this land called "Storybrooke." The lights glowed on every corner of every street and in every window—without the use of fire. Where were the hearths and candles? How did that even work? They passed a cozy house and stopped to look in the windows. There was a big black box inside and people gathered around it on the softest looking seats Hook had ever seen. Inside that black box were colorful pictures. But the pictures moved! The people inside it were so small, practically midgets!

It was a baffling enchantment, indeed. He would bet that not even Rumpelstiltskin could pull off such sorcery.

"What is that red statue that dog is urinating on?" Hook had taken to asking Cora about his awed suspicions. If there was anyone who should contain knowledge from other worlds, it should be her. She pretended to know everything, anyway, and there was no one else he could ask. Plus, it was fun to watch her become so annoyed.

"I don't know, Killian," she answered through tightly pursed lips. "Why don't you try urinating on it? You should be familiar with the phrase: _monkey see, monkey do." _Ah, so _that_ was the animal of which she envisioned him. A monkey.

Hook scrunched his nose at her suggestion. Urinating in public? That was both revolting and humiliating. It reminded him…

"Where are the bathrooms in this place? We've passed several roads and I haven't seen one yet," he pointed out. Where else would the people of this place relieve themselves except in outhouses and chamberpots? Or did they have bladders that did not require emptying? How peculiar.

"I…don't…know," Cora barked, narrowing her eyes to slits. "Perhaps the citizens of this town neglect their manners." They began to stroll by a clothing store, its brightly lit windows exhibiting several gowns. Hook's eyes widened as he scanned them one-by-one. Oh, my.

"Where are the rest of these dresses? Do they sell the other half separately? Or did someone come along and tear their skirts off? And how come there are no corsets on any of the women in that oversized picture there? And what in the name of the gods is…ling-er-ie?"

"I don't know! How many times must you make me say it?" Cora screeched so loudly that a flock of birds took flight from a roof across the street. Hook shied away, afraid to anger the deadly creature known as Cora any further. That was a creature you didn't want to battle, especially not one-handed.

"I was only asking," he mumbled half-heartedly. Cora threw her hands in the air in frustration and carried on. Hook started to follow when something else in the next window caught his eye.

Why, there was a _woman_ in that window! An actual woman other than Cora! She was pale-skinned, far more than Snow White even, but he didn't mind. She stood tall and proud behind the glass, her hands positioned on her curvy hips and her eyes seemingly staring right at him. He stroked his jaw, wondering if she enjoyed what she saw. He also wondered how much these people paid her to stand so still. He slinked up to the glass and cleared his throat. This was the first female he had encountered in this world; he had to put on a good impression.

"Hello there, love. You look quite lonesome, standing behind that glass. What's your name?" Silence. He tilted his head in puzzlement. This one was playing hard to get, he figured. "Shy, are we? That's perfectly fine. I do fancy a challenge. Where are my manners? You may call me Hook. Hell, _Captain_ Hook, if that sort of thing suits you."

He wouldn't ask her to call him Killian after Cora got into the habit of doing so. He waited for a reply, perhaps a little throaty giggle, but still the woman did not say a word. Did someone cut out her tongue? She must be entranced in his charm if she wasn't even blinking. Poor girl; she must need rescuing first. A show of heroism.

"I'll tell you what, sweetheart. I'll help you escape this glass chamber of yours. Then you and I shall treat ourselves to a drink and we'll get to know one another. I have all night. All I need to do is just…" He tapped the glass with his hook. Swinging his arm back, he thrust it through the glass barrier and the glass shattered, pooling at his feet. That was easy.

Until the scream of alarms erupted through the air. What the devil was going on? Was it a crime to rescue an extremely fair maiden?

"What in seven hells do you think you're doing? Are you trying to give away our presence in this land already?" Cora strode back to his side and tugged on his arm. She took one look at the object of his desires and growled. Her palm extended to the girl, who burst into flames like a gigantic torch. Killian sunk onto his knees and screamed.

"_No!_ I almost had her! She and I were going to have a drink!"

Hook tried to leap into the chamber to reach his frozen beloved, but Cora dragged him away down the street. Lights in the distance sliced through the shadows. It was one of those horseless carriages. Cora guided them into an alleyway before the carriage came to a halt in front of the smoking building.

"After we find my daughter, I'll grant you dozens of those pale women for your pleasure," Cora said roughly, shoving Hook forward into the alley. He cried inside during the rest of their nightly journey. _I didn't even learn her name! _

….

Emma jerked her Bug to a halt in front of Modern Fashions after having hidden Cora's heart. Or, at least, what remained of the front half of Modern Fashions. One of the display windows was shattered, millions of shards of glass glittering on the sidewalk in the milky beam of Emma's headlights. What was stranger than the obvious intrusion was the female mannequin now perishing in a torrent of flames. The flames had spread around her feet and engulfed the nearest wall.

_My job is never done, _she mentally groaned as she slid her body from the driver's seat, pressing a hand to her belly to protect her unborn child. These mornings, she was convinced there was a bit of a swell to her abdomen. She examined herself in the bathroom mirror until Gold came within inches of knocking the door down in order to shave. It wouldn't be long before she really started to show, until Regina figured out her enemy had a particularly sensitive Achilles' heel.

Emma dreaded that day.

She scowled as she observed the damage to Storybrooke's only reasonable clothing store. A small crowd was beginning to gather as people emerged from nearby houses and businesses, their shocked expressions illuminated by the light of the flickering fires. Storybrooke's fire truck rolled up. The driver muttered something about 'the second time this week.'

Emma's first suspect was Regina, of course. No one else in town would be insane enough to set a store on fire at this time of night. The only thing she couldn't understand was why Regina would do it in the first place. Was she passing by and accidentally unleashed a fireball? Or was there another motive? _What is she hoping to do? Burn the clothing store and force us to rely on our old clothes until we walk around Storybrooke naked? _

"Emma," someone called from the midst of the growing crowd. Two people hurried through the swarm of bodies, dressed more elegantly than anyone else in town except for Gold. It was Belle and Jefferson who popped up in front of her, wearing matching expressions of concern when they caught sight of the burning store. "What the hell happened?"

"Either Regina happened…_again_…or…" Emma's words trailed off, her gaze sweeping the crowd of Storybrooke's citizens. The lives of those she swore to protect. The way Jefferson's eyes darkened told her he understood her unspoken message. _What's worse: this is only the beginning, _Emma mused. "I hope this didn't ruin your date."

That would be hitting two or three birds with one stone for Regina. Emma glanced sadly at Belle, noticing how impressive the brunette looked. _Can't one good thing happen in this town without Regina ruining it? _

Belle didn't seem heartbroken, though. She happily looped her arm through Jefferson's, a positive sign after a date if Emma ever saw one. The light in her blue eyes was reserved solely for Jefferson—she doubted a single fleeting thought of Rumpelstiltskin had crossed Belle's mind tonight.

"Our date was wonderful," Belle answered proudly, though her attention did not waver from Jefferson's handsome face. Emma had a feeling this was mostly spoken for his sake. "Jefferson took me to the library."

Emma thought she heard wrong for a minute. She failed to process how Belle's delighted smile matched the details coming out of her mouth.

"The…library?"

Belle nodded while Jefferson shuffled his shoe on the sidewalk. His face was turning a vivid shade of red. Most guys took their dates to overly fancy restaurants and planned secret picnics under the stars, not a trip to the local library. Then again, she shouldn't be one to complain when her first date featured the backseat of her Bug (stolen) and a box of Cheez-Its (also stolen).

"Oh, yes! He gave me the key to it. There were candles lit all around the room and soft music playing and he showed me the clock tower where I looked out over the whole town…It was perfect," she sighed contently. She inclined her head to plant a kiss on his cheek, which made him blush worse.

_Ah, young love, _Emma thought with a stab of envy. She and Gold never truly experienced that carefree stage of their romance. She just woke up one morning to the overwhelming realization that their honeymoon didn't suck and that she was at risk of falling for him along the way.

"Congratulations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a call," she said flatly. She edged around them and made a beeline for the alley near Modern Fashions. Once there, she whipped out her phone and called Gold via speed-dial. He picked up on the first ring, as he always did. Sometimes she thought he kept his phone on him at all times in case she ever needed him. Even if they had fought, it didn't mean he didn't care about her. Quite the opposite.

"Emma? Are you alright?"

And like always, his tone was filled with nothing but tender concern for her wellbeing. He always advised her not to let the friendly small-town image fool her, that the streets of Storybrooke were as dangerous as those in New York or any other massive city. She really didn't know how many people in this town would mess with the wife of the Dark One, but he always jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

"I'm fine. The mannequin in the store window of Modern Fashions is due for a funeral service, though. Someone broke the glass and burned the mannequin," she explained, scratching her head. Even after explaining it, she still didn't understand it fully.

"Someone like Regina," Gold replied, picking up the path of her thoughts rather swiftly. Emma nodded before remembering that he could not see it through the phone. Her communication with him was tense, but she was willing to put aside her earlier anger in lieu of preventing Regina's attacks. These were difficult times; she needed Gold as her ally, not her opponent.

"Possibly. Maybe Regina's taking out her hatred on Snow White on mannequins who happen to have as pale skin as her," Emma quipped. Almost immediately, there was a short _humph _in her ear. His disagreement came across loud and clear. "You don't think so."

"I am not in the habit of crossing anything out. Regina may very well have been consumed by a childish temper tantrum. She was never one to bottle her anger efficiently. The mannequin was female, yes? I don't mean to alarm you, dear, but we may have two intruders prowling our streets in leather attire."

"Hook and Cora," she clarified. If they had managed to find their way to Storybrooke, that could prove to be a major problem. Their argument resurfaced in her mind, but she did not want to travel down that road again. "So those two are fond of attacking inanimate objects?"

Gold snorted, which she figured was partly laughter and partly derisive.

"No, but the pirate has a nasty habit of chasing anything that remotely resembles the anatomical figure of a female. The way I see it, the pirate mistook the mannequin for a living woman trapped behind glass, he broke the glass in pursuit, Cora became jealous, and she was the one to burn alive the competition." That made a little more sense in her mind than Regina taking a stroll in public when her head had a price on it. "Either way, we should consider the fact that they're here in Storybrooke."

Emma raked her fingers through her unkempt blonde hair. This was not the sort of thing she wished to consider. Regina was enough trouble for this town. Who was next? Ursula from _The Little Mermaid? _Cruella De Ville?

"Guess that means I'm patrolling the streets before I head home," she moaned. Already she loathed the idea of driving endlessly around Storybrooke's streets, searching for a pirate and an old woman that resembled Regina who may or may not be in Storybrooke in the first place. Better to be safe than sorry.

"I'll wait up for you, dear," her husband promised. No doubt they still had matters to discuss, anyway. _Of course you will, _she thought, snapping the phone shut. She rolled her shoulders, which were achy enough after the long day. _Something tells me I'll need one of Gold's world-class full-body massages when I get home. After we have a long talk. _

….

No matter which world they resided in, Cora always had a knack for finding her daughter. Even when she stopped and closed her eyes, mentally conjuring up a picture of Regina in her head, she sensed Regina's immense power thriving somewhere deep in Storybrooke. Ever since that pitiful stable boy's death, Regina formed an attraction for dark, lonely places. Cora suspected Regina liked to frequent these secret chambers to punish herself by reliving the memories of David or Donald or whatever his name was. Regina always was a little too attached to that boy, even going as far as wanting to refuse the king's offer of marriage to run away with her forbidden love.

It sounded like a wishy-washy story from a program these people called "soap operas." On the way to finding her daughter, Hook complained that he was hungry, whining like a fitful child. Finally, Cora got annoyed enough to stop at a place called Clark's convenience store and broke inside to raid it of food.

It was there Cora discovered thin, small folds of glossy attached papers called magazines stocked on a revolving rack. Its pages documented every scandalous detail of these "soaps." How did the people of this land find this shallow drama entertaining? People died all the time, didn't they? Cora pored through the first few pages, disgusted by what she read. It was _Crystal Gives Birth to Twins—But Not Her Husband's_ this and _Who Will Belle Choose _that. It was nauseating.

Hook was as much out of his element in the store as he was on the streets. He wandered the aisles aimlessly, picking up several packages for examination.

"What the hell are Pop-Tarts? Matter of fact, what is a toaster?" He looked across the aisle to Cora and shuddered under her glare. He flung the packages down on the shelf. "Forget I asked. Wouldn't want my attractive face to end up burnt like sweet, beautiful…What's-Her-Face."

Cora sniffed reprovingly. The pirate might not acknowledge it yet, but that woman behind the glass was nothing but trouble. Cora knew her kind. She did him a favor by eliminating her and her siren ways. Hook found a packaged round object on a white stick beside a poster of a crudely drawn owl sticking out his tongue and holding up the very same item.

"How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? The world may never know," Hook read off the poster. He twirled the object through his fingers experimentally. "Sounds like a challenge to me." There was a distinct crinkling of paper, followed by a sucking sound as Hook shoved the treat in his mouth. Determinedly, he began to lick. "One, _slurp, _two, _slurp_, three…"

Cora strode over and snatched the treat out of his mouth. She sent it hurtling to the ground, where part of it shattered on the shiny tiles. That incessant slurping would drive her up the wall before the night was out.

"I wasn't finished with that," Hook complained. Cora lunged for his vest and caught ahold of it in her fist. She dragged him to the store's door, tossing him out onto the street.

"We're wasting time," she ridiculed, shoving him down the street. They kept to the deepest shadows and alleyways, avoiding those oversized fireless torches on each corner. On the way, Cora explained her theory of Regina's whereabouts to Hook, if only to prevent him from badgering her with unending questions.

"So, you believe that your daughter will be hiding out somewhere in the graveyard because of her dead lover?" Hook made a dubious snort, sidling along the wall that surrounded the cemetery. It was easier to sneak around when they located it. No one dared venture into the cemetery at night.

"Regina always had an unbreakable habit of getting attached to certain people," Cora responded in a clipped tone. Hook detected a hint of malice and he decided it best not to ask the source of such hatred. "Our stable boy was one of those fools. After his…untimely death, she could not bear to let him go. She kept his body in her heart vault. Her heart vault, resembling a crypt, will be in the cemetery. Even my daughter is not as bold as to drop it in the center of this town for all to see her work."

Hook shook his head pitifully. The women in this family line were nothing but trouble waiting to happen. He edged his sleeve up to peer at Milah's inked name. She may have been his one true love, but he never stored her body in his cabins on his ship. Preserving and obsessing over her corpse bordered on creepy.

"Wait," Cora instructed, holding up a gloved hand.

Hook bumped into her shoulder. Surprisingly, she did not notice or else she did not remark about the personal contact. She was too busy staring at one of the houses across the street. Hook crossed his fingers, afraid she was getting ideas about having him move in with her daughter after their reunion. He'd rather move in with Rumpelstiltskin…and then attack him in his sleep. A slippery smile slid over Cora's lips.

"That estate belongs to my daughter." She pointed.

Hook craned his neck around her body to get a better glimpse of the house in question. It was actually pretty impressive, a sprawling white mansion that one could only hope of attending a party inside, never mind living there comfortably. There was plenty of land in between the house and those of the neighbors and perfectly cropped hedges decorating the front lawn gave off the impression that the owner cared very much for appearances.

It sounded like Regina…but it seemed no different than any other house on the street. Besides, it was _white_. Most did not know the Evil Queen for lounging in white gowns with a halo hovering over her head. Save for the Dark One himself, she was the epitome of darkness, a detail that was always conveyed through her affinity for black leather and lace.

"How can you tell?" Cora sent him a scathing look, as though the answer should have been obvious. He pretended to clean his hook so as not to confront her bitterness.

"It's the biggest house on the street," she replied calmly. Hook glanced at every house up and down, just to verify that fact. "Furthermore, I can promise you there will be an apple tree in the back. I have no idea why my daughter was so fascinated with that particular fruit. I always preferred pears myself."

They took a detour through Regina's house, which did have an apple tree in the backyard. Suddenly Hook lost his ravenous appetite, but Cora happily picked an apple from the tree, only to spit it out with the complaint that it was sour. She crushed the remains with the heel of her boot, turning it into gooey globs of sauce.

Cora was blatantly surprised by the inside of the house. It was so dull, yet somehow reminded her of a castle. A glorious seat of power, unchallenged by any other estate on the street. She knew Regina would see things her way someday—all it took was the death of a stable boy and falling through a mirror to Wonderland. Regina certainly treated this place like her royal kingdom. There was even an apron in the kitchen with the words _Kiss the Queen _printed on it in red script.

How subtle.

While Cora took interest in the various torture devices in Regina's kitchen—knives big and small, a deadly circular blade used for slicing, a hammer with spikes on it, little silver templates that might brand someone with a snowman or an extremely overweight man—Hook used some odd black box to control the even bigger box in a room across the foyer. They had seen that same box in another house earlier in the evening, the one with the magically moving pictures.

"_And…touchdown! Whooo!" _

"Whoo," Hook mimicked, pumping his fist in the air. Cora stopped playing with the fire-starter in her hand and contemplated whether the pirate was officially losing his mind. "I have no clue what just happened, but if those little people are excited, so am I. Now, let's see here…"

He examined the thin, rectangular box in his one good hand before choosing another button to press. This time, elated music rang out through the house as a young dark-haired girl danced joyfully on the screen with a monkey in boots.

"_We did it! We did it!" _Hook rubbed his jaw in confusion.

"I don't get it. What did they do? And why is that monkey allowed to wear boots? Oh, never mind it. Next!" Cora left Hook alone with the enchanted black box and traveled up the grand staircase to the second floor. She followed the narrow hallway, poking her head through every door she passed.

There was a storage closet with too many blankets and pillows. How many people slept in this fake castle? She had yet to see one servant lurking around. There was an overly white room that contained an elongated seat filled with water. Every time Cora flicked the silver handle, the water was sucked away. She tossed a container of colorful face powder in there, but it got sucked away, too. Then she moved on to tossing in the light paper that hung beside the seat, a handful of cotton swabs, a brush. Gone.

There were handles sticking out of the wall on the other side of that white room, too. She played with those and got sprayed in the face with hot water. It was a fortunate thing she wasn't like that poor green witch with the allergy to moisture.

The third door in the hallway hosted a bedroom. Cora instantly knew it belonged to her daughter, given its enormous size and luxury. Regina always needed the best.

There were tiny bottles on the desk filled with liquid that made Cora gag each time she spritzed its musky aroma in the air. A massive bed took up most of the space and Cora could not resist flouncing on it. It was so cozy that she was immediately in danger of falling asleep. Roaming to the closet, she discovered an entire assortment of bland clothing. Where were Regina's glitzy gowns and corsets?

This world featured such boring taste in fashion. Not even a strip of leather.

Closing the closet door, she turned to leave when something on the wooden stand next to the bed caught her eye. It was a small shrine, exhibiting a striped red and gray scarf, a piece of clay with a child's handprint embedded in it, and a picture of Regina smiling and holding a boy. The truth hit Cora with enough force to etch weary creases over her lips and under her eyes.

Regina had a son. Henry, if the sloppily written name in the clay was anything to go by. Who was the father? Rumpelstiltskin?

"She named her son after that bumbling idiot?" Cora _accidentally _dropped the clay handprint on the floor where it broke into several jagged pieces and left a trail of gray pebbles behind. Love was weakness. When would Regina learn that lesson? "I almost expect her to have a daughter named Cora."

Hook's shout from downstairs disrupted her musings about Regina's weaknesses.

"_Wheel…of…Fortune!" _

….

It took Cora and Hook longer to leave Regina's house of otherworldly treasures than to find the Mills' family crypt. There were so many unfamiliar objects and gizmos that they would become distracted every time they planned on leaving. Who knew that there was a machine to cook food without a fireplace? Who knew there were shoes in the shape of rabbits? Or that there were earpieces that could connect to anyone in the world without seeing them face to face?

Cora frowned at the decrepit crypt in front of her, bearing a false name. Mills. Such a despicable name. Why did Regina insist on throwing Cora's bleak past of being a lowly miller's daughter back in her face? What good came from originating of such pitiful standards and social status? Only the truly powerful stood undefeated.

Hook's hand found the handle on the rusty door, but Cora pulled him back before he could open it.

"Barging in there in the form of her mother and an untrustworthy pirate will not win my daughter's trust. I will not be surprised if she wants nothing to do with me. Yet. But she needs me all the same, whether she realizes it or not. We'll need a make-over," she declared. Hook twitched as an idea popped into her head, made obvious by the way she visually undressed him. "How do you feel about striped scarves?"

….

Regina ventured to her family crypt for the first time in two days.

Ever since the curse broke, she had changed location every other day or so to avoid detection by Storybrooke's so-called heroes. One night she hid away in Rumpelstiltskin's cabin in the woods, but she was too disturbed by the idea of how many times the Gold lovebirds did it to touch the couch with a ten-foot pole. She chose to spend the following night in the woods, under a wide tree. It was a horrendously unpleasant experience with the yellow eyes of woodland creatures staring at her all night.

Now, she preferred to lay low in the comfort and solitude of the crypt. Or what remained of it, anyway. The Golds had infiltrated her heart vault. All her hearts were stolen in hopes of restoring them and stabbing her in the back in the process.

Even worse, her mirror had been destroyed. That imp was too paranoid for his own good. After catching him breaking in a new pair of leather pants in his castle, she stopped spying on his personal life unless it was absolutely necessary. Seeing Rumpelstiltskin test out a fresh pair of pants, stretching in all possible angles, was a far more disturbing show than she thought it would be. She'd had nightmares for days after that, nightmares of being strapped to a chair while Rumpel modeled those pants for hours while she screamed for him to stop.

Regina had little use for her heart vault these days. Her presence in the crypt was for grieving purposes only. She did not lie to Emma when she claimed she brought flowers every Wednesday in memory of a loved one. It just wasn't her father she meant. It was a half-truth.

Even after 28 years—and too many years to count in the Enchanted Forest—the lid of the casket lifted smoothly under her touch. Inside it rested a body, but not the one matching the name inscribed on the casket. It was Daniel, brought over with the curse and preserved in a casket she insisted was her father's. Already wet tears blurred her vision and she wiped the water away on her sleeve.

"I love you, Daniel," she whispered, her voice strained and breaking with the emotion that had bottled in the deepest portion of her heart for decades.

Carefully, as if he might shatter into one thousand pieces, she bent forward and touched his pale, stiff cheek. Even preserved by enchantments, death was taking its toll on his appearance. She painfully noticed the way his skin sagged and grayed with time, now devoid of all signs of life, his once gentle hair thinning and losing its quality. His hands became knobby, resembling the hands of a skeleton instead of a lover that once made her sigh blissfully with a single brush of those fingers.

This was not the Daniel she cherished, but somehow she failed to find the strength to let go.

As usual when her visits ended, Regina's emotions got the better of her and she wept cold tears over his body, willing him to come back to her and falling further into depression when he did not awaken.

It wasn't fair! Why did that hideous Snow White deserve to keep her true love while Regina's beloved rotted in a grave not his own, heartless for all eternity? Why did her precious trigger-happy daughter deserve to find happiness with someone as miserable and cruel as Rumpelstiltskin? If she didn't deserve her happy ending, neither did he. It wasn't fair at all.

If she succeeded in reaching out to her mother for help, it might have evened the odds. As far as she knew, her mother despised the imp as much as she did. _Just once, I'd like to walk out of this crypt happy, _she thought forlornly, placing a bouquet of freshly picked flowers at the foot of his casket. That's what happened when you had Bambi staring at you all night: you escaped by resorting to mindless flower-picking.

The crypt's door creaked open. She whirled in alarm, already armed with a sizzling stream of fire in her palm. If she ever got caught, she assumed she would be facing off against Emma, Rumpelstiltskin, or the two idiots. This was not what she expected.

"Mom?" Regina's legs grew weak with relief, buckling at the mere sound of an innocent voice she had not heard for far too long. The fireball stopped crackling, seeping into steam and evaporating through her fingers.

"Henry," she cried, falling to her knees to tug him into her arms. She buried her nose in his striped scarf and allowed her tears to soak into his shoulder.

It didn't matter if this was a trap set by the Golds or the Charmings. This was her son in her arms, hugging her back. She stroked his hair and rocked him tightly. He was hers; they would have to pry her off with a crowbar. She would readily fight them tooth and nail until their bodies were nothing more than a pile of ribbons, their heads deflated balloons.

"I missed you. You found me," she said into his ear.

Regina made a mental note to scrub that wretched line from her tongue with soap. In her vocabulary, using those words side-by-side in the same sentence amounted to one filthy curse word.

"Of course I did. I swore I would," Henry replied with a small chuckle.

His voice shifted, increasing and decreasing in volume, becoming deeper and lighter at random moments. Apparently, his voice found it difficult to make up its mind about pitch. Regina reared back and looked at him curiously, noting any differences that should not be there. Red lips curled away from her teeth in a snarl. Quicker than she might have moved had she been doused with battery acid, she scrambled away from Henry, crashing into the casket that held Daniel's ancient corpse.

"You are not my son," she hissed. Her fury and sense of betrayal spiked to dangerous levels. This trick was one of the oldest in the book. Who dared deceive her this way? Rumpelstiltskin? She wouldn't put it past the imp to sink so low for amusement. She braced herself mentally to hear that spine-chilling giggle erupt from Henry's mouth at any moment.

If he impersonated anyone, she always figured it would be someone much, much taller.

It only unnerved Regina further to witness a slimy, secretive grin come over her son's face. A puff of purple smoke swirled around his feet, curling wisps of fog twisting around his legs and waist. When the fog cleared, Regina found herself staring at someone else entirely.

"No," she moaned. Even if she was desperate enough to try to contact her mother, she did not enjoy having her impersonate her son. She especially had no idea what to say after all these years. It wasn't like she secretly kept a journal with planned conversations. Her mother, however, did not have the issue of speechlessness.

"Hello, Regina," she greeted nice and slowly. The bittersweet touch made Regina cringe. For some reason, her mother was still wearing the striped scarf around her neck. As she watched, it fell from Cora's shoulders. The minute it touched the floor, there was a luminous flash of white light that caused Regina to shield her eyes.

The next time she glanced at the spot where the scarf had fluttered, it had magically taken the shape and essence of Hook. He was curled in the fetal position, hyperventilating and flapping his hands wildly. Regina wondered if he needed his head checked after that adventure through fabric and stitches.

"Why…what did I ever do to you? Why did I have to be the scarf? Gods, she slobbered on me!" He wiped at his cheek, scurrying away from Regina. He wasn't too fond of Cora at the moment, either. "For all you know, woman, I could have strangled you right there!"

Cora didn't appear bothered by Hook's threats.

"No, you wouldn't have, Killian. For if you strangled me, I'd make sure my dying wish was to leave you trapped in the form of a scarf, doomed to be wrapped around other people's throats in the biting winter wind and perhaps tossed in a closet or drawer the rest of the year. Who knows? Maybe Rumpelstiltskin would be the one to pick you up off the side of the road…_love."_

Hook shot to his feet and brushed dust off his leather pants. He kept his distance from Cora, only to yelp when he nearly toppled into Daniel's casket.

"You, sir, have seen better days," he muttered, leaning over the casket's opening to inspect Daniel's state of decay. Regina's temper burst and the lid of the casket slammed down, almost crushing the fingers of Hook's only remaining hand.

"Still attached to that one, I see," Cora said disapprovingly. Regina's nails curled into her palm until there were indents in her skin. Her breathing grew labored in the wake of her fury.

"_That one_ is the reason I've become what I have. Because of Snow White…because of you." Hook must have sensed trouble brewing, for he snuck off into a corner to wait for the passing of the storm. He mumbled something under his breath about 'staying behind with _Wheel of Fortune._' The exhaustion in Cora's limbs was the only visible sign of her sympathy toward her daughter's plight.

"Must we dredge up the past? You will never fully grasp how greatly I regret the pain I've caused you," she said.

Cora attempted to shorten the distance between her and her daughter. Much to her dismay, Regina drew back. There was too much hurt and darkness sewn into her life, stemming from the one instant where her mother eliminated her true love from existence. One apology was not enough to wipe the slate clean.

"I highly doubt that," Regina spat. Cora folded her hands together and clucked her tongue in contempt.

"I understand I shall have to work to earn your forgiveness. I am prepared to do just that. The important thing is that you need me now. You know it, Regina." Regina did not like the way her mother surveyed her so critically, as though glimpsing into Regina's blackened soul and all the secrets it held dear. Despite the open wounds, she could not argue that her mother's help would be valuable in this little war. Wasn't that the reason she tried to contact her in the first place? To use her skills of manipulation to her advantage and gain a powerful ally?

She dreaded to say the same of Hook, but she supposed it was a package deal. Buy one, get one free.

"All I want is what you longed for in our land. The thing I love most," Cora continued in a soothing tone. Hook tapped his hook on the wall, creating a tune that reminded Regina oddly of the _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _theme. He was bored, obviously, not that the two women in the room cared.

"What I love most in this world was taken from me," Regina said curtly, her throat constricting and fighting to release Henry's name. Cora nodded considerately.

"Henry," she whispered.

A sob hitched in Regina's throat, her chest heaving. She was running out of options, her hope of ever having Henry in her possession melting away with the swiftness of flowing water. Cora knew it. She stepped forward and extended her hand, a sign of truce.

"Give me your trust, Regina. Take me as your ally instead of your enemy and I promise you…I will help you get your son back."

Regina debated over Cora's proposal in silence, her hands clenching by her sides. Hook switched to the _Full House _theme song, complete with whistling. Cora's offering was practically victory on a silver platter, all she had to do was shake on it. _That's all I want, _Regina thought sadly. _I just want to be happy. _

She clasped her mother's hand.

…

_**I would like to thank all those that left awesome reviews: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, mugumisakura, The-Writer2012, reginamillz, discotimelord, helikesitheymikey, orthankg1, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, SwanQueen4055, and PrincessofSea. As always, thank you for reading, everyone. Times are busy lately, but I hope to update as soon as possible. **_


	64. Chapter 64

"The name of the game is Ouija."

Red slapped the mystical purple-shaded board down over the diner's linoleum tiles. The board seemed unusually vibrant compared to the pattern of black and white underneath. Even more exciting, it was the version of Ouija with the glow-in-the-dark board! Red eagerly dropped the plastic planchette on the board.

In a tight circle they sat: Red, Grumpy, and Archie. It was Red's idea to hold a séance in the diner that night. Since Belle was busy on her date with Jefferson and Snow opted to make up for lost time with her husband, she figured she would have some fun of her own.

The diner had closed a half hour ago and there was no one else there except for Granny in the kitchens, inspecting everything before heading back home. Red suspected there were some of Granny's best booby-traps set up for Regina at the Inn, on the off chance she would be stupid enough to attack Jefferson's daughter, Grace. By booby-traps, she meant triggered arrows, a flamethrower, and a fire-proof net that would string Regina up like a helpless predator. Ashley, or Cinderella as was her true identity, was the stand-in babysitter in Granny's absence, but that wasn't much reassurance when then girl turned the sheets pink in the wash and her own child almost ended up in Rumpelstiltskin's hands.

This inspection normally lasted five minutes, but the fact that she was taking twice as long tonight suggested she was eavesdropping on their séance.

Red couldn't wait to start their "game." Who knew how many people Granny inadvertently killed with her addictive iced teas?

They had come prepared for the evening. Bottles of water, a green jug of wine, a bowl of extra-buttery popcorn, and a half-eaten red bag of Kit-Kats surrounded their circle and filled their bellies. Red was feeling woozy from the wine already. It was empty now, thanks to Grumpy.

This was going to be exciting.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a movie marathon with Pongo, Red?" Archie piped up from her left, gulping loudly. He and Grumpy exchanged unsure looks. Big babies. Ever since dealing with Rumpelstiltskin in their old world, they hesitated messing with anything remotely supernatural.

"For once, I agree with the cricket," Grumpy chimed in, nudging Archie in the ribs with his elbow. Archie rubbed his side. "Is it just my imagination or are the lights flickering already? Someone oughta change those." Red shook her head miserably and gave both of them a pinch on the arms.

"The lights are fine. Granny checked," she insisted. There was another exchange of looks. If Granny knew these men doubted her household skills of changing light bulbs, she'd make them climb on each other's shoulders and check the lights themselves with the risk of electrocution. "The two of you quit acting like chickens or I'll tell Granny to serve you as tomorrow's specials."

"We're serving lasagna," Granny announced from somewhere deep in the kitchens. Red huffed. That proved Granny was listening in. The woman must be running low on entertainment in this town.

Red removed a yellow Bic lighter from inside her crimson work-shorts and flicked alive a bright, burning flame. The way she held it, it looked like her thumb was on fire. She leaned over the guys to light several creamy white candles that had been placed on the outside of their circle.

"Granny, hit the lights!" There was a second of silence. Then the lights fizzled out and the diner descended into shadows. The board glowed eerily in the darkness, the symbols and letters lit neon green. Grumpy yelped.

"We can't have a proper séance if it's bright as day in here," she scolded. She turned toward her boyfriend for support, batting her eyelashes for good measure. "Right, Archie?"

Archie tugged on the collar of his shirt, stretching it away from his neck and allowing fresh air to kiss his skin. Despite his nervousness with the supernatural, he placed his hand over Red's. She clasped her hand in his and squeezed it.

"Exactly. It's the same as when I have a session with a patient: I have to set the mood," he offered. Red's hand fell from Archie's. Both she and Grumpy sent odd looks his way. Archie blushed under the weight of their stares. "Not romantically! I set out boxes of tissues, test out the comfort of the couch, fluff the pillows, feed the crickets, and fill the bowl of peppermints. This isn't so bad, Grumpy. It even smells like a fresh, sunny afternoon thanks to the candles." He inhaled deeply, so deeply that his curly head flung backward and he gagged. "Ugh! Ack! I think a fly went up my nose!"

"You get used to it," Grumpy said, clapping Archie on the back. Red snapped her fingers to regain their attention. It was time for the séance to begin.

"Now, everyone place two fingers on the planchette," she instructed. Archie pointed his index fingers outward, ready to follow Red's orders. Only Grumpy scratched his head quizzically.

"The plan-what?" Red sighed, dropping her head into her hands.

"The plastic thing the spirits use to communicate," she dumbed down for his understanding. Grumpy made a small _O_ with his mouth and held two chubby fingers to the plastic piece in the middle of the board. Red was last to position her fingers on the planchette, the circular window hovering over the printed letters of _Ouija. _She squared her shoulders, closed her eyes, and called out in her most powerful voice: "Oh, great ancestral spirits of Granny's Diner, come to us on this night. We only wish to have a moment of your time. Please?"

Red added the plea, just in case politeness mattered to whatever spirits were lurking about. The three of them barely breathed, waiting for the candles to blow out or the bowls of food to be knocked over. Nothing happened. Grumpy started looking bored instead of nervous and Archie kept eyeing the bag of Kit-Kats. Red cleared her throat and tried again.

"You can help yourself to the popcorn and Kit-Kats if you come," she bribed in a sweet, sing-song voice. Taking one of her hands off the planchette, she held up the bag of Kit-Kats and shook it around. "I'd offer you some of our delicious wine, but we drank it already. Blame Grumpy." The dwarf scowled, but only for an instant.

"Whoa, did you feel that?"

Grumpy's sour pout disappeared as he stared at the board, appalled as the plastic piece jerked around the board. Archie's glasses nearly fell off his nose when he bent to examine it, though a hint of doubt still flickered in his intellectual eyes. Red only smiled gleefully. She vaguely remembered someone choking on a piece of steak once in the diner, but couldn't recall whether they survived. Must have been the curse at work.

"Grumpy, are you moving it?" Archie inquired with a suspicious look in Grumpy's direction. The dwarf's expression darkened.

"If I were moving it, would I be looking as shocked as Charlie Brown every time Lucy yanks the football away? It must be _her_," he grumbled, inclining his balding head toward Red accusingly. She bared her white teeth in defense.

"Don't make me bite you," she threatened, snapping her jaws together. Grumpy gasped, offended. He opened his mouth to retort some smart reply, but all words dried up instantly when the pointer slid to the word _hello _at the top left corner of the board. Archie's face paled. Red bit her lip. Grumpy rolled his eyes between the other two in the circle, awaiting their call.

"So what do we do now?" He whispered as if afraid to be overhead by any restless spirits. Archie ripped open a Kit-Kat and nibbled nervously on it, keeping the candy bar tucked between his fingers even as he placed them on the planchette again.

"I suppose we should introduce ourselves," Red suggested. Crickets, crickets. "It'd be polite." Grumpy shook his head frantically, even though Archie finished his Kit-Kat and opened his mouth to start off the introductions—and likely include one of his bad cricket jokes, if Red knew him.

"Hell, no, sister! I don't feel comfortable letting the ectoplasm forces of the universe know my name. I've seen dozens of television shows in this world where that kind of thing happens. Some poor sap thinks it's good fun to talk to ghosts with this game and the next thing you know, his name's being written on the wall in blood. Let's all ask ourselves: what would Happy do?"

Red forgot about Grumpy's new motto for reforming himself after being stuck as Leroy, the town drunk. Every decision he made, especially for when he quit drinking so heavily, he asked: _what would Happy do?_ Red wondered how Happy felt being such a role model.

"Why don't we just ask the spirit a question?" Archie intervened. Red suspected that, if there was a spirit lurking in the diner, the Storybrooke half of his personality couldn't wait to study it. "I'll start. Hello, spirit. How are you feeling today?"

Grumpy snorted derisively over Archie's beeline for the emotional stuff. The heart-shaped pointer skated across the board, spelling out an answer: _Peachy…doc. _The spirit had a bit of spunk to it. Grumpy's face lit up and he stormed the séance with a battalion of questions, buying into it a little more with each one. Or maybe it was the wine talking.

"What's your favorite movie?" The planchette took its time responding, pausing over the desired letters of the message. Archie sounded it out, making it sound more like gargling than English.

"Gah…Goo…Go…st…ah, _Ghostbusters. _How appropriate," he said.

"What's your favorite _scary_ movie?" Grumpy fired away without a moment's hesitation. _6 sense. The Sixth Sense, _Red translated in her mind. "Will I ever be as rich as Gold?" _No. _"Okay…will I at least be rich?" _No. _Grumpy moaned mournfully. "Will Red and Archie ever get married?" _Yes. _"To each other?" _Yes. _

Both Archie and Red blushed. She was intensely aware of the ostentatious rings she wore on her fingers and secretly imagined one of them to be an engagement or wedding ring. Granny would have a fit if Red ever returned home with the news that she was marrying Archie. Then again, Red got the feeling she didn't mind Archie as much as she let on. As Granny often said under her breath: _better him than the imp. _

"Will _I _get married?" _No. _

Grumpy growled and banged his foot on the ground so hard that the popcorn bowl tipped over. The popcorn spilled all over the tiled floor and Red groaned, knowing she'd have to be the one to sweep it up before leaving the diner. What a waste of popcorn.

"Why not? Why do they get married and I don't? It's because I'm a dwarf, isn't it? You got a problem with dwarves? Tell that to the seven of us, I dare you!" Apparently, Grumpy had a bone to pick with the ghost. Red carefully removed one hand from the planchette to calm Grumpy down.

"Grumpy, you can't demand a spirit to tell you why you won't get married. There could be any number of reasons, starting with your attitude problem," she berated.

Suddenly, the air became increasingly cold. The mood took a sharp left turn. Beneath the pads of their fingers, the plastic pointer trembled violently. It was almost like the spirit had been angered. Then a new message unfolded before their eyes.

_Leroy, _it started, targeting Grumpy only. Red and Archie watched as the dwarf was rendered stone-still, his eyes bugging out of his skull, though he didn't dare whip his hands off the planchette as the message continued. _Die…7…Days…Goodbye. _

Through the windows, a green flash washed over the tiles and Grumpy screamed on the top of his lungs. When it faded, having lasted only a split second, he jumped to his feet with his hands in the air in surrender. The bottle of wine toppled over and cracked along the side.

"I'll be in the freezer," he shouted and dashed off without a glance back.

"Coward," Granny shouted from the kitchen.

Archie gaped openly at the dwarf's retreating back as he rounded the corner into the diner's storage room. There was the soft sound of someone exhaling through their nose, only the exhaling didn't stop. Someone was laughing.

Red couldn't hold it down any longer. The laughter exploded from her lips, her cheeks turning red from the effort. It shook her entire body to the core, so much that she fell backward on the floor and proceeded to lay there, giggling. Oh, she had to grip her sides, her belly aching from laughing so much. And yet, she couldn't seem to stop.

Archie was clever enough to put two and two together.

"It was you?" His finger swiveled between her writhing form on the floor and the board that was now oddly still. Red choked down her giggles and wiped the moisture from her clenched eyelids. Oh, that had been so fun!

"It was _meeee!_"

Regaining her composure, she hoisted herself into a cross-legged position and fanned her face with her hand. Archie offered her a tissue from his pocket to wipe the water from her eyes. He must have learned to carry those when people intruded on his breakfast at Granny's to weep about their problems.

"I was moving the planchette the whole time. Serves him right for taking my spotlight in singing at the Golds' birthday party." Archie blanched.

"You want to get _married?"_ Red hadn't planned that one; she simply took advantage of Grumpy's questioning. She never truly gave much thought to marrying Archie before tonight. Her answer came in a quiet shrug of one shoulder.

"Not tonight! Someday, maybe," she admitted. Archie distracted himself with surveying their environment, not ready to indulge in such a serious conversation, especially when Granny was probably straining her ears to hear his answer from the kitchen. If he said anything resembling _yes_ or _let's get on with it, _the next conversation he would have would be through the _Ouija _board.

"What about the cold air?"

"Granny always turns on the fans after everyone leaves the diner," she replied casually, jerking her head in the direction of the kitchen where Granny still wandered. "Airs out the diner for the next day. She turns them on at the same time every night, like clockwork."

"How did you pull off the flashing green light?" Both Archie and Red gazed at the dark windows of the diner, the streets quiet on the other side. All of Red's joy dissipated, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

"I didn't do that," she said. She considered the green light to be a stroke of luck on her part. Whatever it was, it was gone now. Maybe the Golds were experimenting tonight. Red shrugged and snatched up a stray Kit-Kat that had fallen out of the bag, taking a generous bite out of it. "So, about that movie marathon…"

…..

The house was dark and quiet when Emma returned home. Scavenging around Storybrooke for Hook and Cora had been fruitless, the exhaustion in her limbs meaningless. She purposely slammed the door to alert her husband she was home. He promised to wait up for her; he never broke his promises.

In fact, she knew exactly where he would be.

Emma's first instinct was to charge down into the basement and confront him, but then something better came to mind. She'd let him sit and stew for a while down there, let him start to worry the more time passed. He must know she was home. He would have to wait to hear what she had to say. Soon enough, his mind would become harried enough to supply several scenarios.

It served him right.

Emma took her sweet time unzipping her jacket, sliding it off her shoulders, and tossing it away on a coatrack. Next she worked the elastic out of the nest of blonde curls atop her head and shook her hair free. If Gold came upstairs at this moment, he would probably assume she was putting on a feisty show for him. How appropriate would that be? Turning him on and then chewing him out for his bad behavior?

Deliberately stomping across the floorboards—and feeling a bit like Godzilla as Goldie ducked for cover—she headed to the kitchen to make a snack out of peanut brittle, all thanks to Granny at lunch. It tasted heavenly in her mouth. Of course, she forgot to hide it from Gold and the bag was half-empty.

Something else he deserved to ridiculed for. Never steal that which a pregnant woman craved.

She fixed Goldie a plate of dinner, shimmied out of her boots, slid across the kitchen floor for fun while being careful not to bump into anything, read the comics in the _Daily Mirror,_ and chased her peanut brittle with a tall glass of ice-cold milk. She licked the milk mustache off with her tongue. _Okay, now I'm ready for him, _she thought, rubbing her sticky palms on her jeans. _Ready or not, dear, here I come. _

Even before she conquered the first two steps, Emma knew her husband had been pacing restlessly over the basement floor. She knew because there was the sound of scurrying footsteps across the floor when the basement door creaked open. When she caught a glimpse of Gold, all she saw was his tense back as he spun at his wheel.

Obviously, he would have her believe he had done his spinning uninterrupted, not the least bit concerned about the talk he feared was coming.

"Thanks for stealing my peanut brittle," she remarked dryly. His back stiffened, but he did not try to deny that he was the thief. He didn't glance up as she approached him.

There was a mumbled _hello _before he went on with his spinning, the straw threading through his fingers as swiftly as water. Since magic here was different, it was hard to tell whether the straw would turn to gold. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't. The outcome of the straw didn't seem to matter to Gold. It was the activity of spinning that eased his mind, not the wealth gained from it.

Emma took it upon herself to claim the stool right beside him, perching her arms on her knees to lean forward and scrutinize him sharply. Any closer and she would be in his lap. The groaning of the old spinning wheel was the only sound falling on her ears.

Not a single word passed between them, but the silence was far from comfortable. Truthfully, it unnerved Emma more than she could ever put into words. Never had she felt one million miles away from her husband as she did now, despite the way his hand was a finger's length from her shoulder. He didn't bother to spare her a second glance, he didn't bother to reach out and touch her in comfort, and he definitely didn't bother making small talk by asking about the weather. It was plain to see he was ignoring her through and through, concentrating only on his methodic task.

She considered asking him what time Henry went to bed or if the kid was hunched under his blanket with a flashlight and his book of fairy-tales instead of comic books. She thought about telling him how Belle and Jefferson's date went at the library, but she stayed quiet. Emma did not care for small talk, either.

Finally, she slapped her hand down on her knee and sighed. The sudden movement made her husband jump on his seat.

"You know we need to talk. Tonight," she pointed out tiredly. It'd be so easy to let this go until the morning, to let him guide her upstairs and fall headfirst into bed, to pretend that nothing was wrong as Gold cuddled against her. At the same time, Emma instinctively knew there would be no sleep for her tonight if she did that.

"I know," Gold answered matter-of-factly. By the sound of it, he had been waiting for her to begin. To make the first move. "That's partly the reason I stayed up for you, so you and I can get this dreadful discussion over with before we tumble into bed."

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously, drilling invisible holes into the side of his neck.

"Partly?" There was something he was holding back; she read it in the way his face threatened to crumble. She forced her mind to focus on the current predicament, unable to handle more than one of Gold's secrets tonight. "You were intending to crush Cora's heart. You were going to kill her in front of our son. You don't see something wrong with that picture?"

Gold's collectivity was a ruse. She realized it when his hair fluttered from the sudden release of breath and the straw being tossed carelessly to the floor. She had his attention and his rage quickly boiled to the surface. Emma raised her chin in defiance, daring him to unleash it.

"Gods, Emma, I was protecting my family! You, Henry, the baby….I didn't care if I had to take a sledgehammer to her beating heart. I would have done it in a heartbeat, ironically. I refuse to apologize for that," he roared. Fire coursed through Emma's veins, her nails digging relentlessly into the seat of the stool to keep her body from rocketing off it.

"What is you think _I'm_ trying to do?" She shot back hotly. Gold looked like he had several things he wished to add, but Emma cut across him. "I'm trying to protect my family, too, but that doesn't mean I want to take someone else's life in the process! I can't handle that kind of burden. I'm here to save lives, not pick and choose. Destroying lives is Regina's expertise. And right now, you're not making my job any easier."

Gold lowered his gaze to the floor, a sure sign of his guilt and reluctance to apologize for his wrongdoings. Somewhere along the way, Emma's walls had been torn down brick by brick, but Gold's was still very much intact.

"Here is a valuable lesson for our savior to learn: you can't save everyone," he hissed.

Emma nearly fell off her stool, taken aback by Gold's lack of remorse. It felt like a back-handed slap across her cheek, harsher than the one she delivered to him this afternoon. It sliced into her heart, instantly targeting her insecurities. It was one of her biggest fears, being unable to save everyone if she tried. Hearing it rampage from Gold's mouth made the truth sting worse. It gave the raw insecurity the life it needed to become real.

He must have sensed her turmoil. Tenderly, he turned in his seat and laid his fingers on her wrist. The fleeting thought of recoiling from his touch passed through her mind, but she let him take her hand into his own, his fingers skittering over her skin as though he were handling fine china in his shop. She returned his touch to grant him the confidence he craved.

"Do not mistake me. I respect you for attempting to do the right thing and being able to appreciate the sanctity of human life. It's a beautiful gift; never regret it. I'm not fond of my intended actions, either, but I cannot apologize for protecting those I love most, not when I failed to fight for my loved ones in the past. I promised I would protect you. That was me keeping my promise." He bucked up the courage to sweep a curl of hair off her forehead, the back of his hand trailing across her cheek. "I won't ask you to tell me where you've hidden Cora's heart. If you tell me, the urge to carry out that dark deed will be too great to control."

"Good," she exclaimed. He frowned in confusion. "Not about you controlling your…dark deeds. There's no way I'm doing a turn-around on this one. I meant _good _as in _I wasn't planning to tell you, anyway."_

Gold made a low _humph_ inside his throat and drew back his hand. His brown eyes became mournful and glassy, the way they did whenever he had something enlightening or important to say.

"It's not easy, walking the tightrope of the righteous. A single misstep can send you hurtling to the ground without a net to catch you. The darkness lives inside every one of us through lust, greed, anger, hatred, and fear. Once in a while, it takes control of your senses and becomes so tempting that you're helpless to resist its charms."

Gold had that mask displayed on his face, the weathered one that had seen far too much of the world. It wasn't one of Emma's favorite masks. It made her want to hug him to chase the shadows away. That's what she got for having lunch with Belle _and _Snow: one afternoon and she was reduced to a hugger.

She opened her mouth to ask if he needed a hug, but he held up a finger to indicate he was not finished.

"Here's the fine print: once you dive into that darkness, it becomes impossible to find the surface again. You're trapped beneath that unbreakable ice, banging your fists to escape and hoping someone noticed you fell under. Hoping they have the strength and the care to pull you out. You have the strength to fend off the darkness in favor of basking in the light, but I live in it. I have for centuries."

Emma hung her head, feeling a dull pang of pity in her chest for her husband. She knew his Dark One curse was still entwined around his soul, its grip unrelenting and suffocating. If there was anyone that required saving, it was him. This was his plea for help.

"I don't want to fight with you. You're not my enemy," she said. A small smile of relief graced his lips. Oh, no, he wasn't getting off that easy. "But that doesn't mean I'm alright with you crushing hearts to your benefit. For one thing, you owe Henry a well-thought-out apology and explanation for trying to pull what you did in front of him. And you'll be lucky if I don't tell Belle."

Just as she expected, his eyes flew wide in alarm, his face stricken with sheer panic. Emma might punch him in the face and give him a broken nose, but Belle was capable of doling out a verbal whiplashing Gold would never forget. It was mostly a bluff on Emma's part, but if it shocked him into begging forgiveness, then it couldn't hurt.

At this very moment, he was kissing her hand for mercy.

"The last thing I want to do is drive you away. Not while Regina's power is growing more fearsome every day," he pleaded. Emma let him spend a few more minutes running his tongue over her hand and eventually her neck. Then she rolled her eyes and dismissed the matter. She had yet to forgive, but she wouldn't ever forget.

"You said having this talk was partly the reason you waited up for me," she changed the subject. He didn't seem bothered by it. "What other reason did you have?"

Distress weighed heavily on his shoulders and she suspected this was another topic he preferred not to discuss. He rested a hand on the arch of the wheel and closed his eyes, as though he were torn between making a difficult decision. The stool moaned as he rose to his feet. Opening his eyes, he extended his hand to Emma.

"I have something to show you," he said quietly. Emma wondered what other skeletons he was hiding in his closet, but trusted him enough to take his hand. No doubt he noticed the question brewing in her eyes. "My dagger," he clarified.

Emma smirked.

"That's a new way of putting it."

…

Gold's personal library was located on the second floor of his house, the opposite end of the hallway from their bedrooms.

Soft light burst from an overhead light as Gold flicked the switch on the wall. Fine wood shelves of books stretched from floor to ceiling along the walls, containing volumes of all genres. Cozy armchairs surrounded a glorious fireplace, cold and dark at the moment. Emma couldn't help but think how this room would be Belle's favorite, whereas her favorite happened to be the comfort of her bedroom.

She was led into the heart of the library, though she had no clue why.

"Don't tell me: you're going to read me a bedtime story?" Gold smirked in light of her sarcasm. He took care in closing the door behind her. Apparently, he did not want to risk Henry overhearing them if he woke.

"Not quite," he responded quietly, obviously distracted as his eyes scoured over the towering shelves. His feet carried him to one of those shelves, his steps nearly soundless on the floorboards. The first move Emma took, the boards squeaked under her feet.

One of these days, she was going to ask him how he learned to walk so quietly.

Pausing at the shelf, his fingers flew over the spines of the books, touching each one briefly. Back and forth he went, sometimes considering a book more than once. His forehead creased with lines of concentration. Emma leaned against the wall and regarded him with a skeptical look. A low _tsk-tsk_ flowed from her lips.

"You can't remember which book it is, can you?" Gold's jaw locked tightly in annoyance, his finger dancing between _The Invisible Man _and _Phantom of the Opera. _

"Shh! I move its location every two weeks," he said without taking his eyes from the books. Emma opened her mouth in objection over having him shush her, but then his face lit up brilliantly with recognition. "Oh, yes…I remember now!"

He pulled down a dusty volume containing _A Christmas Carol _among other Charles Dickens stories and snapped open the stiff lid to reveal a hollow, carved space where yellowed pages should have been. A slim object wrapped in an old cloth was tucked inside. Emma cocked an eyebrow.

"_A Christmas Carol?"_ Gold shrugged.

"It's spring. No one would consider checking inside a book featuring a Christmas story," he insisted. Emma watched as he dug out the slim object. She offered him a stare of pity, her head shaking slowly.

"You really are paranoid, do you realize that?" She supposed she did not blame him, having lived three centuries among people who so clearly despised and were endangered by his existence. It was clever of him to hide his Achilles' heel so thoroughly.

"There's no such thing as paranoia when you're me," he countered gravely. He released his hold on the book, letting it crash to the floor. Emma's eyes flickered to the library's door, anxious that Henry might wake from the noise. There were no doors opening, no padding of footsteps in the hall.

Gold undressed the object, peeling back one layer at a time until it was revealed: a jagged, silver blade older than any piece of steel in this world. A Kris blade; she yanked the name out of her memory of her dangerous phase of life. If Emma looked closely, she thought she could see flecks of old blood staining the edges.

"My dagger," Gold confirmed, twirling the blade by the handle in circles. Emma glimpsed his true name, Rumpelstiltskin, engraved on one side of the blade and an icy shiver ran down her back. Without warning, Gold flipped the dagger in the air, watched it make its revolutions, and deftly caught it again. He extended it to her by the blade and gave a luxurious bow.

Was he expecting applause for that trick?

"It's…a nice dagger," she offered weakly. He straightened up sharply, exasperated by her lack of understanding. The gesture of handing her the dagger must have had more meaning, but Emma missed it. It was just a dagger, right?

"This dagger is the source of all my power," Gold emphasized, caressing the blade as if it would have bitten his finger off otherwise. "With this blade, you'll be able to control me. I'll have no choice but to obey. If it fell into the wrong hands, there would be nothing but destruction in my wake. Proof that I value your methods and judgment, even if I do not practice it myself."

Any progress Emma's hand made in reaching for the handle halted. She recoiled, not wanting anything to do with that mysterious item now.

"I don't want to control you," she protested fervently. Gold's eyes darkened with doubt. She was probably the first person to decline the dagger after learning its connection to her husband. Even her parents would most likely use it to their advantage, for the good of the people, to prevent Rumpelstiltskin from returning to the being they knew once. It made her sick to her stomach to consider using him that way. "I don't want that kind of power! Especially when it concerns you."

Gold appeared relieved. The dagger, at least, stopped trembling in his hand. Had he been sure she would take it and use it? What sort of people had tried before? She prayed the answer wouldn't be her parents.

"I'm going to ask Belle to hide it," he said, readjusting the dagger so that his fingers no longer pinched it by the tip of the blade. Fresh surprise knocked Emma off her feet. And with it came anger.

"Belle…and not me?" Didn't he trust her with his most sacred possession? He must have, if he showed it to her tonight. One minute he offered it to her and she rejected it. So now he was turning to Belle? She made a grab for the handle, but he whipped it out of her reach.

"Don't be jealous, Emma," he pleaded, pain reflected in his brown eyes. "You know I trust you. I don't go around on the street handing out my dagger, do I? Of course, if I claimed it had nothing to do with favoritism, I'd be lying." Emma scowled. So he favored Belle, did he? Part of her knew it wasn't true, but the fact that Belle might be his true love always left her insecure. "You don't understand, do you? If Cora, Hook, or Regina finds my dagger, they will be able to control me, force me to do _anything_."

Emma felt clammy all of a sudden. She began to imagine what Regina would do with that dagger in her possession. It was a nightmare.

"Like…kill us all?" Gold debated whether to lay the truth on her, but he knew his wife too well. Emma wanted the truth, not sugar-coating. He bleakly nodded.

"Yeah. No doubt they'll assume you know its location. If they ever took you from me, they would question about the dagger. If you have no knowledge of its whereabouts, then you have nothing to tell and you won't have to lie in my honor. I'm protecting you because _you_ are my wife, not Belle."

He allowed time for his words to sink in. Emma's defenses broke into pieces. Of course he would strive to protect her so endlessly. He promised, hadn't he? She placed a hand on his arm, to show she understood.

"Thank you for trusting me," she said.

It must not have been easy to show her the one object that could be his downfall, the one object that would render him powerless. She figured he never got into the habit of displaying its existence on a billboard. He offered it to her again and she took it, examining it carefully, running her fingers over the brutal waves along the edge.

"So…with this dagger, you have to do whatever I say?"

Gold gulped nervously. Once his fingers moved away from the dagger, a visible strain descended over his shoulders. A shift in his free will had chained him to her command. She winced guiltily.

"So long as it's in your possession…yes. Why? What did you have in mind?" Emma entertained the possibilities, though she would never seriously take control of her husband in any way he found humiliating or against his values. She settled for something they would both find pleasurable.

"Kiss me," she commanded. Despite his lack of choice, a sly grin slid over Gold's face. He approved.

Stepping close to her, their bodies nearly touching, his hand cupped the back of her neck while the fingers of his other hand lifted her chin gently. His lips descended over her mouth, growing greedy as Emma urged him to claim the dagger once more. By the time the kiss broke, their breath came in quick gasps and her knees had grown weak. His tongue traced her lip and she fought the temptation to capture it again.

"Just for the record," Gold panted, "you didn't need the dagger for that." And he kissed her again.

…

They emerged from the crypt, three silent shadows in the night. Or they might have been silent for the most part if _someone _didn't insist on slamming the crypt's heavy door. The noise rolled through the entire cemetery, a hollow pound.

"Why not slam the door a little harder, Hook? I don't think Australia heard you the first time," Regina hissed, coal black eyes livid and tearing into his chest where his heart pulsed.

Hook was tempted to play ignorant and slam the door louder, except Cora was none too pleased by his idiocy, either. He leaned his back flat against the rusted door and folded his arms casually over his chest. Unfortunately, the movement attracted both Cora and Regina's attention to that exposed area of his body. He shivered from the stares.

"Australia? Where the hell is this land called Australia? You people have Iceland that's not really made of ice, Greenland that's not really green, new states without any sign of the old, and now you have Australia. Sort of sounds like the name of a girl I once fancied. Or was it Aurora? How many lands does this world have, anyway?"

Regina clucked her tongue at Hook's ignorance.

"First order of business," she announced, ignoring Hook's questions completely. He hid his snickering behind his hand. It was cute how Regina assumed _she _was the one in charge. Even he wasn't that clueless. "I want that wretched, tacky Emma Swan out of my way."

It was another way of implying she wanted her son. Ever since allying herself with her mother a half hour ago, she sought ways of relaying the same message, as though she were trying to brainwash her mother. Cora was a string away from shoving a handful of grave-dirt in her daughter's mouth to make it stop.

But Regina could not be allowed to know the extent of her fondness, for then Regina would realize the truth behind Cora's well-constructed, compassionate exterior.

Forcing a tight smile, Cora consolingly patted her daughter's arm.

"Patience, dear. Good things come to those who wait. You will witness the deaths of all those who dared wrong you—the sickly sweet true love couple you loathe, Rumpelstiltskin, and, yes, this Emma Swan for taking what belongs to you. Your son, Henry."

Regina found herself nodding in accordance to her mother's confident words. Oh, how she wanted to believe in it, to believe that her happy ending would come. It was written all over her face, which was surprisingly losing its composure. It was cracking, revealing the angst and pain that swelled underneath.

Hook made a skeptical noise into his cupped palm, earning Regina's boiling rage.

"Have something you need to get off your chest, Hook?" She spat his name, as if he were a vile ogre or troll that required slaying. Regina pointedly stared at Hook's torso, a strip of tan skin visible due to his unbuttoned overcoat. Hook wrapped the folds of his jacket around his body.

"To hear you tell it, this…Swan princess stole your child away in the middle of the night whilst you sobbed into your hands, a damsel in distress. But you have a tendency to warp a tale to cast you in a good light. That's not the way it truly happened, is it?"

Hook was fairly confident he had her figured out when she met him with silence. Her fists curled by her sides until they turned whiter than most of the marble headstones in this cemetery. Was she fantasizing about wrapping them around his neck and strangling him?

"Henry…is Emma Swan's biological son, yes," she revealed. "But I was the one who raised him since he was three weeks old, not her! She chose to give him up. I was there for every diaper change, for every nightmare, for every birthday and holiday, not her! She doesn't get the right to swoop in and steal him away when she suddenly feels the need to be a mother. He's _my_ son."

To Cora, she bared her white teeth.

"Whatever you plan to do, Mother, I suggest you do it and get rid of that spoiled princess," she barked. "We'll all be better off without her existence in this town. Or any land, for that matter."

Cora winced upon being given a direct order from her daughter, but bowed her head in obedience nonetheless. It was mock obedience, but Regina didn't seem to register that. Daughters were so much work, so demanding, always needing to be coddled and assured that they were prettier than any other female and given their heart's desires without a moment's notice. She might as well have been a genie rising from its enchanted lamp to do her bidding.

"Very well," Cora sang. To Hook and Regina's utter bafflement, she began to take a stroll among the graves. Every once in a while, she would bend at an odd angle to examine a gravestone, often tracing the engraved name with her fingers like the blind reading Braille. "I want you…and you…not you…"

_Please not Gra__ham, please not Graham, please not Graham, _Regina chanted silently, weaving her spidery fingers together. She had a sickening inkling about what sort of magic her mother intended to conjure and she could not bear to see Graham's body be a part of it. Hook merely used the tip of his hook to dig under his nails.

What kind of madness had he endured with Cora to be impervious to this? Then again, Regina didn't want to know the details. It left a bitter taste in her mouth to even imagine the possibilities.

Cora paused by Graham's grave and Regina's heart accelerated until it felt ready to pop out of her blouse. She was sure her mother could hear it; she was the Queen of Hearts, after all. For a long time, Cora gazed into that cold gravestone and fumbled over his engraved name. It just occurred to Regina that there were fresh violets and lilies bunched around the base of his grave. The work of Emma Swan?

Finally, Cora stood to full height.

"Too recent," she mumbled and Regina's breath whistled through her pursed lips. She hadn't been aware she was holding it. Returning to her daughter's side, Cora peered out over the crooked rows of gravestones, eyeing the ones she'd "chosen." Then, she extended her hand, palm-up and glowing a misty purple in the moonlight.

"Rise," she commanded in the ferocious tone of a general. The earth at the base of those chosen gravestones quivered and crumbled before splitting apart entirely. Rotted arms and legs snaked over the soil, ragged bodies crawling back to the land of the living. One corpse didn't even have a head!

They were gray, gruesome, and mangled, forgotten and planted in those graves to keep up appearances during the curse. Regina had taken the dead from the Enchanted Forest and given them what she deemed a proper burial. Why, even Stealthy the dwarf was here. In fact, he was leading the parade of zombies.

Regina drank in the sight in awe. One of the first things Rumpelstiltskin told her was how impractical it would be to bring back the dead. Almost impossible to accomplish and not worth the price for such dark magic. Restoring life to the undead was unnatural, the imp said. It did not restore the true essence of the person you loved; it only granted a shell of the person they once were. Nothing lovable in the least. Monsters.

But here was the proof that it could be done. Even if they were zombies, they were moving and groaning and ready to obey orders. Her mother succeeded in something magical that Regina had not yet figured out.

"Congratulations," Hook muttered. "You forged an army of dead, smelly blokes who no longer have their bowels…or their heads. Promise me when I die, you'll be kind and leave my body alone." Cora did not make any verbal promise, which worried Hook dearly.

The zombies clumsily organized into a horde, an undead army at Cora's disposal. With this army at her command, she could rip Rumpelstiltskin and Emma Swan limb from limb. She grinned proudly at her latest accomplishment.

And then….the zombies did something unexpected.

Stealthy's body was the first to do it, unofficially nominated leader of the zombie army. His head jerked to the side sporadically, like a robot that had malfunctioned. Jerk…jerk…jerk…Regina assumed he had a crick in his neck from lying in that grave for so long. But soon, the other zombies were doing it, tilting their heads to the right rhythmically.

Regina recognized the activity for what it was when the zombies threw their hands in the air and waved them about. These zombies were _dancing. _She flashed back to the beginning of those twenty-eight years, where she stood marveling in front of the television as all thirteen minutes of Michael Jackson's _Thriller _played. She sunk her head into her hand. _Why me? _

Cora and Hook were frozen in shock, their mouths hanging open while the zombies side-stepped to the right, their hips wiggling, and their hands clapping violently in the air.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Cora," Hook warned numbly. It shook Cora out of her reverie long enough to glare at the pirate. "I have every faith in your masochistic abilities, but…what were you expecting these zombies to do? Host a dance-off to the death with Rumpelstiltskin?"

That wasn't quite a bad idea, actually. Hook stroked his chin with his hook, contemplating it. There was no way Rumpelstiltskin could gyrate his hips as smoothly as Stealthy's. And if he could, well…Hook didn't want to think about it.

Hook was ripped from his thoughts as the tension sparked between mother and daughter. Cora sent Regina a scathing look, demanding an explanation as to why her magic failed so horribly. Her fingertips curled and Hook swore he saw a hint of violet coating them.

Gods, now Stealthy was doing the Moonwalk.

"Magic is different here," Regina cried defensively. "You wanted zombies, you have zombies. You want zombies to tear the limbs of those we hate…and Storybrooke offered zombies whose limbs fall off by dancing. Believe it or not, this was popular about twenty years ago. Since we were frozen in time, it never died, either."

The headless guy mixed up the steps, collided with another zombie, and tumbled into an open grave. From the sounds of the soil down there, he was up and dancing again.

"It disgusts me," Cora snarled.

With a flick of her hand, writhing vines spiraled up from the ground, seemingly dancing amidst the zombies. There was a sharp snap like the crack of a whip and the vines latched onto the zombies, dragging their deteriorated bodies back to their graves. The soil caved in on their skeletal forms, until it looked like there hadn't been any disturbance at all.

_That was a bit of a letdown, _Cora thought, vastly disappointed. Regina gave her mother an expectant look. Surely the Queen of Hearts had a Plan B. Or was she just that confident in her magical abilities?

"Now what do you propose, after the zombie apocalypse that never was?" Cora mulled it over in stubborn silence. She never took defeat well. Hook was the one to answer in the form of walking away. Regina growled at his leather back. "Where do you think you're going?"

Hook spun around, but continued walking backwards. Regina hoped he fell backwards over someone's gravestone. Oh, how ironic it would be if it were his own. That slimy smile on his face was atrocious.

"I'm going to do something useful with my time," he declared, pumping his silver hook into the air. It caught the milky moonlight and gleamed dangerously. "I'm going to spy on Rumpelstiltskin!"

Regina's lips tightened into a thin line against Hook's glee. For the sake of his sanity, she hoped the Golds had the good sense to shut the blinds before bed.

…

_He had to give her one last kiss. And when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuddered out—_

The tale of Snow White and Prince Charming was always his favorite. No matter how many times Henry read it, he was enthralled with the magic, the true love, the illustrations that brought the story to life. He traced his hands over the picture of his grandparents, happy and in love. This was practically their yearbook, their memoir, and their family photo album bound into one. The beam of the flashlight bobbed over his lap as he turned the page.

_Creeaak. _

Henry froze in fear, the page half-turned under his fingertip. That was a footstep, clear as day. It had been somewhere on this level of the house, somewhere close to his room. Were his parents going to bed? But then why would they sneak around? He heard Emma come home about an hour ago. How could he not hear it when she was slamming doors and stomping around the kitchen?

He strained his ears, listening closely to every small beat the house made, but no other footstep followed the first.

What if it was his stepdad coming to check if he was asleep? Rumpelstiltskin did that sometimes, as though amazed Henry hadn't vanished into thin air in the middle of the night. What if that footstep was a warning to let him know he was coming? Rumpelstiltskin could sneak up on any living creature, be it humans, mice, cats, birds, Goldie, you name it.

The doorknob of his bedroom door began to rotate in the darkness and the bedroom door inched open. The light in the hallway sliced through the shadows, drifting right through the sheet covering Henry's head. Quickly, he shut the book, slid it under his pillows, turned off the flashlight, and rolled onto his side to face away from the bedroom door.

Even if Rumpel tread silently on his feet, Henry sensed someone creep into his room. The thin hairs on the back of his neck rose as the person neared his bed, content with looming there and looking down over what was supposed to be his sleeping form. It wasn't Emma. Emma would have been noisier, hitting the boards on the floor that squeaked, and she would have called his name to see if he reacted, maybe push some of the hair out of his eyes to kiss him on the forehead like the tender mother she was aspiring to be.

This was Rumpelstiltskin standing by his bed, most likely waiting for Henry to roll over and face him head-on.

Henry kept his eyelids firmly shut, the blanket bunching around his neck to hide the way the corners of his mouth lifted from being watched so critically. He could never pull off pretending to be asleep under someone's watchful eye, though somehow Regina always bought it. Heck, he once put a basketball on his pillow and stuffed dozens of lumpy pillows under the blankets and she still didn't question it.

Something warned him that Rumpel would never fall for that trick. He was much too clever and deceptive himself to be fooled so pitiably.

_Go away,_ Henry chanted inside his mind, willing his stepdad to return to his own bedroom without the slightest suspicion of his stepson's awareness. _Go away, go away, go away. _It wasn't that he no longer trusted his stepdad after the incident with the heart. He knew his stepdad would never do anything to willingly hurt him, but he didn't feel like talking about it tonight. The disappointment he felt for his stepdad was too blinding, almost as if Henry had been stunned by the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler.

Unfortunately, Rumpelstiltskin usually proved to be as stubborn as Emma and Henry combined.

"Henry, let's not play games, shall we? I know you're awake. Feigning sleep works about as effectively on me as it does Santa Claus," his stepdad drawled calmly, switching on the bedside lamp. The sudden burst of light, exploding with the power of the sun compared to the weak flashlight, instantly blinded Henry and forced him to rub his eyes as if he had just woken up.

Reluctantly, Henry turned over in his bed and sat up to take in the sight of his stepdad still dressed fashionably in one of his suits and standing by his bedside.

"I never really believed in Santa Claus," he admitted glumly. "The first time I came home from kindergarten and talked about it, Regina told me it was a myth parents told their children to make them behave until Christmas. She told me there was no such thing as magic in this world. Every year after that, I saw her putting the presents under the tree and eating the extra cookies she bought. She didn't even try to hide it. Now I know why."

Rumpel winced with remorse. This child had endured too much suffering under Regina's roof and infernal influence. In her desperation to prevent her newfound son from discovering magic and her true identity, she had destroyed his childhood. Took an axe to it and chopped it into thick, bleeding pieces.

He never voiced it aloud to Henry, but Rumpel blamed himself for handing the boy on a silver platter to Regina for the purpose of raising him as her own. What a foolish mistake, even if the mistake belonged to Mr. Gold of Storybrooke.

"I'm sorry," Rumpel whispered, sincere sadness reflected in his brown eyes.

"For almost crushing that heart?"

Henry was trying desperately to understand his stepdad's actions and reasoning, but his innocent mind refused to wrap around it. Even if he wanted to protect his family, this wasn't the way to do it. Good never broke the rules, only evil. Emma never went on a killing spree. That was only Regina who gave into that temptation.

"For that," his stepdad agreed, "and for giving you to that wicked woman all those years ago. No child deserved her torment." Rumpel treated Regina's name like a superstition, avoiding it to keep the bad luck and tragedy at bay.

Henry was aware of how hard his heart was beating in his chest. He reached over and tentatively took his dad's hand. Rumpel appeared both shocked and touched by the gesture.

"You didn't know. You weren't awake then, were you?" Hope filled his small voice, hope that his stepdad truly didn't know what he'd been doing when he named Regina Henry's mother. Rumpel gave a little shake of his head, barely perceptible. Henry would have missed it if he hadn't been watching Rumpelstiltskin intently.

"No, I was not awake. My memories returned the night I met your mother. Emma. If I remembered sooner, I would never have given you to Regina. Most likely, I would have raised you as my own. Then you would have truly been my son."

Henry didn't know how to tell Rumpelstiltskin how happy he was to hear that. Rumpelstiltskin had never once wished ill will or harm on Henry, nor had he been unkind. He thought he might have liked to be Mr. Gold's son during those years of the curse instead of Regina's.

"May I sit?" Rumpel pointed to the end of Henry's bed.

Henry found it strange that Rumpel asked for permission to sit in his own house, though he was bent on making this a home for Henry and Emma as well. This must be one of the insecurities Emma told him about. She said Rumpel was gentlemanly, but it was due to social awkwardness and fear of being rejected than proper etiquette.

Henry nodded approvingly and folded his legs to give Rumpel room to sit.

Achingly slow, his stepdad lowered his body onto the edge of Henry's mattress, his hands clasped between his knees. Henry tried to stay patient as Rumpel debated over what to say. His face warred with several emotions, troubled enough to make Henry think he was on the verge of crying. He rarely saw Rumpel cry, but when he did it was heart-wrenching to behold.

"I wanted to apologize to you, for being prepared to kill Cora in front of you," he started, sounding extremely exhausted. Henry didn't like thinking it, but the stress of carrying the guilt on his shoulders made Rumpel age by years. "What you have to understand, Henry, is that I have not made the best choices in my life. I have done many things I am not proud of and there were times where I failed to learn from my mistakes. For so long, I have been a creature of the darkness. I'm trying to adjust to the light, to bring my family together and be worthy of your mother's love. I just…forgot how to be that man."

He bowed his head, his hair cascading around his jaw in a silky gray-streaked curtain. Henry decided that he was telling the truth, judging by the sincerity underlying his words. Henry scooted closer on the bed, making Rumpel glance up in alarm. He went far enough that he could nudge his stepdad with his elbow if he wanted.

"I forgive you," he said with an encouraging smile. Rumpel's eyebrows skyrocketed in amazement. Had he not expected to be granted Henry's forgiveness?

"Why?" The single syllable erupted from Rumpel's mouth, betraying his wild disbelief. His fingers squeezed together, as if he wanted to pinch himself to check if he was dreaming or not.

"Because I have faith in you," Henry replied, as if it were the most obvious fact in the entire world. Or the entire town of Storybrooke, anyway. "Because you're my dad and I'm not giving up on you."

Rumpel's breathing hitched. A sad smile broke across his stricken face. When he lifted his head, Henry clearly saw the tears glistening in those dark eyes. It seemed Rumpel never had someone in his life who promised they would never give up on him.

There was a soft murmur of Henry's name right before Rumpel pulled Henry into his arms. Henry returned the warm embrace, throwing his arms around Rumpel's neck and cradling his head on his stepdad's shoulder. He rubbed his back to soothe the ache in Rumpel's heart. He had a strong feeling that Rumpel desperately needed this hug.

When he finally pulled back, Rumpel removed a handkerchief from one of the inner pockets of his fancy suit and dabbed away the water flooding his eyelids. He looked less tense than when he first sat down on Henry's bed, offering Henry solace that he had done something right for his stepdad.

"Maybe I can help you be better. Maybe I can teach you how to be good," Henry suggested kindly. Rumpel didn't appear too enthusiastic, edging a few inches away on the bed. He waved his hand back and forth unconvincingly.

"It'll take more than a copy of _How to Be Good for Dummies_ to erase the darkness in my heart," he warned morosely. Henry offered him a stony look, having inherited his mother's stubbornness. He was not taking _no_ for an answer. Besides, doing the right thing wasn't always an easy task to accomplish.

The villains had everything easy.

"We could at least try," Henry pleaded.

Rumpel entwined his fingers together over his knee and exhaled deeply. He attempted to ignore the way Henry's hands curled into fists under his chin, his eyes widening in the rawest form of begging. If it satisfied Henry, he would do it, but he wasn't holding out any hope. When Henry's lessons in virtue failed miserably in smoke and fire, he would undoubtedly lose hope in his stepdad as well and see Rumpel as the beast he truly was.

For Henry's sake, he should decline…oh, but he looked at the last second and how could he ever say no to that face? For someone supposedly on the good team, Henry proved manipulative time and again.

"Tomorrow, then," Rumpel agreed, rising off the bed.

He stretched his limbs, gazing hard at Henry all the while. It was past time Henry went to bed. By bed, he didn't mean huddling under the blanket with a book propped on his lap and old fantastical stories parading through his head. Just to make sure, Rumpel turned off the light and snatched up the flashlight Henry was trying to conceal under the covers.

"Good_night, _Henry."

Henry yawned despite his efforts to keep his eyes open and rolled over onto his side, his eyelids drooping. He didn't seem to notice that his stepdad's hand waved over his head, willing his slumber to come. Shadows ebbed into his vision, his mind growing heavy and unable to grasp a single thought.

"Goodnight…"

Rumpel waited to hear the deepening of Henry's breath, his snoozes lifting the hair off his forehead. He even poked Henry in the arm once or twice, but the kid didn't stir. Rumpel couldn't help but admire how peaceful Henry looked in his sleep. Rumpel couldn't even remember the last time he had a peaceful sleep, even in Emma's arms. His dreams were always riddled with the screams of people whose lives he'd tormented, mixed with the desperate shouts of Bae before he was sucked down into a raging vortex. Hearing the hope in Henry's voice tonight eased some of those fears.

Before he left, he laid a brief kiss on Henry's forehead.

"Thank you for believing in me, Henry."

…

Gold was a punctual man.

He often rose and went to bed around the same time every day and night, unless circumstances arose to alter that routine. He had a ritual of showering, dressing, and shaving that he religiously honored. He never listened to the tearful pleas of Storybrooke citizens who clung to his heels and begged for an extra week to pay their rent; when he was still collecting rent, anyway. The only times he was ever late to his shop in the morning was when Emma kept him in bed longer than expected.

Today had to be the day he was late. Not fashionably late, either. Just….late. Henry would not be pleased; if he didn't already get the idea that his stepfather wouldn't be coming in the first place. Though, Henry should be satisfied with his excuse when he learned what Gold had been doing this morning.

He never anticipated how many Storybrooke citizens were missing their hearts. Regina almost had twice as much as her mother's collection. Almost. Like mother, like daughter. Not even he had tormented that many people. At least, not that he could remember. His last years in the Enchanted Forest were fuzzy due to his insanity at the time.

Gold hesitantly rapped his knuckles on the door of the Charmings' apartment. Immediately, it swung open to reveal a pleasantly surprised Henry. Was the kid sitting by the door, waiting for there to be a knock when his stepfather arrived?

"You came," Henry cried out happily, trapping his stepdad in a hug. The sheer force of Henry's body colliding against his own made him stagger back against the bannister guarding the stairwell. He awkwardly patted Henry's head, then stopped when it reminded him of the way he showed Goldie affection.

"I promised you I would try. I never break my promises," Gold said. There was only one time he broke a promise to the sole object of his affection in his life. No, he refused to linger on those sore memories. "Forgive me for being late. Per Emma's request, I was returning hearts."

Henry tilted his head back to peer up at his stepdad's worn face, his lips parting in wonder.

"Did it work?" Admiration sparkled in Henry's eyes and Gold knew he would do anything to keep it shining there. Even if it meant working through these useless lessons of being good. He would try for Emma and Henry, but he couldn't say he was doing it for himself when he realized firsthand how stripped his soul had become.

Gold averted his gaze.

"Well, it was quite a challenge. Apparently, when the Dark One shows up ringing your doorbell with a beating heart in hand, it tends to be taken the wrong way," he said slowly. Henry looked like he might laugh, but swallowed it down. "First, I returned the heart of a young woman…and then her husband caught my hand buried in her chest and chased me with a broom and can of Lysol all the way out the door. The man threatened to call Emma and have me arrested for the theft of hearts. Another man was so sensitive to pain that he screamed even before I got the heart near his chest. After I thrust it in there, he seemed to have a heart attack. A young girl nearly jumped my bones when her feelings returned and I narrowly escaped. In fact, I think she stole my handkerchief."

Sometime before Gold finished, Henry couldn't hold in his laughter anymore, trembling against Gold's body. Gold felt his lips lift in a smile, enjoying the sound of his stepson's laughter. It wasn't the most common reaction around someone like him.

Henry stepped back to let Gold enter the apartment. The slamming of the door felt resolute, as though indicating there was no escape left for him. This was not going to end well, he knew it. It'd be easier attaching a pair of wings to Goldie's back and making her fly circles around the house on Valentine's Day.

His stomach plummeted when he discovered Snow and Charming in the kitchen area. At least they weren't making up for lost time in their bedroom—that might have been awkward.

Snow was feverishly baking cookies, with a plate already cooked on the table. The counter was cluttered with bags of flour, bowls, whisks, and tubs of frosting. He didn't want to inquire how Snow got some red frosting on her cheek. Charming casually leaned on the fridge and sipped from a can of soda. There was no doubt he was waiting for the entertainment to begin. Gold had never seen the prince so happy to greet him.

"If it isn't the man of the hour," Charming announced heartily. He set the can of soda down long enough to clap Gold on the shoulder. "Ready for your enrollment in Charm School?" Was that Charming's earnest attempt at being funny?

Gold wriggled away from Charming's iron grasp and brushed invisible dust off his suit. The last thing he needed was Charming's germs crawling along his expensive clothing. He ducked down to Henry's level and sent him an accusatory look.

"Henry, I thought it was going to be you and me doing this," he mumbled. Charming crossed his arms over his chest, convinced this was a slight against him and Snow. Henry shrugged apologetically.

"It was…until about a half hour ago. I may have mentioned it to them when I got here this morning. Snow wanted to help and Charming's here for the cookies," he explained. Charming's jaw dropped. The oven beeped and Snow rushed to rescue her cookies from the fiery cage.

"I am not here for the cookies! If he wants to improve his ways for my daughter, then I want to watch," Charming retorted. Gold eyed the front door, wondering how much of a chance he had of crawling through it unnoticed. Observant as any good mother was, Snow instantly registered Gold's discomfort.

"Help yourself to the cookies," she encouraged sweetly while setting out another fresh tray to cool on the counter. It was a tray of gingerbread men—or women, rather—that were caked over with frosting to look like Regina. His favorite. He always took great pleasure in biting her baked head off.

Rumpel took his time in selecting the perfect one. There was one of Regina clad in her black outfit for Snow and Charming's wedding…and Regina with a ridiculous poof on her head…and one with a suit…

"Why is there a gingerbread man that resembles me?" Gold spun around, shoving the cookie in Charming's face despite how much it burned his fingers. The cookie had a cane, a suit, and a wild mane of hair on its head. Surely Gold's hair wasn't _that _long!

"No reason," Charming said, his voice cracking. The guilt was written plainly on his face. Gold glanced at Snow to gauge her reaction, but her brows furrowed in perplexity, obviously wondering how that cookie got there. "I may have…snuck it on there before Snow put the cookies in the oven."

That was a confession if Gold ever heard one. This was all Charming's fault. Henry certainly wouldn't eat his stepfather.

"You were going to _eat_ me?"

What kind of welcome was that? Gold's fingers squeezed the gingerbread witch mercilessly until the cookie broke in half, the crumbs raining over the floor. Rather than letting good icing go to waste, Gold licked the black smudges off his fingers, all the while never taking his eyes off Charming.

"Do I look like milk's favorite cookie?"

Charming smirked.

"Well…" The warning look he earned from his wife silenced Charming indefinitely. Gold took a step forward, crunching the remaining bits of the cookie under his shoes. Snow moaned softly and Gold made a mental note to clean his mess. _Snow_ wasn't the one on his list.

"What kind of charm school do you plan on running here?"

"A Charming one," the prince boasted. Gold pitied him too much to inflict any damage on him. His jokes were almost as bad as Archie's. Gold resorted to pouting unhappily. If there was anyone who required charm school, it was Charming.

What kind of man ate his son-in-law?

After the dispute safely passed, Charming regained his confidence enough to clap his hands together.

"Shall we begin?" _Let's not and say we did, _Gold thought bitterly.

…..

"You're a rich man, Rumpelstiltskin," Charming commended once Rumpel settled himself in a chair at the kitchen table. Supposedly, he and Henry were going to try to determine the extent of Gold's 'badness.' Henry refused to label him as evil. This unexpected compliment made Rumpel raise his eyebrows in suspicion.

"Yes, I am. Thank you for the reminder, dearie," he replied, exuding false politeness. He already knew how to say _please; _it was one of Gold's favorite words. Did that win him points for graduation?

His hopes were dashed when Henry stepped forward and Gold knew the first exam was about to begin. Gold kept his back rigid, his muscles revealing no sign of apprehension. _Do your worst, Henry, _he thought, keeping his expression blank.

"If you found a wallet on the street on your way home…and it's filled with one hundred dollars…Would you keep it?" Gold pictured himself discovering a battered wallet lying in the gutter, the picture being painted with Henry's narration. In his mind, Gold clearly envisioned himself stuffing the wallet in his pocket and carrying on his way.

He was supposed to answer these questions truthfully.

"The phrase _finders keepers _is popular for a reason. Besides, there's a strong chance the owner of the wallet owed me money, anyway," he said. He knew that it was the wrong answer when Henry's face dropped with disappointment. Gold warned him there'd be a long way to go yet. Turning on his heel, Henry hurried into the kitchen. Panicking, Gold nudged Charming's side. "Where's he going?"

"You'll see," was Charming's only answer. Ugh! Gold despised it when Charming insisted on being vague. Henry returned with something behind his back. Oh, gods, it wasn't a music player that blasted _Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy _on a loop,was it? The overuse of that song would send anyone on a killing spree.

"Henry, what have you—"

That was all Gold managed to say before Henry pulled out a plastic spray bottle and squirted water in Gold's face. Snow looked upon him with sympathy as he wiped the water from his eyes with his sleeve. Charming was doubled-over, laughing.

"Every time you answer a question wrong, you'll get sprayed," Charming eventually clarified through his giggles. Gold stared at Henry in dismay. The kid mouthed _sorry, _but held that spray bottle like his life depended on it. So they were conditioning his behavior like a cat. "Lesson number one: treat others the way you wish to be treated. What if someone stole your wallet? Better yet: what if that wallet belonged to someone whose family desperately needed it?"

If that family desperately needed it, they wouldn't be carrying one hundred dollars in their pocket. It was begging fate to snatch it cruelly. Gold held his tongue, gnawing on it with his teeth. The spray bottle was his enemy; he had to avoid it at all costs.

It was Charming's turn to fire off a question. Something warned Gold that he was going to enjoy this as much as possible.

"If I pinched you…" Without warning, Charming's fingers darted forward and brutally pinched Gold's hand. Gold shouted in protest and pain, waving his reddening hand in the air. He had to restrain himself from tackling Charming for that one. "What would you do?"

That was easy.

"Pinch you back twice as hard, you moron," Gold growled. He aimed for Charming's chest to try to twist one of his nipples since his plaid shirt was hanging half-open, but Charming anticipated it and jumped away. Gold stumbled off his chair, knocking his knee into the ground.

"Nope, wrong answer," Charming scolded, wagging his finger. "You forgot the first lesson! Here's another: you are only as good as your adversaries are bad. Henry, get him!" Gold scrambled back onto his chair as Henry raced over and squirted him again. Some of the water got in his mouth this time. Refreshing.

Gold used the tablecloth to dab his chin. He would have used his handkerchief, except for the nutty teenage girl who stole it. He groaned loudly when Snow drifted in front of him. How was he supposed to compare with the fairest of them all?

Unlike the other two, Snow took the liberty of kneeling down in front of him and placing a tender hand upon his leg. Charming shuffled his feet on the floorboards, jealous, but Gold saw the gesture for what it was. It was a token of comfort, not romance.

"Please…you must understand we're trying to help you. It'd be so much easier on all of us, especially on Emma, if you didn't revert to your old ways," she said gently. He believed her because he had the same thought thousands of times before. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Emma by being the beast everyone claimed he was.

"Fire away," he muttered.

Snow drew her hand back from his leg. He had to give her credit for doing it in the first place. Most people believed that physically touching him would bring about their early death. Gold always wondered if that death included being struck by a cane-shaped object.

"If I was a little girl and you shared a secret with me and told me never to tell anyone else, but I told your wicked mother because I feared you would lose her like I did my own and she ended up ripping out the heart of the person you loved most…would you seek to kill me for revenge?" It was deathly silent throughout the apartment. Snow blushed. "Hypothetically, of course."

Everyone in the room dared not take a breath, stunned as they were by Snow's passionate challenge. She was quivering violently—out of anger and grief, not fear. Gold guessed she had never truly gotten over that incident. He actually felt sorry for Snow, the constant victim of Regina's scorn.

"No," Gold answered honestly. "Considering the fact that…my mother was the one to manipulate you for her own purposes, I would blame my mother, not you."

It was quite easy for Gold to play along, replacing Regina's mother with his. After all, Gold never had the luxury of knowing his mother. She died one night during childbirth, bringing him into the world. Just one of the things his father silently blamed him for.

Charming sighed in relief. That spray bottle stayed by Henry's side. No squirting Gold this time.

"At least he doesn't go by Regina-logic. Otherwise, this would be impossible."

Snow gracefully rose from the floor and resigned herself to her former chair, biting her lip as she lost herself in old memories. It was Henry's turn to pose a challenge. Rumpel kicked his feet up on a chair opposite him. If he was going to deal with getting sprayed in the face, he might as well be comfortable.

"Do you like nuns?"

What kind of question was that? Gold realized it was a double-edged sword. He hated fairies and as a result had little fondness for nuns as well. If he said no, there was something wrong with his moral compass and he would be sprayed. If he said yes, Henry would know he was lying. It was a trap. Gold cursed under his breath.

"No." _Squirt. _He knew that one was coming. Maybe after this, he would pay a visit to the Blue Fairy and squirt her in the face for making him dislike her in the first place.

Charming held a Regina cookie in Gold's face. What did she have to do with this?

"Say Regina broke into your house and robbed one of your possessions. How would you react?"

Charming carefully placed the cookie on the table next to Gold and offered Gold room to contemplate. There were many valuables in his house, but none that Gold really cared losing. He could do without the instruments and the mirrors and the china…but he knew Regina. She'd bypass all of that and go after what he treasured in his heart. His wife, his unborn child, his chipped cup if it hadn't already been broken by Emma…That made him want to…

He slammed his fist over the cookie, breaking it into pieces. Regina shouldn't be smiling so proudly. He smashed her head until that grin was shattered. He prepared for Henry to spray him, but found Charming standing there instead. He was armed and he unleashed squirt after squirt, drenching Gold's suit.

"Bad, Rumpel, bad! You do what any sane, law-abiding citizen does: call the police! Or, in this case, my daughter, your wife," Charming berated, even as he kept pumping the spray bottle. Gold attempted to wrestle it from his grip, but Charming got away, dodging Gold while continuing to spray him in the face. Gold snapped, chasing after Charming and the fountain of water.

"Charming, give me that damned spray bottle!" In answer, Charming leaned close enough to spray Gold in the face again. Ugh, water went up his nose!

"Stop chasing me! If I give you this, you'll just spray me in the face! You're not being very good at the moment," Charming argued, skirting around Snow and using her body to hide. Gold sandwiched Snow, reaching around her to get at her husband. She pounded her fists on his chest, but he hardly felt it.

Charming dashed toward the kitchen with Gold in pursuit. Only, Gold was beginning to tire. This was the second time in two days he was dealing with a lunatic armed with something Gold wanted. He could only run so far. He paused by the table to catch his breath.

Was this another test?

"_Please, _give me the spray bottle," he said through clenched teeth. Charming stopped moving. He casually tossed the bottle to Gold, who caught it swiftly in one hand. That was it? No fighting? No arguing? Just…surrendering? He caught Charming smiling approvingly.

"See, that's all you had to do," he said. Gold eyed the spray bottle as though it were a foreign object. He felt three pairs of eyes boring into his body, waiting to see what he would do.

"Thank you," Gold replied with a grateful nod. Charming nodded back. Snow gasped happily, her hands pressed over her heart. Gold made his way over to Charming, the spray bottle swinging at his side. "I think…I feel a warm hug coming on."

Charming tilted his head.

"Really?" He sounded quite hopeful. Almost as if he wanted to throw his arms around Gold at that very instant. One big, family hug. Gold rolled his brown eyes to the ceiling.

"No." He raised the spray bottle and squirted Charming in the face until he coughed up water. _How does that feel, Charming? Not too good, is it? _Gold slammed the spray bottle down on the counter. "I may not be perfect, but that doesn't mean I need my behavior conditioned by the two sweethearts of Storybrooke. Henry I can tolerate. You two are two spoonfuls of sugar that will _never _go down. Believe it or not, once in a while I am capable of good deeds. Like so: Henry, would you care to join me for some ice cream? I'm paying. With my own money."

Henry's anxiousness vastly changed into joy.

"I'd love to," he exclaimed. Kids never turned down ice cream.

Gladly, Gold escorted his stepson through the door and made sure to close it firmly behind him. He never cleaned up his mess, but he didn't feel like walking in there again. When they were descending the stairs, Henry poked his stepdad in the arm.

"I promise not to tell them next time you and I work on making you better. That is…if you're still willing to let me help you?"

Gold was helpless against the strength of Henry's goodwill.

"For you and Emma, I will. For _those two_…not so much." Henry beamed. Gold thought he heard the crank of wheels in that little head of his. You could never be too sure about what was unfolding in Henry's head. Suddenly, he latched onto his stepdad's arm, his eyes bright with an idea.

"Hey, when we get to the ice cream shop, maybe I can teach you how to leave a tip!"

….

Snow and Charming stood still in their apartment, eyeing the door that Henry and Gold just left through. They didn't have high expectations for this situation, but that went considerably worse than they imagined. Even so, Snow wasn't bothered by the outcome. Heaping these lessons of righteousness on Gold obviously wasn't the key to his redemption.

"Charming, I don't think he's as bad as you think he is," Snow finally whispered, just in case Gold decided to return and prove her wrong. There were times when he seemed to be menacing, but there were also times when he was not the monster in all the stories. His gentleness with Henry and his love for Emma proved that.

Charming wiped his damp skin, glaring at the door.

"That makes one of us." Snow knew he didn't mean that. He appreciated Gold's affection for Emma more than he let on. "If Henry comes to us with the idea of putting Regina through Charm School, we'll tell him it went out of business."

…

_**Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Michael Jackson's **_**Thriller**_** in any way, shape, or form—this was just for good fun, as always. I would have put this in the beginning, but it might have spoiled what was coming. (-; **_

_**Just for the record, the first scene in this chapter was meant to be in the last one, but I neglected to put it in before I updated. I figured you guys might like to see it, anyway. Consider it a deleted scene. **_

_**I would like to thank all those that reviewed last time, mostly for their awesome support for this story: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, asha74, Wandz, BundyShoes, The Auburn Girl, BrittanyMariie, reginamillz, megumisakura, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	65. Chapter 65

It was a new day by the time Hook returned to the Mills' family crypt, having spent the entire night and some of the morning spying on Rumpelstiltskin. It wasn't that hard to figure out which house belonged to the imp-it was the biggest one besides Regina's humble abode, and people made a habit of crossing the street to avoid walking in front of it. The sprawling size was also a direct contrast to the crocodile's peasantry days. There was no way in hell he'd be living in a pathetic shack buried in the woods.

Hook winced with every step he took. The sensitive organ between his legs ached from crouching in a bush and straddling the limb of a tree for hours on end, but otherwise the stake-out was thrilling.

The first hour was downright horrendous, though. Didn't those two lovebirds have the common courtesy to close their shades? He never knew a couple could..._do it_ so many times in one hour, let alone throughout the entire night. Hook was blinded by the sight so much that he fell out of the tree and hurt his back!

Oh, but now he had loads to tell Cora and Regina. Where should he even begin?

He stopped in the shadow of the crypt and scanned the cemetery to see if anyone was watching. No one but the carved angels in the gravestones were witness to his actions. He rifled through his pocket to retrieve an old playing card. It was the Queen of Hearts, of course. He laid it on the ground and waited.

Five minutes...

Ten minutes...

Gods, what was taking so long? Did he have to burn the card in order to ensure that she responded? But then Cora would likely take offense and she would have his head. Literally.

"You called?"

The bittersweet voice erupted in the shell of his ear, making him jump out of his skin. Cora chuckled as he clutched his one hand to his throbbing heart. Why must she feel the urge to sneak up on him all the time?

"Four hours later," he exaggerated, glaring mainly at Regina. He knew she had something to do with the delay. She glared back. It was unnerving, to say the least. Was she even blinking?

"Mother and I were in the process of reapplying our makeup. It's what women do in this world," she sneered, as if that fact should have been obvious. Cora didn't appear too pleased with the memory of that activity.

"Regina had the courtesy to teach me about mascara. It amounts to little more than poking yourself in the eye," she added, blinking rapidly. Now that he looked closely, Hook noticed her eyelashes were several shades darker. It made her eyes look more haunting. "But enough with vanity. How fares our favorite imp?"

Hook cringed inwardly at the term _favorite_, sarcastic implication or not.

"He's spectacular. But before I share my tale, you could do me the kindness of healing me. I...may have fallen out of the tree," he said, wincing when he straightened his back.

Regina's eyes glinted dangerously, her slimy smirk screaming: _serves you right. _A cloud of purple fog enveloped Cora's palm and she waved it over his body, soothing his aches. It sent a cold chill through his bones to watch her spidery hand linger over the exposed portion of his chest and below his waist.

By the end of it, Hook felt strong enough to do backflips over the gravestones.

"Thank you, milady," he said shortly, stretching his limbs above his head. "I have plenty of news about old Rumpelstiltskin. Did you know this world has a shiny metal box that holds bread? Only, when the bread pops out, it's all toasted! And there's an animal living in their house. I've seen the imp slip his breakfast to it and the furry thing likes to hog his pillow! And the atrocious things it does to his leg! Why does the Dark One keep a stray animal? And there's a luminous object with numbers on it-the numbers change and it goes _brrrinng_ and that's when the two of them woke up. And-"

Regina flicked her fingers and a zipper appeared over Hook's lips. His grisly nails scratched across the silver teeth to no avail.

"He has no useful information whatsoever," Regina complained loudly. "Nothing about Henry or what that sick imp is planning to do to retaliate against us."

It was bordering on naive to think Rumpelstiltskin would let her threats against his family slide. That man would turn her into a bowl of soup for unintentionally coordinating with his color scheme, never mind trying to steal his stepson away. She had a target painted on her forehead.

"That's if he even knows we're here in Storybrooke, dear," Cora retorted, forever calm. Regina snorted derisively, earning a black look from her mother. Cora certainly was overconfident in her endeavors.

"Of _course _he knows! Rumpelstiltskin knows everything, or so he claims. Did you forget that you two had the brilliant idea to romantically pursue a mannequin and set Modern Fashions on fire? His wife is the sheriff of this town! Which means he either assumed the damage was done by me or he's intelligent enough to consider the alternative explanation: your presence in this town."

Hook mumbled something incoherent against the silver zipper. Regina made no move of relieving his silence, so Cora did the honors. The zipper disappeared, allowing Hook the freedom of speech once again.

"Ugh! Pah! Don't ever do that to me again!" He snarled at Regina, who threateningly wiggled her fingers. "As I was saying, I did not see any hair of your fabulous son, but I glimpsed something even more peculiar. This morning in their bedroom, Emma Swan stood in front of the mirror, pulled up her shirt, and examined her stomach. She was gently rubbing her hand over it. Now, she may be a self-conscious woman concerned about her figure-" Regina's nose twitch told him otherwise. "But then Rumpelstiltskin came up behind her and caressed her belly the same way. Perhaps there's a better explanation here."

Mother and daughter wore matching, victorious grins.

"Your Emma Swan is pregnant," he declared. Regina looked ready to leap for joy at the unexpected news. For now, the only sign of her glee was the calculations being done in that vile head of hers, made obvious by the curl to her red lips.

"Well done, Hook. Why not continue to watch the Golds a little longer?" She suggested, nodding her approval. Who knew what else might be uncovered? Hook patted the telescope hanging from his waist.

"With pleasure," he said agreeably, flashing what was meant to be a charming smile.

Regina and Cora watched him stumble off across the cemetery, doubtfully eyeing the sway in his footing. Regina's tight pout suggested she wasn't happy, despite her satisfaction of Hook's news a moment before. She turned her heaviest glare on her mother, who was blissfully unaware.

"If you ever consider making that loathsome pirate my stepfather...I'll celebrate your matrimony by locking you two beneath the library," she warned spitefully. Cora finally tore her eyes away from Hook's tilting backside.

"Promise?" Regina made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat as her mother vanished in a puff of deep violet smoke.

At least the pirate was a better candidate than Rumpelstiltskin.

...

The golden bell over Emma's head trilled, announcing her presence as she strode into her husband's pawnshop. She had only been at the station for a few hours, kicking her boots up on the desk and enjoying a couple of fresh bear claws from Granny's, when Gold unexpectedly rang with an "emergency". He refused to say what the emergency was over the phone, but she suspected he was embarrassed to admit someone broke into his shop. Again.

Right now, he was leaning casually behind the front counter, a tiny capped bottle rolling smoothly between his fingers. He gave her a long, leisurely look as she approached the counter. She glanced at the black curtain over his shoulder, just to be sure there wasn't a fire cooking back there.

No smoke, no bloody victims unconscious on the floor with swelling bruise marks from a cane-shaped object, no severed heads or muffled screaming...

"Hello, Em-ma," he lilted amiably.

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He was in a very, _very _good mood for someone with a supposedly dire emergency. Did it rain chocolate chips this morning or was there another reason for that satisfied smile on his face? She debated arguing that she could take him down to the station for wasting the Sheriff's time on a false emergency, but he would be amused by that.

"You said this was an emergency. Sitting there smirking devilishly and undressing me with your eyes does not justify an urgent call to the Sheriff," she quipped. His smile widened at the corners. His fingers-those not rotating the vial-cupped her chin and he planted a quick, close-mouthed kiss on her lips.

"I finished it," he stated the moment their lips parted ways. It took Emma a little bit longer to gather her senses. It wasn't fair when he distracted her momentarily with a kiss, even one so chaste, and then dropped a startling piece of news. Emma blinked slowly, scrambling to put the pieces together.

There was only one task that would make Gold so giddy upon completion, other than fulfilling his husbandly duties.

"The border spell," she gasped.

Gold's fingers stroked the curls of her hair lovingly, nodding vigourously all the while. Her emerald eyes flew to the mysterious vial in his other hand, the contents of which she did not think to question previously. Sudden understanding jarred her into speechlessness.

The border spell was complete. Gold harnessed the power to defy the price of magic and cross the town's border into the world beyond without reverting to his cursed self. He could find his son, the one thing he'd strived to do for centuries.

Gold's expression broke wide open, tears welling under his eyelids. Carefully, he placed the vial in a mahogany box on the counter, the liquid sloshing inside.

"I'm going to find my son," he murmured, his accent thick due to the onslaught of the sobs rising in his throat.

If it weren't for the counter separating their bodies, she would already be in his arms and comforting him through his victory. As it were, they decided to make do, Gold tugging Emma into his embrace at an awkward, strained angle. Emma allowed him to bury his face in her neck. It was good for him to unleash these emotions instead of keeping them trapped inside.

He'd waited so long for this day.

"I want you there with me," he whispered into the soft fabric of her leather collar. Emma hesitantly pulled back, enough to peer at Gold's flushed, tear-stained face.

"When you cross the border? Wouldn't miss it for the world," she assured him. It would be strange to not have him by her side for those weeks when he searched for his son, but she always had Henry and her unborn child to keep her company. Yet, Gold shook his head, scoffing sharply enough to make her think she said something humorous.

She got the feeling she misunderstood his meaning.

"I want you there with me when I cross the border, yes, but I also want you with me when I find my son. You and Henry," he clarified.

While he was enthusiastic about the idea of his two families being joined as one, Emma wasn't so sure it would be pleasant for Bae. If Henry were lost out there and she finally reunited with him only to drop the bomb that she married and was expecting another child, it would lead to heartbreak long before joy. She furrowed her brows and stepped away from the counter, much to Gold's dismay.

"You should spend some time alone with your son. You haven't seen him in centuries. Henry and I would only be intruding," she insisted. Gold was crestfallen, his hand shaking as he reached out to clasp hers.

"You and Henry are part of my family now; there's no overlooking that sentiment. I want to know where we stand with my son," he said quietly.

Emma already had a feeling about where they would stand with Baelfire-he would feel threatened by their presence, jumping to the conclusion that his father replaced him with a new family while he was lost and alone in a world unknown. She was on the verge of telling her husband so when he squeezed her hand tightly.

"Please, Emma. For me. Consider this the favor you owe me: helping me reunite with my son."

That was when she understood that his request wasn't purely out of consideration of introducing his second family to his first as soon as possible. It was solely for _his _benefit, for moral support. Reuniting with his son was a moment that he both anticipated and dreaded. What if he finally located his son, grew frightened of the outcome, and decided to leave it be with Baelfire being none the wiser about his father's proximity? What if he had no one there to comfort him if Bae coldly rejected his father?

The haunted, pleading look in those brown eyes clinched Emma's decision, not the fact that she owed him a favor. She would do this for her husband's sake.

"I'll go with you," she promised, squeezing his hand back. "Now, how does this border spell work?"

Gold was grateful for the change of subject, so much that he did not hesitate to spin around and unlock the safe that was hidden behind a framed picture. Inside was only one object: the tawdry, rough-spun cloak belonging to his son, which he held in offering to Emma. She knew he was too paranoid about losing it to leave it alone in the house, instead bringing it to his shop.

"All I must do to cross the border is take this potion," he said, picking up and waving the vial around in his fingers. "I pour it over my most cherished possession and proceed to wear it on my person. It becomes a talisman. So long as I have it on, I will be allowed to walk in the world beyond this town without losing my memory."

He gingerly placed the cloak back in the safe and slid the picture over it, concealing its existence.

"I'm happy for you. Now, if you don't mind, there's a station in this town that's missing a Sheriff," she said, turning to head for the door. A hand fell upon her shoulder, stopping her in her place. She glanced down at it and then up at her leering husband.

"What's your hurry, Sheriff? I haven't yet gotten to the crux of my emergency," he taunted. She cocked an eyebrow, challenging him to spill the beans. This one ought to be good, better than anything Leroy's ever come up with. "You see, I have been recently afflicted with an insatiable hunger. If you leave here now, I may very well starve to death. Since I'm planning a journey to find my son, it'd be highly anticlimactic, wouldn't you agree?"

Emma tried to hide the smile inching its way over her mouth, but ultimately failed. If it wasn't for the stirrings in her abdomen, she would have laughed and told her husband to refamiliarize himself with his body and let matters lie.

"One hour," she relented and rounded the counter to tuck herself in her husband's arms.

* * *

><p><em>Thump. Thump. Thump. <em>

Belle pressed her back flat against the farthest side of the elevator, all the while forced to listen to the pirate's attempts to get inside. Her stomach coiled in knots and she wondered, with every scrape of his hook, if this would be the moment where he pried the rusty doors apart. Her eyes darted wildly around the cramped, four-cornered box hanging precariously over who knew how far of a drop. If that pirate succeeded in opening those doors-it only took the press of a button outside, though he didn't seem to realize the ways of technology-then she would be easy prey.

Hastily she dug out her cell phone from her pocket. It had been a gift from Jefferson, as a precaution in case they were separated in Storybrooke and Regina happened to strike. She figured out from Rumpel how much it cost, but Jefferson wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to keeping it.

Now, she thanked him hundreds of times over for insisting that she carry it everywhere she went. She scrolled through the list of contacts, a painfully short list that consisted of Rumpel, Jefferson, Emma, Snow, Red, and Granny's Diner. Granny didn't own an "infernal, fancy contraption", as she called it.

Belle pondered over her options to the pounding of the pirate's hook.

"Come out, love," the pirate called through the doors, the pounding ceased. For now. Had she been more superficial in mind, like Gaston, Belle might have found the pirate's accent alluring enough to give up her fight. Truthfully, she preferred Rumpelstiltskin's accent. "I promise I won't hurt you. You're too beautiful. You and I can have some tea, read a book or two, and chat about our mutual friend Rumpelstiltskin."

Belle ignored his pleas, gazing hard at the glowing screen of the cell phone in her hand. Who should she call? Granny and Red were working in the diner-and Belle didn't want to be responsible for the pirate being shot down by Granny's crossbow or losing a limb to Red's jaws. She did not wish him severely injured, she just wanted him to leave her alone. There was Snow, but she was spending the day with her husband and grandson, as was their agreement with Emma. There was Emma, the Sheriff...but she was also pregnant. Belle couldn't bear it if her unborn child was put at risk for her sake, not when Emma lost one already.

That left Jefferson and Rumpelstiltskin. The two most important men in her life.

"Don't make me beg, love," the pirate moaned. "Do you prefer _love?_ Or would you rather some other term of endearment? Sweetheart? Angel? Sweetie, honey, cookie, cupcake, dear...? If you're hoping I'll say _dearie, _you'll be sorely disappointed!"

Belle was torn in two different directions. Jefferson or Rumpel? Rumpel or Jefferson? She was tempted to call Jefferson first, being her unofficial boyfriend, and her finger even hovered over the green talk button that would immediately connect her to him.

But Rumpelstiltskin had magic. A means of protecting himself and her, by extension. Jefferson had Grace to worry about on top of a pirate attacking his potential girlfriend. She could never make him choose.

If she called Rumpelstiltskin for help, he'd be here in a matter of minutes, if that.

"Don't make me torture you with my singing. Trust me, I sound a lot better after a drink or two," the pirate threatened through the doors of the elevator. Belle was beyond listening. Plus, she heard her fair share of poor singing in taverns after leaving Rumpel's castle in the Enchanted Forest. "You leave me no choice. Here goes! Don't say I didn't warn you! Hem-hem..._Here's the story, of a lovely lady-_"

Belle dialed Rumpelstiltskin's number.

* * *

><p>Gold impatiently ripped the black curtain from the iron rod hanging above the door. The fabric fluttered to the floor, the rings clattering and rolling across the boards. He and Emma paid it no mind, locked as they were in each other's embrace and stumbling blindly into the back room. Buttons soon joined the silver rings, the folds of the curtain topped by Gold's tie and Emma's jacket.<p>

He drove her up against the wall-not too roughly due to the baby she was carrying-and proceeded to massage her neck with his lips. Emma's head fell back, exposing her throat fully to him. Her fingers wove through his hair, occasionally tugging enough to make him growl and nip her neck. She smiled with gratification.

Roughly, she had about an hour before she would have to return to the station and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Emma's hands clamped down on Gold's shoulders as he peeled the strap of her tank top from her shoulder, seeking the skin hidden beneath it. She shoved him backwards, herding him in the direction of the single-size bed at the other end of the room.

The back of his legs hit the bed and he toppled over the edge, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her down with him, her body landing atop his. Emma bent her head to kiss the exposed strip of skin on his chest, drawing a moan from his lips. She straddled his hips and shed her tank-top, afterwards guiding his skillful hands to her bare waist to let them wander. His fingers caressed the slight swell of her belly before dancing their way higher.

Emma's eyelids drifted closed in bliss.

That was when his cell phone rang from his pants pocket.

Emma forced her eyes open and glared daggers down at his abdomen, imagining the sleek cell phone that trilled away under that silk. Gold's head flopped back on the mattress, a groan erupting from his throat, this time out of irritation instead of ecstasy.

"That better not be a telemarketer," Emma muttered, rolling off Gold's hips. She stretched back on the bed, waiting for him to deal with whoever was on the other end of that line.

He cursed under his breath and dug out his phone to examine the caller ID. Not many people in Storybrooke had Gold's cell phone number for this exact reason: he didn't appreciate being disturbed while doing pleasurable things.

Emma knew it was something serious when his forehead creased and a frown pinched his lips. If it was anything else, he would simply answer the call and promptly hang up.

He answered the call and Emma held her breath. She counted the people in her head that had access to Gold's number. _My parents in case something happens to Henry, me which doesn't make sense unless I'm butt-dialing, Regina, Jefferson..._

"Belle?" Oh, yeah...her, too.

Well, that certainly killed the mood. Emma sighed in frustration and ducked to retrieve her discarded tank-top. Gold apologized with his soulful eyes, one of his hands rubbing the aches from his abdomen.

"You're...what? Belle, I can't hear you. Belle?"

The line went dead and Gold stared dismally at the silent phone in his hand. Emma was still as a statue on the edge of the bed, wondering what crisis could have occurred to make Gold appear so fearful. He rose to his feet and buttoned his shirt.

Play-time was over.

"Bad break-up?" Emma guessed. Scorn for Jefferson made her fingers curl over her knees. If he broke Belle's heart, he'd be hearing from her very shortly. Gold shook his head rapidly. He crossed the room to collect his suit jacket and tie.

"It was difficult to decipher, but I specifically heard _pirate, library..._and something about the Brady Bunch." A stone dropped into Emma's belly. Hook was at the library, attacking Belle. But then where were Regina and Cora? Or did Hook prefer to work alone?

Gold finished fixing his tie and returned to Emma's side. He eyed her mournfully, waiting for her permission to leave, apparently.

"Well? Go save her," Emma said, jerking her head to the door beyond his body. He smiled gratefully and leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. "Not much crime goes on in Storybrooke besides Regina. I'll still be here when you get back."

A brief sound of laughter floated into her ear as his lips moved to kiss her cheek.

"I wouldn't hold your breath, darling. Believe it or not, Archie causes a lot of mischief with that umbrella when you're not around." Emma rolled her eyes. She should be thankful that Archie had a conscience and therefore wasn't easily corrupted by Gold. "This won't take long."

Emma sensed he planned to catch Hook at the library and handle him permanently. Most likely, that would entail spilling his guts and hanging him from the clock tower like a Halloween decoration. She grimaced.

"Whatever you do, don't kill him. I really don't feel like arresting my husband tonight because the town demands justice for someone they don't realize would pose as much of a threat," she half-quipped. The guarded look in his eyes told her he wasn't making any promises.

He squeezed her hand one last time and swiftly dashed out the door. She guiltily wondered which would prove to be the lesser of two evils in the battle at the library: the pirate or her husband.

* * *

><p>Emma explored the entirety of Gold's shop for the third time. By now, she hardly saw the instruments hanging on the wall or the glass cases filled with marvelous trinkets as her mind wandered freely. She strummed a guitar, she swiveled around in the chair behind his desk until she grew dizzy, she made herself a cup of tea only to scrunch her nose at the unfamiliar taste.<p>

She was bored.

Eventually she laid her arms on top of one of the display cases and rested her head on the glass. She was almost tempted to head back to the station, proving her desperation for some kind of entertainment. Almost. If she hadn't promised Gold she would be here when he returned, she might have left already. Plus, there was always the slim chance that they could finish what they started before that phone call...

Just when she was on the precipice of napping in that stiff position, the bell over the door chimed and the floorboards creaked under a set of footsteps. What was odd was the fact that he was whistling. It sounded like the tune of _Full House. _

Emma guessed he succeeded in getting rid of the pirate, otherwise he wouldn't be in such a good mood after dealing with his ex-girlfriend being terrorized.

"Took you long enough," she muttered without lifting her forehead from the glass. Let him come to her. She was glad he saved Belle, but waiting was never her expertise.

The footsteps stopped a foot or so behind her. She could feel him standing there, only...he didn't smell like Gold. The seductive cologne was replaced with a salty, earthy scent. Did he wrestle the pirate in the woods and dump his body in the harbor followed by a cannonball into the deep?

"You must be Emma. I've been dying to meet you," a husky Irish accent flowed through her ears while there should have been a Scottish accent. Alarm made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Whoever this was, it definitely wasn't her husband.

She picked her head up and spun around, her hand flying to her holstered gun, but the pirate had been expecting it. His knee collided with her hand, sending it reeling away from her gun. Just as quick, his knee pinned her hand to the counter and white-hot pain shot up her wrist. The next thing she saw was the glint of something silver coming from the pirate's hand. At first she assumed it was a knife, until she got a good look. It was a crude hook that was shoved deep in his wrist where a hand should have been.

So _this _was Captain Hook.

"'Night, love."

The hook brutally knocked into Emma's temple, her head snapping sharply to the left. Spots danced in front of her eyes and her knees felt like two noodles of spaghetti, unable to support the weight of her body. His knee dropped away from her hand and she slumped forward, diving straight into darkness.

_**A/N: I do not own any of the show themes mentioned in this chapter. It's for entertainment purposes only. **_

_**As always, I'm prepared to give warm shout-outs to all those lovely readers that left me such wonderful reviews to read: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, discotimelord, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, Guest, reginamillz, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, orthankg1, Guest, and SwanQueen4055. I would also like to specially thank DaesGatling for being my faithful muse throughout this entire adventure and inspiring so many of my ideas for Sunshine, some of which have yet to come about in the plot. **_


	66. Chapter 66

The harbor was surprisingly vacant despite the fact that it was midafternoon. There were few ships floating on the water and no sign of their owners anywhere. Most of the people who were cursed as fishermen probably weren't experienced as fishermen or sailors prior to Regina's curse. The only sign of life that Hook could see was the gulls circling overhead.

Hook slinked his way to the docks, all the while carrying Emma's limp form over his shoulder. It wasn't an easy task, throwing her over his shoulder back in the imp's fancy shop. Carefully, he set her down on the dock and slapped a Queen of Hearts card by her head, summoning his trusty allies.

The trusty allies that made him do all the work while they sat back with their malicious smiles and lacy parasols, sipping tea and plotting their dominion over this little town. If he didn't enjoy his part in ruining Rumpelstiltskin's life, he would start to feel like their errand boy.

"So _this _is the Swan girl," Cora's clipped tone rebounded close to his ear. Hook forced his feet to stay planted on the dock. The Queen of Hearts drifted closer to examine Rumpelstiltskin's wife. Cora's lips tightened into a thin line and the only sound to signal her displeasure was a speculative _hmm. _

Regina bristled as her ebony eyes scrolled over Emma's unconscious body.

"Not very impressive for a savior," she bitterly added. Hook looked solemnly over the girl at his feet. Any fate at the hands of Cora and Regina would not be pleasant.

"What are you going to do with her? Snap her neck? Rip out her heart? Turn her into one of your puppets?"

The flatness of Hook's voice, riddled with boredom, revealed his level of excitement. Regina took her sweet time in rolling her sleeve away from her wrist. Something told Hook that she would relish nothing more than to rip out the savior's heart.

But Cora surprisingly held up her hand to stall her daughter.

"You're fond of 'Stiltskin women, Killian," she stated. Hook arched an eyebrow distrustfully on the heels of her extremely calm manner. He wondered if Cora ever considered herself a 'Stiltskin woman, having let Rumpelstiltskin stick his tongue down her throat once upon a time. "Why not do as you've done before? Take her away on your ship. Claim that which Rumpelstiltskin loves dearly."

In other words, Cora wanted him to abscond with Emma, woo her with his roguish charm, turn her into a bland copy of Milah. Even if it was a mockery to Milah's memory, the idea intrigued him. Running off with Rumpelstiltskin's second wife as he had the first. The chance to humiliate Rumpelstiltskin again was hard to pass up.

There was only one problem.

"Your plan has one flaw. I have no ship. You and I traveled to Storybrooke through the well, remember?" His focus flickered to Regina, who thankfully had not been there to witness their ascent from the well. He hoped Cora hadn't mentioned a single detail to Regina. But then, why were her eyes gleaming so remarkably?

"Did you enjoy reaching second base with my mother?" Damn. He would never live that down.

Cora extended her palm to the tranquil waters of the harbor. Rumbling began under their feet. The water exploded into the air and through the torrent of salt water, Hook glimpsed a most magnificent sight. It was his ship, the Jolly Roger, plopping down into the harbor and towering over the wee little boats docked beside it. Hook nearly fell to his knees, praising the glorious ship.

"Thank you, Cora. Now, I don't mean to complain, but won't Rumpelstiltskin notice a gigantic pirate ship floating in the harbor? Not very subtle, is it?" They might as well attach a luminous sign to the sails, reading: _Here lies Hook. Have at it._ Cora sighed impatiently and waved her hand toward the Jolly Roger. It shimmered and promptly disappeared.

"There. I placed a cloaking spell over your ship. Anyone passing by this harbor will be unable to see you aboard your ship," she said.

"Not bad. Of course, I'm fine with having the Swan girl aboard my ship, but what about the child she's carrying? You're not going to ask me to kill it, are you?"

He pointed his hook toward Emma's swelling belly. Soon there would be no denying her tender condition. Soon there would be a babe in her arms, crying for its mother's comfort. Ever since leaving Cora and Regina's company this morning, Hook wondered off and on whether they would be cruel enough to prevent any chance of that baby being born, to save the world of 'Stiltskin offspring.

Cora eyed her daughter expectantly, setting before her feet a test to prove her worst.

"Raise it as your own," Regina suggested. Hook blanched, but Regina was confident about her decision, pressing onward before he could rightly object to its absurdity. "You'll be getting revenge on Rumpelstiltskin twice-fold. It's a package deal: you take his wife away-again. Then you allow her to birth her child and claim it as your own. Teach it to hate its true father. Emma will have no choice but to stay on your ship, lest she abandon another child and you will have a family. Take away everything he's ever loved to avenge your own lost love."

"Vindictive and treacherous. Right up your alley," he remarked. He let the scenario play out in his head, painted by Regina's seductive narration. It filled him with giddiness, envisioning Rumpelstiltskin's newborn child in his own arms, poisoning its ear with the truth of the imp's villainy. Oh, the beautiful irony should Rumpelstiltskin's son be his ultimate undoing one day.

He would do it. Signed, sealed, and delivered.

Cora's hand brushed his shoulder and he supressed a shudder.

"Don't worry about the Swan's resistance. Even if she proves stubborn in the beginning, I have faith in your wooing capabilities," she reasusured. He firmly tugged away from her touch, nearly falling off the dock in the process. His discomfort did not compromise his leering of Emma's unmoving body, though.

"She is attractive, isn't she? In a feisty sort of way," he commented. He always fancied women that possessed fire in their souls, much like the drink that required some gentle sipping before becoming familiar enough to chug down. The game of cat and mouse was half the fun; otherwise, the reward would not taste as sweet. Hook turned to gauge his allies' reactions.

"I hope you're not waiting for me to answer that question," Regina barked, upper lip curving snidely.

"I have no doubt she'll fall for your charms," Cora insisted, even if her eye twitched a bit whenever she dared to look upon Emma's limp form. Hook wiggled his eyebrows.

"Was that sarcasm?" Cora blinked innocently, her coal-black lashes beating against her papery skin.

"No," she answered quickly. The two of them succumbed to a staring match, with Regina as the reluctant witness.

"Was that a lie?" Cora tilted her head.

"No." Hook grunted.

He regretted to admit that he spent a great deal of time with Cora while time was frozen in the Enchanted Forest, and thus was capable of understanding that Cora's face was rarely true. She preferred to wear it like a mask or a shield, guarding the inner thoughts belonging to the gloomy chambers of her mind. He was ninety-nine percent certain she was hiding behind a false mask now.

"Why is it that whenever I speak to you two, I immediately feel the urge to jump into the harbor?"

He bent to sling Emma's arm over his neck. A new thought occurred to him, for his spine straightened once more. From inside his jacket spilled out the tan, tattered cloak over the gleaming silver curve of his hook.

"Oh, there's this as well. It seems Rumpelstiltskin was working diligently on an enchantment in order to cross beyond this town's limits, using this cloak as a talisman. He's going after his long-lost son."

Cora drew her own sapphire cloak tighter around her torso, glaring reproachfully at the miserable piece of dusty cloth that once belonged to Rumpel's son, but Regina's eyeballs were on the verge of popping out of her self-centered head. Someone could yell _fire _and Regina would never pay it any attention unless she was the one on fire.

"Rumpelstiltskin...has a son?" She snapped her fingers. "_That's _why he created this curse. That selfish imp!"

Scorn was the only thing the cloak earned from Regina. Snatching it from Hook, she threw it on the dock, stepped on it, yanked the fabric upwards with all her might, and succeeded in tearing the cloak into two uneven pieces. It was the most astounding temper tantrum Hook had ever seen, even more so when Regina offered over one of the ragged pieces of the cloak to him. Cora, meanwhile, surveyed her daughter as if she was in sudden need of medical help.

"Here," Regina said curtly, waving the piece of tan cloth in his face.

Hook draped the cloth over his hook again, the only non-fleshy portion of his body. He studied it uncomprehendingly. There was no telling what Regina was capable of, even when it came to an old cloak. Mary's little lamb would be corrupted into a fire-breathing menace if ever it crossed Regina's path.

"So I won't get cold on the harbor?" Those two black holes that served for eyes in Regina's face burned into him until he squirmed from the intensity. Hook anticipated her belittlement.

"Leverage," she corrected. Never had a single word sounded so despicable. "If Rumpelstiltskin does make it to your ship, he'll have to choose between his wife and his son. Which do you think he'll pick? If you succeed in stealing his wife away before the imp can catch up with you, I'll use the other half of this cloak to make him choose between _Henry _and his son. Same question, same answer."

She burrowed a hand into her pocket and tossed something small onto the dock at Hook's feet. A book of matches with a printed black logo for The Rabbit Hole on the front. He wasn't even going to question why Regina carried a box of matches in her pocket. He was afraid she would say something like: _just in case. _

Hook leaned over to palm the box of matches, but he still had his doubts.

"You expect Rumpelstiltskin to choose between two of his sons?" Regina's smirk mirrored the proud one Cora currently bestowed upon her dark daughter.

"Henry is _not _his son."

...

If there was one thing in the world that Red loved, it was running. For the life of her, she could not understand how Ruby confined her feet in those cramped high heels all day when all Red wanted to do was kick them off and feel her bare soles pounding on the pavement. She loved the way her muscles stretched and contracted, the way the wind blew through her dark hair and kissed the nape of her neck, the way no one could hope to keep up with her.

She was unstoppable, untouchable, invincible.

All the way to the harbor she sprinted, as was her daily routine. Once there, she reluctantly slowed down to a crawl to allow her body a moment's repreieve. It soured her mood to be reminded that she was not as invincible as she thought. She gazed out to the harbor, admired the serene flow of the water, and endured the petulant squawking of the gulls. Overall, it was a peaceful place to stop for a rest, even if it stank of raw fish.

"Da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da..."

Red's instincts perked up, her body stiffening like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She tilted her head to listen closely, her wolf senses giving her the opportunity to hear beyond human range. Likewise, her vision was more refined than that of a human's bleary eyes, granting her the skill of being able to depict details from great distances.

The music was coming from behind her. Turning around in a whirlwind of maroon, she spotted a figure making its way along one of the docks and shouldering an awkward bundle. Straining her eyesight further, the figure came into sharp focus. It was a pirate, sneaking down the length of the dock and humming the _Bewitched _theme like it was a secret agent theme. And the bundle over his shoulder was...wait...Emma!

As Red spied on in horror, the pirate reached the end of the dock. He stuck one foot into open air above the water and-just as Red feared he would sink into the water with Emma-he vanished into thin air. There was no collapse into the water, there was no splash-he simply vanished.

Red rubbed her eyes, stumbling backward in astonishment. Was she going mad? Hallucinating as a result of dehydration and running too hard? Or was this something magical in nature? As a supernatural creature of the night, she often took comfort in her enchanted red cloak, but that was as far as she dared to delve with magic.

She needed to find Rumpelstiltskin.

Red turned and started to run.

...

When Gold returned to his shop, Belle in tow, he found it in a state of disarray. A tornado might have terrorized that one spot of Storybrooke, gobbling up everything in its path, or else a particularly spoiled toddler unleashed a tantrum. This was even worse than the aftermath of one of _Regina's _temper tantrums.

Papers-contracts, documents, notes and the like-swirled about the room. Half of the items on the walls were hanging at unusual angles, in danger of falling completely. One of the guitars was ravaged, its strings resembling whiskers. He suspected it was a result of someone trying to strum it with a hook. Boxes had been emptied of their contents, drawers had been pulled out, rifled through, and tossed away carelessly, and various bobbles and treasures were strewn about the floor. Only one of the glass display cases was still intact.

Whereas Belle gasped in astonishment, Gold was unable to concentrate on the horrendous pigsty that had become his once impeccable shop. The damage to his merchandise wasn't the worst of it. Something was missing.

His wife.

While Belle attempted to right the scattered objects, he grimly slipped his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed Emma's number. He closed his eyes to the disaster as it rang, silently pleading with her to pick up. She promised she would be here, that she would not return to the station...if Hook laid a single finger on a single strand of her sunshine hair...

For the first time as a dealmaker, he found himself hoping she broke her promise...

"Hello?" Relief cooled his buzzing nerves. She was safe. She was alive and she wasn't in the filthy hands of the man who he assumed had a fetish for stealing his wives.

"Emma-"

"Whoops, you caught my voicemail. Leave a message-"

Gold glared spitefully at the phone in his hand before tossing it to the floor, the pieces smashing and flying in several directions. Emma's voice died upon impact. He always fell for that trick with her voicemail. He felt Belle's gaze digging into his back, watching his every move. Breath coming in heavy heaves, teeth achingly gritted, fingers curled until they shone white, his self-control fluctuated.

Emma was gone. His pregnant wife, gone. Taken by Hook.

A premonition hit him suddenly, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. With purpose he stepped over the broken objects and ventured to the picture frame that concealed the shop's safe. He shifted the frame aside and numbly unlocked the safe, swinging the door open to reveal the inner sanctuary.

The cloak was gone. Bae's cloak, the one item that would ensure his ability to cross the border and reunite with his son.

Gold released the picture, not caring when it swung back and clanged against the open door of the safe. It didn't matter who came in and noticed the safe now-it held nothing of importance. He stumbled past the front counter, wildly observing the remaining intact glass case with the useless knick-knacks that burgalrs would most likely target. Belle must have witnessed something foreboding in his eyes, since she rose and reached out a hand in caution.

"Rumpel-"

Menacingly swift, Gold retrieved his old cane from behind the counter and smashed the display case. Fragments of glass rained over the floorborads and Belle's feet. His anger had only begun to dissolve, so he did the same with the other glass cases, shattering them further into countless glittering shards. The elegant tea set perished along with the next stroke, the handles of the teacups and the tray leaping over the Mickey phone, whose cord spiraled like a snake underneath the counter.

"Rumpel, please, stop," Belle cried in exasperation, but there was no sucking the fury down once it had been allowed the chance to walk among this world. Gold spun and crashed his cane into the row of mugs that belonged to the seven dwarfs. They exploded before they hit the floor.

The box of knives-knocked over, the weapons skidding in various directions. The artworks on display in the corner-punched through the canvas. The shelf of ancient books that had been gathering dust for years-sent reeling, the pages bending and ripping. Belle showed the most hurt to see him attack those items in particular.

The bell over the shop's door chimed, right when Gold was in the midst of his inanimate object killing spree. He whirled around with his cane raised above his head, expecting a gloating Hook, but it was only Red. Her eyes bulged as she took in the sight of Gold's shop.

"I take it you heard about Emma," she moaned, crouching to examine the remains of the seven dwarves' mugs. They would be devastated to see their favorite drinking mugs destroyed, but Gold did not care at the moment. He lowered the cane and lurched toward Red, sensing there was more than what she was saying.

"Do you know something, dearie?"

The way he said that last word did not indicate that it was a form of endearment. Red rose to full height, defiantly crossing her arms. She earned her nerve from Granny. Once the curse was broken, she made it very clear that she would not hesitate to bite Rumpelstiltskin if he threatened her.

"First of all, if you ever come at me with that cane of yours, you'll be walking funny for the next week and you'll have to count your blessings that I don't show up on your doorstep on the next full moon," she said through bared teeth. Gold despised her challenge and started forward, but Belle's arm blocked his chest, halting him in his tracks.

"Red, if you know anything about where that pirate has taken Emma-" Belle layered on her soothing tones and sorrowful frowns. By her friend's request, Red broke.

"I was running by the docks, like I usually do. I saw this pirate toting Emma over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He looked like he was trying to be sneaky, too. I watched him walk to the end of the dock and then he disappeared. Vanished, poof, gone. And then I ran here," she explained.

Gold wasted no time in charging for the door.

"Belle, stay with Red. You'll not want to see this," he demanded over his shoulder. But Belle was quick on her feet. Before he was halfway out the door, she caught his elbow and, in the manner of an immovable child, refused to relent.

"No. I'm going with you," she argued passionately. Gold staggered on the threshold, dismayed by Belle's request. It wasn't even a request! It was a demand, a declaration, the laying down of the law. By her implication, he was not allowed to say no, but it didn't stop him from trying.

"Belle, I am on the verge of losing my wife to that loathsome pirate," he said. Mentally, he added an _again _to the end of that sentence. "I don't want to lose you, too." He touched her cheek, begging her to understand. It was the most intimate gesture he'd displayed to her since the day in the woods when the curse broke, when he officially let Belle go in favor of Emma.

Belle reached up to remove his hand from her cheek. She would be lying if she claimed she did not miss his touch, but she kept Jefferson's face honorably plastered on the surface of her mind.

"I'm not asking you; I'm telling you. I intend to help you find Emma. She is my friend and I will never forgive myself if I don't fight for her." Gold appeared conflicted, torn between letting Belle come on the rescue mission or not. Deep down, he knew her decision was made and there would be no stopping her. Silently, he dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"I'll go, too. I'm fast, I'm strong, I can probably take that pirate down before he can say _ahoy, there,_" Red said. Gold tipped his head back and groaned, betraying his irritation.

"Why don't we send the invite to everyone in town? Afterwards we can lounge on the ship and toss back a drink or two," he muttered sarcastically.

Belle looked at Red sympathetically. Suddenly, she knew exactly how Rumpel felt when he was fighting so hard to convince her to stay behind. She didn't wish to see Red hurt, but what kind of hypocrite would she be if she argued with Red that it was best for her to stay?

"We're taking my car. It'll be faster than walking. Not all of us are gifted with inhuman wolf speed," Gold announced.

Red hung back in the doorway.

"Wait...we're taking _his _car?"

Both Belle and Gold paused to glance back at Red in puzzlement, with Gold holding the passenger door open for Belle. Red's fingers drummed on the doorframe and her boot scraped the sidewalk. At the moment, it looked like it would take a crane to move Red from the doorway of his shop.

"Something the matter, dearie?" Gold sensed it had something to do with him. He couldn't say he blamed the girl. Not many people would be jumping at the chance to be tucked in such close quarters with the Dark One. Red bit down on her lip. Belle approached her slowly, concern etching her delicate features.

"Red...what's wrong?" Red narrowed her eyes at Gold over Belle's shoulder.

"I am not getting into a car with him," she protested. "Your nose can't catch it, Belle, but believe me, he smells. That man is _soaked _in cologne." She covered her nose with her hand for further emphasis. Gold reared his head back, offended.

"In that case, I retract my invitation. Permanently," Gold hissed icily. He gestured for Belle to slide into the car, but Belle did not take her eyes from Red. Red reassuringly squeezed her hand, not too hard as was possible with her wolf strength.

"I'll find Granny and I'll tell her what's going on. Fair warning: she'll probably want to charge into the heat of the battle with her guns blazing. I'll make sure Jefferson and Grace are alright and I'll give the Charmings the heads-up as well. Just get Emma back in one piece. I don't know what this town would do without her."

Belle tossed a quick but heartfelt _thank you _to Red before crawling into the red leather interior of Gold's ancient car. Gold lunged behind the wheel.

"Hold on, Belle," he warned and tore away from the curb fast enough to earn twelve speeding tickets.

...

It was dark when Emma finally regained consciousness. Nothing but bleak shadows crawling across every corner of her vision. For a minute, she sluggishly questioned whether she was even awake. Her arms were painfully stiff, raised unnaturally high above her head. There was no lasting pain in dreams; ergo, this must be her reality.

She tried to lower her arms to her sides, only to hear the clinking of chains. Shackles clasped her wrists, restricting their movement and trapping her to the wall. She tugged and fidgeted as hard as she could, but there was no escaping the metal binds. And whenever she twisted her right wrist, agony shot down to her forearm, reminding her of how the pirate slammed his knee into her hand. She gritted her teeth until the pain subsided.

She was going to kill that pirate. But first, she needed to figure out where the hell he stashed her.

The floor rocked underneath her legs, which were currently suffering with pins and needles. She was being held on Hook's ship, she was certain of it. But had the ship set for open sea or was it docked at the harbor? There were no windows down here, no source of light anywhere. There was no way of telling if the ship had embarked from Storybrooke or not, though Emma took an educated guess that it was still docked. The ship would have rocked much more violently aganst the oncoming waves if they were sailing and it was much too quiet. No crashing waves, no shouted orders from the captain, no wind howling beyond these walls.

Emma had never been one to desperately hope for some result instead of taking action directly, but now she was sincerely hoping the ship was still in Storybrooke.

Emma shimmied over the floor, stretching out her legs as far as they would go in an attempt of testing out her new environment or even finding a stray object that might be useful in escaping the chains imprisoning her wrists. Her mind raced with images of Henry and Gold. What if Hook went after them next? What about her unborn baby?

She had to get out of here.

"You are attractive when you wiggle your hips that way," a voice emerged from the gloom. Emma's movements halted immediately, her guarded eyes scanning around the darkened room, seeking out the pirate's location. He was somewhere in front of her; she sensed him there. And smelled him. Did he drink the rum or bathe in it? "Mmm...no wonder the imp is so taken with you."

He was moving. The floorboards creaked under his boots. He was coming closer. Emma scooted backwards until her back hit the solid wall, avoiding his reach as she would avoid the plague. How long had he been standing in the shadows, watching her?

"Why are you hiding in the darkness, Hook? Afraid I'll shoot you?" It was ridiculously cocky on her part considering her imprisonment, but she refused to show any sign of weakness to her adversary. Above all, she refused to let him break her.

"Oh, Emma, I do love a challenge. Unfortunately, there are two severe issues with your threat. One of them being the chains securing you to the wall. From here on in, you won't be shooting anyone unless I say so. In fact, you won't be able to lift a spoon to those cherry lips of yours without my express permission. You might want to consider being nicer to me, love."

Emma swallowed back a stream of bile that rushed up her esophagus. She was more or less Hook's prisoner, but she'd be damned if she would bend to his will.

"You said there were two issues with my threat," she pointed out. The hoarse quality of her voice made her grimace. She licked her lips and craved water. _Be strong, _she encouraged herself. _No weaknesses. _"What's the other issue?"

There was a dry chuckle. Had she said something particularly humorous?

"You're confused. Here-allow me to shed some light on the subject." There was a startling clatter somewhere in front of her and she instinctively thrust her foot out to kick her opponent. She missed, her foot collapsing to the floor. "Your determination is amusing."

The strike of a match demanded her attention and suddenly a flickering flame illuminated the room. Hook touched the match to a swinging lantern on the wall, chasing away the shadows. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but she realized she was being held in one of the cabins of the ship. The door was right across from where she lay huddled and bound, mocking her with false notions of escape. There were two thin beds, one on either side of the room.

Hook crossed to a crooked table near the door and picked up a bulky black item with his one hand.

It was her gun.

"Is the puzzle coming together?"

Hook madly waved the gun around. Placing a gun in Jefferson's hands would be safer than someone who hadn't even stepped foot in this world until a day ago. Maybe she would get lucky and the idiot would shoot himself in the leg. Then again, if Hook accidentally shot himself and bled to death, there would be little chance of her escaping the chains without claiming a key.

"Do you even know the first thing about using a gun?" Emma stared at the weapon in his hand doubtfully. If Hook truly did not know what he was doing, perhaps he wouldn't be as much of a threat. She could take him down when the right opportunity came.

Hook pointed the gun directly at her chest and her pulse picked up speed. Abruptly, he aimed the gun at one of the beds and fired off a bullet with ease, murdering the pillow. The next time he trained the gun on her, all lingering doubt had vanished from Emma's face. She began to squirm in the chains. He was a filthy pirate and thus did not possess a proper moral compass, but didn't he have any remorse for pregnant women? Or did he not know? Was it simply because she was carrying his enemy's child?

"If you expect me to plead for my life, you'll be disappointed," she snapped coldly, straining against the shackles. She bared her teeth. If he dared to come within biting range, she'd have no qualms about taking the other hand.

Hook barely flinched.

"Not even for the sake of _his _child?" So he did know.

The gun descended a few inches, now aiming for her belly. Emma bit the tip of her tongue so as not to fly into a panic. She was certain the pirate was only doing this to get a reaction out of her; he wouldn't really pull the trigger. Would he?

"So this is how you plan to get your revenge on Rumpelstiltskin? Kidnap his wife and run away on your ship? Threaten to kill an innocent child? You coward," she spat. She'd been intending to hit a nerve and it worked. The giddy grin on Hook's face slipped. He turned the gun on its side, turned it upright again. He seemed to be contemplating whether to actually shoot her.

The glee returned.

"You are going to be so much fun to unravel, Emma. Just think: with all the time we'll have together aboard my ship, you'll forget all about Rumpelstiltskin in no time. Perhaps I'll take you to Neverland, where you and I will never age. I'll bet he's not half as satisfying as the rumors in the Enchanted Forest claim."

"You'd be surprised. Did I tell you we're expecting twins?" Her defense of Gold's bedding abilities angered him all the more. "You really think Rumpelstiltskin will let you get away with stealing his wife twice? What was the first one's name? Melinda? Mia?"

"_Milah," _Hook shouted, growing rather red in the face. His hook scraped across the sleeve of his right arm, almost habitually. Pain was reflected in his dark eyes, only for an instant before he changed back into the persona of a merciless pirate. His grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles bone-white. "Don't worry about Rumpelstiltskin, love. I'm far too greedy for my revenge to leave Storybrooke without facing off against the crocodile at least once. He'll come."

Emma slumped back against the wall. Now that her body wasn't hyped up on adrenaline, the pain ebbing from her swollen wrist came through loud and clear. It helped keep her mind off Hook's presence, at least.

"I'm assuming you're not going to give me the grand tour of your ship while we wait for my husband?" Hook winced in the wake of the term _husband. _He paced restlessly in front of her, still too far away to be kicked.

"Would you like the grand tour?" Emma was afraid the first stop on the list would be his cabin.

"No."

"Pity," Hook said softly. He almost appeared earnestly disappointed.

He plopped down on one of the beds. The gun was always trained on her. She wondered how much manipulation it would take to convince him to drop it. The price would likely be too high, even surpassing the worst of Rumpelstiltskin's fees.

"Well, I've been called a fantastic storyteller in the Enchanted Forest's finest taverns. This one I heard from that enchanted black box of yours."

Emma's brows furrowed thoughtfully.

"You mean the television?" Hook's eyes widened to impossible roundness.

"Is that what it's called? I must commit that to memory. Tel-o-vis-ion. How peculiar," he mumbled dreamily. He scratched his head with his hook and made a low _ouch._, whipping it away to examine the silver tip for hair or blood. "Now about that story. Ready? _Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip, that started from this tropic port aboard this tiny ship-"_

Emma methodically banged the back of her head into the wall, all the while wishing her husband would come as fast as he could.

...

Rumpel skidded his car to a stop when they reached the harbor. It was faster than running down the streets of Storybrooke, even if he no longer had the limp. He brought his cane along for good measure, a detail which Belle frowned upon deeply. Grabbing it up, he and Belle hurried to the dock.

There were only two boats docked at the moment, one of them being Leroy's battered home. To think the dwarf once asked for five hundred dollars for that ruddy disaster for the sake of keeping the fairies in town. Rumpel whirled around, searching for a pirate ship. Where the hell was it? Surely the pirate hadn't embarked already? If the pirate traveled to open seas with Emma, he would never find her. There was no way for he nor Belle to cross the border, no way of pursuing his wife.

He concentrated on the information provided by Red. She said she saw the pirate on the dock with Emma slung over his shoulder and then the pirate vanished into thin air. It didn't make sense logically. But when one considered magic, anything was possible. He probed with his mind as he hastily wandered the dock, alert for any sensations of magic in the air.

Nothing was popping up on his radar. Either the enchantment was a powerful one, able to escape detection, or the ship simply wasn't there. His heart sank. Emma was gone; he'd likely never see her again. Suddenly he was glad that he carried his old cane, for he would have fallen into the water without it due to his immediate exhaustion and despair.

At the moment where all his hope was lost, Belle latched onto his arm.

"Rumpel, look," she exclaimed, pointing into the sky.

He tilted his head back, trying to see what she so keenly noticed. After a moment of intense searching, he witnessed something that made absolutely no sense.

A flock of seagulls had gathered, which wasn't so unnatural at the harbor. The problem was that the birds were perching in midair. They were clearly sitting on something, or they should have been, but the object in question was invisible. He looked to Belle with understanding. Gods, if he wasn't so in love and loyal to Emma, he would kiss Belle right then and there to congratulate her cleverness.

As he watched, Belle strode to a box on the dock marked _Sand _and scooped a generous handful of the yellow grain. Storybrooke, and especially Clark's convenience store, was fabulous for its creativity of brand names. She tossed the sand into the air. The cloud of sand settled, though not in the water as might have been expected. Instead, it paused in the open air and revealed the platform that secretly led to the deck of the Jolly Roger.

The ship was here. Emma was here.

"Belle, you truly are brilliant," he complimented. Belle smiled modestly and flanked his heels, climbing onto the ship's deck.

...

Emma had the theme song of _Tha Addams Family _stuck in her head, all thanks to Hook's eternal singing. Apparently, he thought he was doing a good job of entertaining her. It seemed he had a thing for spying on people while they were watching television in their homes, thus gaining an education in pop culture. She made a mental note to keep their blinds closed, assuming she ever made it out of here.

Her head hung limply, her breath coming in heavy spurts. The struggle against the shackles was given up long ago, and she had every crack and scratch on the floor between her legs memorized. Her brain felt sluggish and she wondered if she were already losing her mind.

Did Gold even realize yet that she was missing from his shop? Was he venturing down to the station to see if she was there? She had no idea how much time had passed since she woke, but it was enough time to think about the stunts the pirate pulled. The attack on Belle had been a ploy, a decoy, a way to lure out Rumpelstiltskin. All the pirate ever wanted was revenge by taking her hostage.

Hopefully her husband did not let his rage get the better of his senses. According to his constant boasting of the maintenance of his shop, he just cleaned those display cases yesterday. It'd be a shame if he had to sweep up bits of glass.

The pirate had barely stopped moving since she woke up. One minute he plopped down on the bed, legs stretched out and hand behind his head without a care in the world; next thing, he was pacing the floor in front of her; then he was occupying the other bed. When she got fed up and told him to sit down, his explanation was that he was admiring her from all possible angles. The way he referred to her made her feel like a shiny new trophy on display. It was revolting.

But now the pirate stopped completely in his tracks. Did he hear something unusual? Emma picked up her head and strained her ears to listen to the world beyond the ship's walls. The noise eventually seeped through: _thump, thump, thump. _

Someone was walking on the deck, directly above their heads. Someone with a cane. Emma's heart skipped a beat. _Gold. _

"Ah. The show's about to begin," the pirate said gleefully. If he had two hands, he would likely rub them together. Emma's eyes flahsed as he attempted to close in on her. _That's right. Come closer. You'll have lost your family jewels before another slimy fantasy runs through your head, _she channeled viciously. Hook must have predicted the resistance coming, for he dug out the key to the shackles and dangled it in the air.

"Go ahead, Emma. Kick me, hit me. Knock me out as I've knocked you out. You'll never get the chance to see your husband," he warned. Emma had little concern for his threats when she thought about Gold invading the ship. He would rip up every floorboard and search through every nook and cranny until he found her. The pirate had to know that by now, yet he showed not the least bit of fear.

"If that's him on the deck right now, you know he'll find me. He won't stop until he does and even if you swallow that key, he has magic. Don't you get it? You lost."

The sound of creaking crossed the deck, the first set of footsteps and the thumping of Gold's cane followed by a second set of footsteps. Had Gold brought someone with him? His bodyguard, perhaps? Or Belle? That would mean two against one, even if Hook held her captive.

"Not if I accidentally fire this gun," Hook said, his finger drumming over the trigger and pointing it at her belly. Emma wrestled the chains and went so far as to spit at Hook's feet.

"You're despicable. What kind of woman would ever love you?"

Hook's expression darkened significantly. This time when he approached, Emma did not attempt to strike out against him. Instead, she let him crouch down and unlock the shackles. She winced when he jerked hard on the wrist that was swollen and bruising, propelling her to her feet.

"I could ask the same of Rumpelstiltskin. I will never fathom what the female population considers attractive in that monster. There's nothing the least bit desirable. You would think the same if ever you knew him the way I did in the Enchanted Forest, with all the scaly skin and such."

Emma's parents had confided in her about the Rumpelstiltskin they once knew. She hadn't fully believed them when they described his sickly-colored skin and reptilian eyes. The figure they described wasn't even human. To hear Hook recount his memories of Rumpelstiltskin only solidified the truth in their words. Nevertheless, Emma knew that if she ever met that man, she would still find it in her heart to love him. He was essentially the same man as her husband, just with a different face.

"He's more of a man than you'll ever be," she roared back. The barb hit Hook harder than any kick or swipe; she could tell by the way his fingers tightened on her wrist until she yowled and saw stars blinking in her vision. He pocketed the gun to unlock the shackles, he was unarmed...

Emma hadn't even regained her composure when her knee drove upwards. It slammed into his thigh, not the sensitive organ she was going for. Despite her poor aim, his legs buckled-and she was off!

There was the door, straight ahead. Beyond it was her husband and Henry and safety-

The distinctive scratch of a match made her pause. _No! Don't turn around! It's a trap, Emma, just keep running, _her instincts screamed to be obeyed, but Emma's feet pivoted. She turned to gape at Hook on the floor as he knelt there and held a burning match to Bae's cloak. Her stomach curdled.

"Take one more step, Emma, and you'll succeed in ruining any chance of Rumpelstiltskin seeing his son again. Won't that serve for a lovely reunion? _Oh, Rumpel, you saved me from the mean old pirate, but I am the reason you've lost your son twice. Now kiss me and take me home!" _

Hook brutally mocked her. Emma couldn't move-if she did, she would be the cause of a hole in her husband's heart. Her eyes burned into the tan cloak swinging from that silver hook and she suddenly remembered a vital piece of information.

"Just so you're aware, Milah made that cloak for her son," Emma said flatly and waited.

As she expected, Hook's resolve faltered and he took in the sight of the cloak with greater appreciation. If she had any luck on her side, he would not be willing to destroy something that was crafted by the woman he supposedly loved. He appeared to be on the verge of giving in, but his face became stone again.

"Sacrificing a cloak isn't a very big price for revenge. I'm doing this in her name. Milah would have wanted it this way," he drawled, thereby crushing every hope Emma had of convincing the pirate to drop this cruel behavior. He was willing to sacrifice the only object that remained of Milah for the sake of avenging her death. He was no better than Regina or Cora.

It was over. There was no reasoning with Hook. Words would not sway his determination for Rumpelstiltskin's head on a plate.

Hook recognized the moment where she yielded. Clumsily, he stood up with the match and cloak still in hand, cornering Emma, his prey.

"Let me guess: you're going to shove my capture in his face and burn the cloak?" Hook grinned, his teeth gleaming by the glow of the match.

"Oh, no, love. You'll be doing the honors."

...

A wave of magic thrummed around Gold as he passed through the cloaking enchantment. Oh, yes, it had been a powerful one. It had to be Cora's doing; he was the one who taught her what was required to perform an adequate cloaking spell. He surveyed the deck of the ship, but there was no sign of Emma yet. He walked the length of it, anyway, with Belle close on his heels, covering his ground just in case.

Just when he was ready to take his search below deck, there was the sound of someone emerging onto it. Expertly masking his frantic emotions, he turned to face his opponent. At the same time, he guided Belle behind his body. No need to drag her down along with him.

"You've made it. Finally," Hook muttered.

Gold's heart plunged into his stomach. The pirate stood on the other side of the deck and Emma was unwillingly caught in his arms. She was restrained against Hook's chest, with her own gun pressed to her temple and the crude silver hook caressing her neck. The shawl was scrunched in her hand, an unlit match in the other.

"Which did you come for? Her...or him?"

Hook motioned his head over Emma's shoulder to the tawdry cloak that once belonged to Bae. Gold showed no sign of debate. The answer was easy.

"Both," he said confidently. Hook clucked his tongue.

"Come on, you're ruining the fun! You have to choose one!" Gold loomed forward, challenging the pirate.

"Or what?"

The hook glinted in the sunlight as it angled to the right, gliding over Emma's throat. She didn't appear intimidated by the unspoken threat. If he knew his wife, she was only annoyed and wanted to throw a well-deserved punch in the pirate's face.

"If you don't choose, I'll make the choice for you. I'll force her to destroy the cloak and all you'll have is her." Hook's lips puckered as he replayed his words inside his head. "Come to think of it, that's not such a bad fate, is it? She is quite lovely. Perhaps I'll force her to destroy the cloak and I'll sail off in my ship, keeping her for myself."

Emma sent her husband a mournful look.

"Choose the cloak. You have to find your son. I can handle myself," she declared. The pirate's face descended over her shoulder, his breath hot on her neck. It made Emma cringe. Gold suspected there was proof of one too many shots of rum on his breath.

"Are you so sure, love?"

The hook lifted her chin, cradling her head against his chest. His lips were inches away from the base of her neck and Rumpel's stomach twisted into knots as he envisioned the pirate kissing Emma's neck as he so often would during their nightly excursions.

"Get your filthy...hook off of her," Rumpel shouted, striding across the deck. Belle recognized the danger of his actions and attempted to pull him back, but Rumpel all too easily wrangled his arm from her grasp. A flash of fear rippled through Hook's eyes and the hook slipped down over Emma's throat, the point threatening to spill her blood.

"Uh-oh, it's slipping. I guess I shouldn't have used that liquid that makes your hands-and hook-smell like cucumbers." Gold stalled halfway across the deck. Belle caught his sleeve once more, begging him to see reason before he did something he would regret.

"Emma," Gold whispered, taking a tiny step forward.

"Strike the match," Hook ordered into Emma's ear. She stared hard at her husband, resisting the command at first. The gun nudged her temple. It was unlikely Hook would shoot her since she was pregnant, but Emma was smart enough not to press her luck. She ignited the match, running the tip across the hook for friction. With another nudge from the nozzle of the gun, Emma held the burning match beneath Bae's cloak. The hem was in danger of catching fire.

"Every step you take, my hook digs a little deeper into her neck. Every step you take, that cloak comes a little closer to burning up. Use magic to try to take the cloak and I shoot her instantly. Let's see which one you'll jump for first: your boy or your wife."

Belle clung fiercely to Gold's arm, her nails digging through the sleeve of his suit. He ran his tongue over his lips and weighed his options. He studied the cloak hanging over that flame, his only chance of finding Bae. He gazed into Emma's green eyes; his wife and the mother of his child.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Hook clamored, unnerving Gold to no end. The warmth he showered over Emma vanished. "Let's not pretend you haven't already made your choice. It would be painful to have your dearly beloved destroy any chance you have of reuniting with your long-lost son."

Gold sneered.

"Have your fantasies of poor old Milah dried up already? You need to seduce my second wife as well?" The hook dug into Emma's neck enough to draw blood. She groaned in pain and dropped the match. It sizzled out the second it hit the deck, but Hook didn't seem to pay it any attention.

"You have no right to say her name!" Hook bellowed, his hook burrowing its way into Emma's soft flesh. She instinctively grabbed onto it, trying to direct it away from her neck. Hook allowed her that much freedom.

"She was _my _wife, not yours," Gold shot back. His face contorted with fury and it was only by Belle's hold on his arm that he didn't charge at the pirate. "I have no right to say her name? You had no right to steal her from me! Oh, but I promise, I'll die before I let you take Emma. And as we all know, I'm a man of my word."

Hook's ragged breathing slowed. The arch of the hook stroked Emma's cheek, even though she still gripped it.

"As I said that fateful day on this same deck: your magic makes you no less a coward. You were a coward then and you're a coward now. Nothing's changed. We all have our roles to play. Seduce her, I shall, because we both know which one you'll choose. Don't worry; I'll take good care of her. Look on the bright side: you'll always have _her_."

Hook jerked his chin in Belle's direction. Gold fought hard not to look to his former love. It would be a betrayal to Emma. Emma, who still held that silver hook for dear life. What Hook didn't seem to notice, however, was that the hook was turning red.

Gold maintained a blank face so as not to attract the pirate's attention to the detail he already noticed. He reached down and grasped Belle's hand, silently telling her to do the same.

"Your collectivity astounds me. If I were you, I'd be more afraid of unseen threats. They're all around you, dearie," he said cryptically. Hook rolled his eyes. He had a loaded gun to Emma's head and Bae's cloak waiting to be destroyed. From where he was standing, he had nothing to worry about.

"What are you going to do, imp? Turn me into a snail and crush me under your boot? Beat me with that miserable cane?" Hook laughed it off heartily. Gold folded his hands calmly over the golden head of his cane and waited.

"No. You should be afraid of me," Emma hissed.

In one quick motion, she thrust her elbow into Hook's stomach, causing him to groan and bend over. The gun faltered from her head, giving her the opening she needed to spin away from his hold and press his hook against the side of his neck. Having been magically heated, it scalded his skin. Hook howled in pain and fired a random shot into the air. Emma's boot plunged into his abdomen, sending the pirate reeling to the deck.

That was his wife: always resourceful to the end.

Emma skirted out of Hook's reach and was immediately swept up in her husband's arms, the cloak folded between their bodies. His fingers threaded through her blonde hair and he kissed her deeply, conveying without spoken words how worried he had been for her safety.

"Thank you, Emma. Now, let me take it from here," he murmured into her ear. He passed her off to Belle, who expressed her concern for Emma with a small hug, and he headed straight for Hook.

The pirate was still sprawled over the deck, his one hand clutching the place Emma's boot hit. That same fear ignited in Hook's eyes, in turn quickening Gold's steps. Gold kicked the gun away, sending it sliding across the deck. The head of his cane connected with Hook's jaw, eliciting a sharp crack and snapping Hook's head around. Gold kicked Hook in the side, shoving his body over before raising the cane above his head with the intention of striking again.

"Stop," Emma and Belle cried simultaneously. Gold paused, the cane raised high over his head. He glanced over his shoulder at them uncertainly. _Please put the cane down, _Emma willed him.

And Hook...laughed. Through the welts and the swelling bruises, and the blood dripping from his nose, he laughed. It shook Emma to the core.

"So sorry, ladies. He can't stop. You see, your knight in not-so-shining armor needs to prove he's not a coward," he said. Hook rolled onto his side and glared up at his rival. "Go on, imp. Hit me."

Hook spurred Gold on, a mistake on his part. Th cold fury returned, radiating from Gold's lean form in overhwelming waves and the cane dived through the air, again and again. Emma hoped Hook was happy with the result of provoking his long-time enemy. His laughter had been rapidly replaced with grunts and agonized screams.

Belle was stunned and still as a statue, positively frightened as she watched the madness unfold. Emma had seen her husband act this way before, when he was brutally beating Moe French in the cabin in the woods. She handed the cloak off to Belle and took action, rushing forward to sieze the cane the next time it flew into the air. Gold tried bringing it down again, only to fight against her.

"Let go, dearie," he snarled over his shoulder. He attempted to wrestle the cane from her hand, but she was stronger than she looked and she stubbornly held on.

"No. You have nothing to prove to him," she argued vehemently, but already she could tell he refused to listen. He shook his head negatively until his hair shielded his rigid face. This time, the cane pulled so violently that Emma had no choice but to release it.

"Yes, I do," Gold exploded, spinning on her. There was no reasoning with him, blinded as he was by his anger. Anger that had built up and been bottled for centuries, now coming to a stormy head. It sucked all of them into the middle, whether they liked it or not. "I am _not _a coward. Not this time. He took you from me! He could have killed you or our unborn child. And he tried to prevent me from finding my son. So, this is me giving him exactly what he deserves."

With that, he continued on with his beating of Hook, the cane attacking the pirate's ribs, chest, legs, neck, anywhere it could possibly reach.

"Rumpelstiltskin, please stop," Belle protested next. She looked to Emma, who insistently waved her on. If she wanted to try to break through to him, Emma wouldn't stop her. Belle tucked Bae's cloak close to her chest, craning her neck to peer at Gold's distorted features. "Emma and I have learned to appreciate the man you are, the man you want to be. A good man. You can be that man, I know it in my heart. Please don't prove me wrong."

Belle seemed to hold her breath. Gold's next move was pivotal to any relationship he cherished with Belle and possibly Emma. His breath came in quick gasps, his body hunched over Hook's bloody form. His eyes flickered between Emma and Belle.

"Stop," Emma urged him quietly, soothingly. All he had to do was make the choice to stop; everything would be alright.

He stared at the cane in his hand and then down at Hook, a writhing worm on the Jolly Roger's deck. The cane clattered to the deck. Gold swooped down and snatched a handful of Hook's shirt, bringing the pirate dreadfully close to his grim face.

"I am giving you one chance. That kindness is more than I've ever given anyone who has wronged me, as you well know," he spat, gesturing his head to the hook sprouting from the pirate's wrist. It had long since cooled from Emma's magic. "Get out of Storybrooke. Take this pitiful pile of firewood you call a ship and leave. Never look back. If I ever catch you in this town or near my family again, you'll be begging on your knees and wishing I killed you here on this deck. Understand?"

Hook swallowed and nodded his head frantically. Gold dropped him carelessly.

"Thank you," Belle said when he approached. He took the shawl from Belle's hand and looked to his wife. Emma's expression was constructed of marble and unreadable.

"Let's go home," he said miserably, holding out his hand. Emma counted three heartbeats before she accepted it, turning her back on Hook's ship for what he hoped would be forever.

...

It was a relief to be home, or at least in the security of Granny's Inn.

Before Belle was even inside the door, with Rumpelstiltskin's car idling by the curb so that he had peace of mind that she wasn't attacked along the pathway-she was tackled by Red and nearly squeezed to death in a wolf hug. That kind of hug was worse than any bear hug. Granny returned her weapons to their drawers, placing them under strict lock and key. Then she and Red bombarded Belle with questions about Hook's attack and how Belle was feeling and whether Em ma was rescued. Belle politely answered them, reassuring them that the danger had passed for tonight, but her mind was elsewhere. She kindly excused herself and hurried up the stairs in search of Jefferson.

The poor man was probably sick with worry.

Belle knocked on the door of the room that Jefferson shared with his daughter, Grace. Her room was next to theirs, a little further down the hall. Through the door she could hear a shuffle of feet, a childish voice asking if it could be Belle, followed by a loud _shh! _

"Who is it?" Jefferson's voice reached her ears, though it was muffled due to the barrier that separated their bodies. Belle silently commeneded Jefferson for being cautious, what with Regina running loose around the town.

"If it was Regina, wouldn't she burn down the door instead of knocking?" Belle doled out her string of logic with ease, but there was only silence on the other side. She imagined Jefferson thinking hard about whether to open the door or not.

"This could be a trap. Both Regina and Cora are skilled in shape-shifting. At any time, they could change form into someone desirable, to lure their prey. It happened to me plenty of times in Wonderland and it was always my daughter the Queen of Hearts used against me," Jefferson stated through the door. Belle's heart grew heavy for Jefferson. Normally he chose to avoid the subject of being stuck in Wonderland and now she caught a glimpse of the reason. It was nothing but madness and trauma for him. "Say something that only Belle would know. That way, I'll know exactly who I'm talking to."

Belle fumbled for something unique that would make Jefferson see that it was really her. _I love books, _she thought, but Regina knew that detail very well. _My former love was Rumpelstiltskin, _came another passing thought, but Regina knew that as well since she imprisoned Belle during that last year in the Enchanted Forest with plans of using her against Rumpel.

Then a fond memory rose to the surface and she was confident it would do the trick.

"For our first date, you surprised me by taking me to the town library. You slipped the key into my hand and told me it was mine to keep. It was one of the best gifts anyone has given me. Then you carried me in your arms, all the way to the clock tower and together we looked out over the town. You told me I was beautiful and that was the night we shared our first kiss," Belle hastily recounted the details.

Belle barely finished speaking before there was the scrape of a chain and the door burst inward. On the threshold stood a haggard-looking Jefferson, his eyes bloodshot and his face lined with anxiety.

"Belle!"

He flung his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, swinging her around. She could not help the giggle that bubbled from her throat. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed Grace watching her in amazement. She hoped hearing about her father's first date with his new love interest wasn't too embarrassing or uncomfortable for her.

"You missed me that much?" Belle gasped when Jefferson finally set her down on the ground. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Of course I did. Besides my daughter, you are one of the few good things in my life right now," he said sincerely. "I intend to fight to keep it that way."

...

After they dropped Belle off safely into Jefferson's arms, they went to the border. Gold planned to test the spell that would grant him the power to cross out of Storybrooke.

Emma was distant the entire way, staring out the window and reliving that intense scene on the deck of the Jolly Roger. She also wondered if she was heading toward one of the last moments with her husband; that is, if the spell did not work properly. Her mind was a jumble, numbed by the harrowing events of the day that never seemed to want to end. Gold already hinted that she should talk to Archie at least once to verify whether she was traumatized.

Gold parked the car a few feet from the border, though he did not remove the key from the ignition. The milky headlights beyond the windshield illuminated the faded orange spray-painted line the dwarves had once drawn to mark the approximate line between Storybrooke and "out there."

For a while, he and Emma remained in their seats, peering out into that isolated darkness. They could either confront this issue here and now or turn around to head home, enjoying their peace together a little longer tonight. He had something to say; Emma sensed it. The gears spinning in his head practically spewed black smoke.

Finally, he shifted in his seat, looking across to where she sat waiting.

"Emma...what happened back there on that ship...I wish I could tell you that man is not me, but I would be lying. However, you should know I'm not proud of it." His trumoil weighed heavily on his shoulders, caving them inward. "I swore to you I would be better and I failed."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek.

"I forgive you," she said, without a shadow of a doubt. Gold's head snapped around. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting forgiveness this quickly.

"You-what?" Emma shook her head pitifully. Had he expected a lecture? Scolding? The sudden realization that he wasn't as pure at heart as Prince Charming?

"I forgive you," she repeated forcefully. "What happened today was that you reverted. I reverted the night I wanted to take Henry out of Storybrooke. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, what with the cloak almost being destroyed and Hook trying to take me away from you. It was desperation and fear clouding your judgment and getting the better of you. Trust me; I've been there. But this time, you did it differently. This time, you chose to stop. I think that's progress right there."

Gold offered a sideways glance, baffled by her acceptance. Creases spanned across his skin, webbing from the corners of his eyes. He looked very much his age. Those wise, mysterious eyes were so filled with awe that Emma was sure he was having an epiphany.

"You're not giving up on me," he murmured. Emma knew that Gold had been dealt a pathetic hand of cards throughout his life and therefore likely never had someone who vowed never to give up on him. He most likely never met someone who deemed him worth fighting for, save for Belle.

"Before I came to Storybrooke, I haven't had anything to fight for in a long time. I'm not about to give you or Henry up that easily," she said. "Besides, I'm your wife. I wouldn't be a very good one if I ran for the hills because my husband happens to have flaws."

Gold's expression darkened and he gazed down at his hands, folded in his lap. His thumb traced over the lifeline of his left hand, his mind one million miles away. Emma was surprised to note that Gold even had normal lifelines considering how many centuries he had been alive. She could only imagine what a palm-reader would think.

"Milah did," he said under his breath.

Emma felt a pang of sympathy for her husband. She learned very little about Gold's first wife, but what she did learn left a bitter taste in her mouth. Milah had given up on her husband the night he returned from the Ogre War, sporting a limp and labeled a coward. She neglected him throughout the rest of their marriage, spending nearly all her time in the village's tavern. Not even her son could keep her at home.

Emma was grateful she had never met Milah. If she did, she imagined the only greeting she'd give would be a punch in the face. She wasn't so angry about Milah becoming bored with her husband, but it rattled her heart to no end to think that a mother would willingly abandon her child.

She reached over and clasped Gold's hand.

"I'm not Milah," she said. _Thankfully, _Emma added in her head. "You have flaws, I have flaws. I'm willing to try to fix them as long as you are."

Gold answered her proposal with a chaste kiss on the lips. Despite how brief it was, the strength of it left them both breathless. Afterwards, with their breath mingling, he brushed his hand over her cheek and smiled agreeably.

"For you, for our family, I will. You have my word," he promised. Emma's chest swelled with what could only be called happiness and she scooted closer to kiss him back, this time much deeper. Her hand pushed against his chest, threatening to shove him backwards into his seat. He sensed her intention and pressed a finger to her lips. "There'll be plenty of time for that yet."

A low groan of disappointment issued from Emma's throat. This was the second time today she had been frustrated. Gold's focus swerved to the cloak. It was time to test out the border spell. Emma made to exit the car, grabbed the handle of the door, and moaned. Gold paused to study her, one leg already out of the car, worry hardening his muscles.

"What's wrong?" Immediately, his attention zoomed in on her belly. Emma shook her head and held up her right hand, the bruises beginning to discolor her skin around the wrist.

"When Hook attacked me in your shop, he drove his knee into my hand to stop me from getting to my gun," she explained, holding it out to him for examination.

Tenderly, Gold accepted her hand and turned it this way and that, making low _tsk-tsk-tsk _noises with his tongue all the while. His hand passed over her wrist and miraculously the bruise was gone. The pain vanished and Emma knew he used magic to heal her. She flexed her hand, but it was like the ache had never been there at all. She never felt comfortable with Gold using his magic on her, but tonight she could let it slide.

"Thank you," she lauded.

Gold and Emma gradually stepped out of the warmth of the car and approached the border. They made sure to keep at least a foot away from it beforehand, so as not to tempt fate. If Emma fell over the border, nothing would happen. But if Gold did, the man she knew and loved would cease to exist.

"Now, all I have to do is take this potion-" He dug the vial out of his pocket and rocked it between his fingers, the liquid inside sloshing against the cramped glass walls. "And I pour it over the object I hold most dear-" He uncapped the vial with his teeth and emptied the contents over the cloak. "I put it on and that should allow me to cross over."

Gold draped the cloak over his neck like a scarf and eyed the border with slight apprehension. Emma continued to hold his hand and it was becoming quite clear that neither of them were ready to let go just yet. Step by step he inched toward the border, the distance decreasing faster than Emma wanted. He paused when his shoe met the orange line.

"It's now or never," he sighed. Longing filled his face as he observed Emma behind him. She smiled encouragingly, but it was weak. Gold turned around to rest his hands on her shoulders. He led her into his arms and she did not fight it as he buried his face in her neck. "No matter what happens in the next minute, you must know I lo-"

Emma pushed away from him. Hurt spiraled across his face, making her feel guilty.

"Don't. This isn't going to be goodbye," she insisted.

At least, she hoped it would not be their last time. When he crossed that border and if he succeeded in not losing his memories, Emma wanted something to look forward to. And if it didn't work, she didn't want to carry the knowledge that she lost one of the only good things she ever had. That she had lost the one man who had ever really loved her romantically. It was her way of protecting herself, a way of protecting the heart that had been damaged one too many times already.

Gold seemed to understand her defense mechanism.

"Doesn't make it any less true," he said. He returned to her side long enough to kiss her cheek.

Backwards he stepped until ultimately his feet crossed over the orange line. A magical blue aura pulsed around his body and Emma couldn't remember how to breathe. The blue aura only lasted for about a minute, though it seemed an eternity before Gold opened his eyes. They were dazed, confused, disoriented.

Was it still her husband in that body? Or a man she never knew?

Blinking slowly, Gold surveyed the faded orange line that marked the border. From there, his gaze swept to his hands, as though they had been gifted by some otherwordly power. Or as though the power had slipped from his grasp and left his hands weak. Upwards his eyes roved, until he was staring into her face. Her heart thudded painfully hard against her chest, begging to be released. _Say something already, _Emma screeched inside her head. She had to know what his state of mind was like.

Gold pointed his finger directly at her.

"Em-ma," he lilted and grinned wolfishly. Emma did not leap for joy or swoon into his arms yet. It wasn't enough-for two seconds, the cursed personality of Mr. Gold had known her, when he first heard her name in the Inn. Two seconds before the real personality set in. Gold heeded her hesitation. "Emma, my wife."

Relief broke through her, making her nerves tremble fiercely. She strode for him and he met her halfway, capturing her in his embrace. He planted soft kisses along her neck and face while she led him back over the line, back safely into Storybrooke.

"You actually did it," she exclaimed, pinching the folds of the cloak in wonder. "You'll be able to find your son." Tears welled up in Gold's brown eyes as he understood that the goal he had strived so hard to meet might become a reality by the end of the week. So many centuries of hard work about to be gratified.

"Yes, I will," he breathed, as if he could hardly believe it himself. Hungrily, his eyes devoured Emma's body, his fingers caressing the slight swell of her belly. Faster than Emma could follow, he whipped the cloak from his neck and slung it around her waist, pulling her tightly against his body. "But for now, I believe I've left you waiting long enough."

Gold bent his head with the intention of claiming her lips. _Finally, _Emma thought, her neck craning forward to finish the job for him. An instant before Gold sealed the deal, he instinctively opened his eyes and caught something over her shoulder. Fear passed over his face and a fireball materialized in his hand.

"Emma-"

It was the last word she heard fall from his mouth. Too late and too slow she turned her head to try to see what he was gawking at so alarmingly. A shot rang out through the air and suddenly Gold was no longer in her arms. The cloak that he had wrapped around her waist fluttered to the cold, black ground and Gold...

...Gold fell over the border.

...

_**A/N: I know, I know, I left you readers with an even worse cliffhanger than the last chapter. I'm evil for it, but at the same time, I think this will provide a new layer of development for Emma and Gold's relationship since she'll now be forced to deal with her husband's cursed persona, a man she never truly met. Hopefully I didn't break too many hearts or make you spew soda all over your computers. **_

_**For now, I would like to thank my reviewers, for their kind and encouraging words always help me to write faster. Thank you DaesGatling, Huntress4455, discotimelord, Sarah Kent-Duke, Sara, megumisakura, asha74, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, reginamillz, orthankg1, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, SwanQueen4055, and Guest45. **_

_**Also, if anyone is interested, I have a new story up. It's called **_**That Which is Lost**_** and it features our heroes' adventure in Neverland, though I plan to make it a bit different from the show. For one thing, it will heavily feature an Emma/Rumpel friendship (not romance). Feel free to check it out. (-; **_


	67. Chapter 67

_**A/N: I am truly sorry to leave you all waiting with that cliffhanger. It's midterm season (and my midterms are thankfully over now), so life took precedence over my writing for a bit. This chapter is a lot more serious than usual for obvious reasons. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy reading it. **_

___"Nooo!" _

The wild scream tore out of Emma's throat so hard that it hurt. She watched in frozen horror as her husband's body tumbled over the border and that sapphire wave of magic pulsed around his entire body, effectively washing away all traces of his true self. One moment Emma's boots were glued to the pavement, the next she was rushing to his fallen side and cradling his head in her lap. Blood soaked through his charcoal suit and his eyes were glazed worse than a drug addict's, rolling in their sockets, hopelessly struggling to make sense of what must be an unfamiliar environment.

After all, the persona of Mr. Gold, small-town pawnbroker, never had reason to venture to the town's border in the middle of the night.

"No, no, you can't do this to me now," Emma cried, raking the strands of his hair from his forehead. Those brown eyes, once so rich with impish intelligence, were so painfully distant and cold. Not even the memory of Bae lingered now, his own flesh and blood. "You can't do this to your son. Stay with me."

The false memories were beginning to sink in, carving their home out of Rumpelstiltskin's lobes and the deepest crevices of his mind. Emma sensed the change immediately from the way Gold squirmed in her arms and tried to shove her away. But Emma was stubborn enough to hold on, denial burning through her every pore.

There had to be a way to reverse the consequences of falling over the border. What about their marriage? It would most certainly crumble around her feet, carried off with the wind as if it never existed at all. What about Bae, fatherless and alone somewhere out there in the world? What about Henry and the little one growing in her belly?

"I don't have a son," Gold growled.

His hands, hands so tender and skillful during the coldest nights, insistently pushed against her shoulder, a look of pure disgust writhing across her husband's features. It stabbed a silver stake into her heart to witness his revulsion. Never did she imagine Gold would look upon her the way he was now.

There had to be a way. She clung to hope like a child clung to their blanket when frightened by thoughts of the boogeyman. Only this nightmare had just begun.

In a final act of desperation, Emma siezed Gold by the lapels of his impeccable suit and crushed her lips over his unyielding ones. Squeezing her eyes shut, summoning every ounce of love she could for her husband, she begged his mouth to respond. She begged him to kiss her back, to hold her gently as he often would, to urge her to open her eyes to see the version of him that knew her inside and out. The one that worshipped her because he was so terribly convinced he did not deserve her love.

His lips never even parted. They remained firmly shut, preventing her access. Even feistily tracing her tongue across his lip did not strike his fancy. The old Gold would have returned the favor, showing off with all the tricks his own tongue could do.

Finally Gold's hands roughly clamped down on her shoulders and propelled her backwards. She landed sharply on her elbows, skidding across the pavement and scraping her palms. And Gold, the false shell of her husband, picked himself up and dusted off his suit. He only winced when his hand brushed the gunshot wound on his shoulder.

"I don't know who you presume to be, dear, but I do not know you. And from the invasion of personal space you just exhibited, perhaps it should stay that way. Don't expect me to pay for that sloppy kiss," he sneered.

The malice in his tone made Emma cringe. Still sprawled on the ground, she felt like she had been reduced to a powerless child who fell into the heart of Wonderland.

"I am your wife. Your pregnant wife, might I add," she insisted, lowering a hand to her slightly swollen belly for emphasis. If only the persona of Rumpelstiltskin were still in there somewhere, slumbering. If only her pleas stirred something deep in his mind.

But the only thing Emma earned from this refined man was a distasteful once-over. Judging from the scorn in his eyes, he decidedly did _not _like what he saw.

"Hardly. I never quite formed a taste for blondes," he replied icily. "You wouldn't be the first to claim your unborn babe belonged to me, all for the hope of gaining a small fortune. Or, if this fantastic story is more than a fabrication, something of a twisted fantasy, I'll escort you to the hospital for psychological evaluation. I'll only be too happy to lend a hand in ridding the streets of a deranged citizen."

Emma's jaw plunged. Did her husband's Scottish voice just imply she was...insane? Emma leaped to her feet and clasped the hand that getsured so loosely to her like she was roadkill instead of a human being. She dragged him forward and pressed that hand to her belly.

"It _is _yours. This is your child and I am your wife. You have to remember...please," she exclaimed, trapping his hand over her bump. Gold's nails clawed into her belly as he whipped his hand away. He stared at his hand as if she had somehow infected it.

The next thing Emma felt was a brutal sting on her cheek as this version of Gold dared to backhand her for her insolence. Emma's head jolted, her legs swaying, but she instinctively reacted by returning an equally appalling slap to her husband's face. The sound reverberated off the trees, scaring a few black birds away. She clearly saw the white imprint of her hand on his jaw, fringed with irritable red. The next time he gazed upon her, there was murder written in his eyes. Emma fiercely held her ground, challenging him to lay another blow on her.

For the first time-and she had a feeling it would not be the last, either-she could honestly say she hated the man standing in front of her. This was not her husband anymore. This was a cold, cruel man, devoid of heart, one that would not spare a second glance if she was hit by a car in the next few seconds. This man was a monster.

"You listen to me, dear, because I'll only be saying this once," he snarled, pointing a finger into her hard-edged face. "Stay away from me. Let it be known that I want nothing to do with you or your baby. At this rate, I wouldn't sell that thing in my shop's front window."

Footsteps slapped the pavement, calmly approaching the border. Over Gold's torn shoulder, she glimpsed a smug-looking Hook, still wielding that gun. Rage boiled in Emma's veins, pulling her lips away from her teeth and placing several satisfying solutions for the pirate in her head.

Hook turned his silver hook this way and that, looking from his former rival to Emma. He clucked his tongue, exuding false sympathy.

"Ah, now, isn't this sweet? Have I ever told you two what a lovely couple you make?"

Emma seriously contemplated punching Hook with enough force to knock him into February 30th. For now, she charged past her not-quite-husband, charged straight for Hook with the intention of doing a great deal of harm. Hook held up the gun for protection.

"You smarmy, sick, drunken bastard! Why didn't you aim for me?" Even if she had been the one shot in the shoulder, Emma figured she would survive it and still have her husband by her side. Hook shrugged carelessly.

"Two reasons, love," he said. The gun bobbed as he spoke and that slimy grin on his face suggested he was enjoying this outcome very much. "One: it would be pointless shooting you. If you fall over the border, nothing will happen and that's no fun, is it? Two: you're much too beautiful to shoot. Speaking of which, now that your loving husband is no longer, might you reconsider that grand tour of my ship?"

Emma snapped.

Before Hook could anticipate her next move, she lunged at him and tackled him to the ground. As he tried to recover from the fall, Emma straddled his chest and drove her bare fist into his jaw, his nose, his mouth, his eyes, everywhere.

While Emma unleashed her fury, Gold merely observed in sullen silence, occasionally moaning due to his wound. His teeth ground together to staunch the pain ebbing from his shoulder. He did not reason with Emma nor did he attempt to pry her off the pirate. He seemingly did not care. Perhaps it was because he was a man who was capable of grisly acts himself.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

The rage-coupled with the hormones stemming from her pregnancy-were too powerful for Emma to control. It consumed her senses, drained her logic to the bare minimum, literally made her see red. She was driven onward by the ache of her broken heart. At one point, she even managed to get her hands around Hook's throat. She only relinquished her hold when Hook's hand fumbled across her chest, unintentionally feeling her up as he demanded freedom.

"Crazy pregnant woman! Get...her...off...me!" Hook's voice rose several notches when Emma's knee landed on a particularly sensitive part of his body. Gold barely flinched.

"My, my. Have I ever told you two what a lovely couple you make? It's no wonder you claimed I was the father of your child," Gold retorted, mocking Hook in the same way the pirate had only moments before. Hook's eyes bulged in horror. Emma nearly tumbled off Hook's body, shocked by Gold's implication.

"Wait...you don't seriously think...that _Hook _is the father of my child?" Her bowels churned, a stream of bile blooming across her palate. Gold chuckled low inside his throat, a humorless snort.

"It certainly isn't mine," he countered. Emma bent her head, dangerously close to releasing the contents of her stomach onto the pavement. Either Gold did not notice-unlikely-or he did not deem it worthy of his attention. "In any case, he seems to be more your type."

Emma turned her irate gaze back on Hook, who was still trapped beneath her body. He gulped nervously. His shrieks tore through the black forest as Emma continued to lay into him with her fists.

This was all his fault. Why couldn't he have had the sense to take Gold's advice and leave Storybrooke?

She didn't know how much time passed, but headlights eventually sliced through the shadows of the night, washing over their bodies. A car was speeding along the road, heading toward the border from the direction of Storybrooke. It screeched to a halt, but Emma's concentration on Hook did not relent.

Not until her father lifted her up from under her arms and restrained her, tugging her away from Hook's battered body. Emma fought hard, feet lashing through the air, but Charming was too strong a force to defeat.

"Emma, stop. Think rationally. You can't do this," he reasoned over her groans of frustration.

"I can if you let me go," she tossed back over her shoulder. But Charming's grip remained firm.

Gradually, Emma's agitation weakened until she was no longer straining to be free. Her parents' solemn gazes wandered to Gold, who was wounded and studying them quizzically.

"Does Kathryn realize you're slumming with schoolteachers? As a matter of fact, when did you wake up from that coma?"

Gold's finger darted between Snow and Charming, or Mary Margaret and David Nolan according to his false memories. Both Charming and Snow exchanged baffled looks before they turned to Emma for an explanation. Tears burned beneath her eyelids, hot and angry.

"Gold was shot by that disgusting worm," she jerked her finger to Hook on the ground, "and he fell over the border. He's gone."

She swallowed the sob hitching its way into her throat. Snow gasped loudly and sympathetically reached out to her daughter, but Emma yanked away. Indulging in her mother's comfort would be the final nail in her heart. Instead, she did what she always did and hardened her shell.

"Emma-" Her mother started with a nauseatingly poignant tone. Her answer was to bury the toe of her boot into Hook's side. Charming raced to drag her backwards.

"Emma, how do you think your husband would react if he knew his wife-someone who has a destiny to save the lives of everyone in town-is traveling down the same dark path as him?" Emma felt her face contort with bitterness.

"He's not coming back," she yelled. Snow rested her head on Charming's shoulder, trying to shield her grief and making Emma feel guilty at the same time. However, she wasn't guilty enough to offer any remorse. Charming remained adamant.

"If there was a chance? How do you suppose he would take that knowledge?" He paused to let it sink in. Emma didn't answer, though she suddenly envisioned Gold's angst-ridden face in her mind. "He would blame himself for corrupting you and you know it."

Emma did not deny that truth. Gold was insecure as it was, always fearful that his dark soul would only taint hers. If her husband truly witnessed her behavior now, he would be ashamed, assuming he had finally broken her good spirit and chained her forevermore to his depressing level.

"A broken heart is the most painful of afflictions, Emma. Your husband once told me that," Snow admitted. Emma had no doubt those were his words. He should know that pain better than anyone, having suffered tragedy after tragedy. "Trust me when I say I know how you feel-"

"No, you don't! You have no clue how I feel right now!" Emma exploded, rounding on her parents. They were thrown into speechlessness. "You two always find each other! Good for you. Come talk to me when that sentiment is no longer true."

With those final words, Emma gathered the fallen cloak from the ground and stalked off, refusing to spare another glance at her oh-so-lucky-in-love parents, Hook rolling on the floor, or the man who previously held her beating heart in his hands. Not even as the ambulance's siren wailed in the distance, coming to take him away.

...

Emma paced restlessly over the scuffed, linoleum tiles of Storybrooke's only hospital and emergency wing. In her hand was a white Styrofoam cup filled with chips of ice, which she nervously jiggled back and forth, the ice clinking together. The soda had long since been consumed, so she had taken to wrestling the chips between her teeth. Her parents were folded together in the staunch pleather chairs, observing her every frantic move. The only person missing was Henry, but according to Snow, he had fallen asleep on their bed and Red dutifully took up the task of babysitting.

The wolf-girl knew the extent of the tensions surrounding their family at the moment and was only too eager to help ease it. In fact, Emma had several voicemails from Red asking, with greater intensity each time, if she was okay. No concern over Rumpelstiltskin; just her friend, the Sheriff. One message specifically featured a death threat to Hook for being such a...well, insert favorite obscenity here.

Emma's only relief came from knowing that Hook was handcuffed twice-over to a hospital bed-one pair trapping his hand and the other on his foot-and he was being treated for the wounds Emma had given him. After that, Charming assured her that the pirate had earned a one-way ticket to a gloomy jail cell in the station, where he would undergo a never-ending torture session via Grumpy's sober singing. Believe it or not, Grumpy's sober singing was far worse than Leroy's drunken singing.

Emma tossed back another ice chip into her mouth, rolling it around her tongue. She hoped Whale wasn't giving Gold too hard a time with extracting the bullet. Her gun was now locked away in the glove compartment of her car, where it would likely stay until further notice. Emma refused to handle the weapon that had effectively vanquished all traces of her husband.

Snow fidgeted in her seat, nudging Charming's chest in the process. Her knuckle tapped against her white teeth as she scrutinized her restless daughter. Charming's gaze switched between his wife and his daughter, dismay lining his face and aging it greatly.

"Emma, I understand that you're hurt, angry, tired, and nervous...but your pacing is making _me _nervous. Please, sit down," Charming said, patting the arm of the chair directly beside him. Emma ignored his pleas. After the way she had stormed off, there was nothing left she wished to say.

It startled Emma when Snow decided to take action as always and abruptly leaped to her feet, tugging determinedly on the crook of her daughter's elbow.

"Emma, do you mind if I speak to you alone?" Despite the inquirement, Emma was never given a choice. Before she could protest with some smart comment about how much she minded, Snow dragged her off down the hallway and around the corner, away from Charming's eyes and ears. The Styrofoam cup of ice ended up in a trash bin along the way. Her mother's strength was admirable, unwavering strength that Mary Margaret never once possessed.

Once they turned the corner, Snow spun on Emma. Her hands gripped Emma's forearms and her eyes peered deeply into Emma's, forcing her to heed her words.

"Listen to me. I know how you feel," she insisted, voice raw and strained. Her eyes were impossibly wide and desperate, burning into Emma's with such fierceness that she was unable to look away. However, she still glowered at her mother.

"Not this crap again," Emma growled. She attempted to twist away, but Snow only held on tighter. Her skin appeared paler than ever and it pained Emma to realize that moisture glistened underneath Snow's eyelids. Snow released a very tired sigh, as if this were one of the battles she had been fighting for ages.

"You think that just because I am Snow White that my life has been one gigantic storybook fairytale? True love, magic, and miracles? You think I don't know how it feels to bear the burden of a broken heart?"

The sudden pain in Snow's voice made Emma quit struggling so much. Deep down, she understood that her parents' relationship was not always the pure, inseparable one it was now. Snow inhaled deeply, her chest shuddering and Emma sensed her mother was about to reveal something difficult. Emma waited somewhat patiently.

"When I first met your father, I was on the run from the Queen and he was betrothed to King Midas' daughter, Princess Abigail. You would recognize her as Kathryn in this world. No matter how much he was stuck in my mind, he and I could never be together. From that point, I suffered a broken heart, wanting what I could not have." Snow's hands slipped from Emma's arms, but Emma did not take that freedom to her advantage. She stayed in place, expression grim as she studied Snow.

"What did you do? Obviously that's not the end of your story, considering that I'm standing here in front of you. Or is there something you want to tell me about how I was conceived?" Snow's lips lifted only slightly in light of Emma's sarcasm. It made her suspicious that she was not going to be granted the entire story. "Don't hold back for my sake. After hearing about your one-night stand with Whale, I think I can handle anything."

Snow grimaced over that memory, inclining her head gravely.

"Your father called off the wedding to Abigail, thereby making an enemy of King George. He then sought me out..." Snow paused and Emma dipped her head closer, urging her to continue. Her mother closed her eyes in shame, her cheeks coloring light pink. "He sought me out, but the pain of my broken heart had been too great to live with. I wished for a way to erase that pain, to get Charming out of my head by whatever means necessary."

A cold chill descended over the nape of Emma's neck. She had a funny feeling about where this story was going.

"Let me guess: you went to Rumpelstiltskin," she flatly intoned. Snow nodded once.

"You see, Emma, it was not just Charming who was lost to me. There was a time _I _was lost to _him_. Rumpelstiltskin gave me a dark potion that erased my memory of Charming and the unexplainable love I felt for him, in turn healing my broken heart. Wanting someone you cannot have is a terrible burden. Unfortunately, when my love for your father disappeared, so did my goodness. I became someone unrecognizable due to the hole in my heart, someone dark enough to want to kill the Queen. Charming stopped me from completing that goal, he took an arrow in the chest for me, and it was by true love's kiss that I returned to the person I was before."

Emma was dreadfully quiet afterwards, absorbing the tale as best she could. She didn't know how she felt about her husband essentially turning her mother into a replica of Regina.

"What's your point?" Snow frowned, almost in disappointment.

"My point, Emma, is that no matter how bleak a situation may seem, it is important that you never give up hope. Never stop fighting for what you love most. Hope saved your father and I countless times. Believe that there is always a way. If there is a way to bring back Rumpelstiltskin, then we will find it. I promise."

Emma crossed her arms over her leather-clad chest. Snow immediately recognized it as a physical barrier, cutting her daughter off from her reach. Emma's expression had soured.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she snapped. Snow looked to be at the end of her rope, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I know you think you failed in restoring Rumpelstiltskin's memory because your kiss did not work. But perhaps you're going about this the wrong way. Perhaps you need to make him fall in love with you again. Make him remember everything he once cherished."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Try again."

...

When Emma and Snow returned to the waiting area, Whale was there to greet them. Clad in a white lab coat, stifling a yawn from having worked a long shift as Storybrooke's only practicing doctor, and a thin bottle of Schnapps peeking out from his pocket. Brilliant, indeed. All the while, Charming was using one of the free information pamphlets about cancer to make a paper airplane. Emma's only address to Whale was a scowl at the bottle of alcohol and a cocked eyebrow.

"How is he?" Snow was the one to press the matter verbally. Whale flipped a page on the clipboard wedged in his hand. The pinched frown wasn't very comforting.

"Well, let's see...two broken ribs, a severely broken nose, one black eye, an odd bump on his stomach, one missing hand...oh, and he complimented my accent. Lovely." Whale lifted his head to find several pairs of shocked eyes staring at him. "Oh, sorry. You meant Rumpelstiltskin, not the pirate. I removed the bullet from his shoulder and dressed his wound. Of course you already know about his memory problem. He asked me for the rent three times while I examined him. I don't think it will bode well for me if I tell him I spend most of my money at the Rabbit Hole."

Emma wove her hands through her tangled blonde hair, wincing when she caught a couple of thicker snarls. Her mind was numb, distracted by the tragedy of losing her husband and her mother's latest lecture. Charming tossed down the half-made airplane and rose to his feet, huddling around Whale alonside Snow and Emma.

"When will he be discharged? Or even allowed to have visitors?" Charming's hand pressed against Emma's stiff back, a token of comfort. She did not have the will to ask that question herself at the moment, but she still yearned for the answer. Whale tucked the clipboard under his arm and clapped his hands together. The Schnapps had given his eyes a suspiciously glazed look.

"Well, since half of the people in this hospital-patients and staff alike-are already complaining about Gold's rent-collecting threats again, I expect he'll be discharged in a couple of days at most. As for visitors, he hasn't had many of those, but you're free to visit any time you wish. I should warn you, though: the man he has been reduced to is not inviting by any means. I never thought I would miss the real Rumpelstiltskin and his teatimes."

"Teatimes?" Emma wiggled her nose, praying that Whale was referring to afternoons in the Enchanted Forest. It never ceased to amaze her to learn what sort of company her impish husband kept.

"Look on the bright side," Charming intervened. Emma mentally shot daggers into his body. How dare he suggest such an optimistic thing at this moment? "At least he'll no longer be turning people into pigs or rats for not holding up their end of the bargain. Your only worry now is eviction-which Emma and I will prevent-and a few run-ins with that cane. I'm sure you can outrun him."

_Tell that to Moe French, _Emma scoffed inside her head. Whale looked uncomfortable nonetheless and dug out the bottle of Schnapps. Something told Emma that the doctor wasn't toasting to Charming's optimism.

"Gee, I feel better already," she droned. She eyed the hallway considerately before striding through the hospital doors, striding out into the night. She sensed her parents' concerned eyes sweeping after her, but she did not have the patience or the heart to endure another moment with the man her husband had become.

As far as she was concerned, it could wait until morning.

...

Emma made exactly one stop before heading home. She did not anticipate walking into their house with the knowledge that Gold would not be there. Any excuse to stall that moment was highly welcomed. She didn't even have the slightest idea of how she would break the news to Henry, but she knew she had to be the one to tell him.

She eased her car alongside the curb outside her parents' apartment building. Red's scarlet car was nowhere in sight, but the girl had taken to running everywhere she went now that the curse was broken. It took longer than necessary for her to turn off the ignition and tackle the task of getting out of the car and climbing to the top floor of the apartment building.

Someone seriously needed to install an elevator in this building.

Emma quietly slipped her key into the lock and crept into the apartment. Shadows swallowed her whole, warded off only by a single light in the kitchen. Before she even closed the door, a breeze swirled over her neck and suddenly Red was standing there in front of her, having moved faster than the human eye was capable of tracking. Her normally inviting features rippled with concern.

"I take it you're here to relieve me of my babysitting duties?" Red tilted her head in the direction of the stairs. "It was getting late, so I carried Henry to bed. How are you holding up? I swear, if Charming would only lock me in an interrogation room with that pirate, he'll be served as alfredo in Granny's Diner before you know it. Fifteen minutes, that's all I need."

Emma respected Red's sense of protection and her desire to take care of Hook for her, but she had to admit through the red haze of her anger that it wouldn't solve any of their problems. As much as she wanted to kill Hook herself, she considered the value of finding out everything Hook knew about Cora and Regina. It was unlikely that Hook was working on this vendetta against Emma and Rumpelstiltskin alone, considering that Cora and Regina were on the down-low.

"I'm fine," she protested.

Even to her ears, that old lie gave itself away. Red understood it as well and fumbled with her hands, clearly unsure whether to physically comfort Emma. Instinctively, Emma pivoted away, retreating into her old defense mechanisms and transmitting the message: _don't touch me. _In the end, Red resigned herself to balling her fists and displaying a weak smile that told Emma plainly _I'm here if you need me. _ Emma was too tired and emotionally worn to battle against Red. She blew a fallen strand of hair from her forehead and registered all her aches and pains, brought on by the nerve-wracking events of the night.

"Alright, you really want to know how I feel?" If Red were a dog, this would be the part where her ears pricked to catch every word Emma was about to say. The toes of her boots scuffed across the floor as she edged closer. "I already lost it once tonight. I came within inches of strangling Hook and punching his lights out. I feel like my heart was ripped out of my chest and stabbed with his hook and now it won't stop bleeding and deflating and I don't know how to fight it off. For God's sake, the last time I had a broken heart was when Neal-"

No! Those memories were poisonous. They had been stuffed tightly in a tiny drawer in the back of Emma's mind for a reason. The only thing that could come from revisiting that part of her past was pain and grief. Even now, she was shaking to the core. Emma dreaded ripping open those old scars on top of the bleeding wounds she'd been dealt tonight.

Red's eyebrows shot to the sky as the mention of _He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named _ came up, slipping venemously from Emma's mouth before she even had a chance to squash it. Despite the gossipmonger in which her false personality revolved, Red did not pry. She must have sensed the turmoil festering inside Emma as she worked to shove the past away.

"At least you didn't eat him," she offered. Emma blinked at Red. The wolf-girl shrugged with growing embarrassment. "I sort of...ate my boyfriend. Not Archie, of course-I mean my true love back home. And he didn't taste at all like chicken."

Emma took a tentative step back, silently mouthing the word _wow. _Of all the people to have issues in love, she never expected it to be Red. Red was always so calm and collected, sleek and carefree. Suddenly the idea of Ruby being a major flirt and magnet for men made more sense and also turned out to be worth pitying. Now that Emma thought back on it, the only person she had ever seen Red romantically joined with was Archie, and so she assumed that Archie was her perfect match.

For the first time, the curse did not seem entirely burdensome. After all, for people like Red who did not live a fairy-tale lifestyle in the Enchanted Forest, there were some memories that were better off forgotten.

"I'll be outside if you need anything," Red said. She placed a supportive hand on Emma's shoulder before vanishing through the door. The sound of her footsteps charging on the stairs alerted Emma that "outside" meant Red would be taking a quick much-needed run around the block.

Emma ascended the stairs that led to the loft above, which had been transformed into Henry's official bedroom. Now that Red had left, the apartment settled into eerie silence. She barely detected Henry's deep breathing until she neared the bed.

His small form was huddled underneath two thick layers-a blanket and a hand-made snowy quilt. Most likely, it was Granny's handiwork. She was as skillful with crochet needles as she was with a crossbow. The kid's face was turned away from her on the pillow and there was just enough room by his curled legs for her to sit. Gently, she nudged his shoulder, stirring him awake. A heavy groan erupted under the blankets and Henry rolled over, arms stretching high above his head and knocking against the wall. His lips rounded in a wide _O _as a yawn overwhelmed him. He blinked uncomprehendingly at Emma, a crease from the wrinkled pillow marking his red cheek and eyes glassy from sleep.

"Mo-o-o-om?" The word was extended as he yawned again. He lifted himself up on an elbow and peered sleepily at her through the darkness. Her heart melted upon witnessing his welcoming grin, dreamy due to slumber.

"Hey, kid," she said softly and could not resist pulling him up into her arms. He never complained about her hugs, having earned so few of them from Regina. She cradled his head on her shoulder and rubbed his back affectionately, unaware that she was crying until his shirt grew damp under her cheek.

"Why are you crying? What's happened?"

His voice spiked several notches in panic, his mind racing to the worst possible conclusions. When he pulled back from her embrace, she could easily read it in his precocious eyes: he naturally figured Regina had struck again. Wiping her cheek, she tried to console him. This would be difficult enough without their emotions getting tangled in it.

"Henry, I came here tonight because...something happened to Gold," she forced the words to the surface. No matter how the explanation wished to flee into the back of her mind, the truth needed to be released. Henry jolted up on the bed and for a moment she was convinced she heard his heart pounding in fear. No, that was only her own pulse, jumping into her throat.

"What did she do?" Henry gripped Emma's wrist with urgency. It always led back to Regina, or so Emma habitually thought before.

"It's not her this time, kid. At least not directly. A pirate-"

"Captain Hook," Henry filled in quickly. She nodded. Of course he would be able to keep up.

"Hook tried to kidnap me today and take me away on his ship, but Gold came for me. He warned the pirate to get out of Storybrooke. Then Gold and I went to the border, to test out the spell that would let him cross it and find his son. The pirate found us there and..." Henry's grip tightened on Emma's arm, even though he seemed not to realize it. His childish intuition warned him the worst was coming. Emma laid her hand over his, not to remove it but to assure him that she shared his apprehension. "Henry, he shot Gold and Gold fell over the border. His true memories are gone...for good. I tried kissing him to brng him back, but it didn't work. I'm so sorry."

"No," Henry moaned despairingly, shaking his head back and forth in denial. Emma collected him into her arms again with the intention of never letting him go. Now Emma felt moisture dripping onto her neck and she held him even tighter. "No, there has to be a way to bring him back. You can't lose hope. That's what Gramps always says-there's _always _hope. You're the savior; you can bring him back...right?"

Emma weaved her fingers through Henry's hair and she kissed his head, wishing with every ounce of her being that their problems could be so easily solved with something as delicate as hope. She thought about telling him that everything would be okay or that she would find a way to fix this, but the last thing he deserved was lies or foolish naivete.

"I'll try, Henry. I won't stop fighting for him," she promised. It was the only thing she could offer for now. For a while, they were consumed with comforting one another through their heartache. Emma didn't dare glance at the clock when her boy returned his head to his pillow, though her body's exhaustion claimed it was late.

"We'll find a way. We have to," Henry repeated desperately, sniffling. Emma let him cling to his hope. She whispered the promise that she was here for him, that he would never lose her. "Can I...stay here for the rest of the night? I'm not ready to go back home."

Emma smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead again. Ever since nearly losing him to the poisoned apple turnover, she had turned into the type of mother that kissed her son every chance she got, never knowing what to expect from enemies like Regina.

"Of course," she assured him sadly. No doubt Red was already finished with her run and politely offering Emma all the time she needed with Henry. She tucked him in again. Wandering to the door, she faced Henry one more time.

"I love you, Henry," she called back to him, meaning it with every beat of her heart. Henry curled on his side to watch her leave, his eyelids already fluttering despite the ache etched in them.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

Henry heard Emma fighting to stifle her sobs as her shadow disappeared from the doorway. He listened to the sounds of the door opening and Red's barely perceptible footsteps crossing the floorboards. The grumble of Emma's Bug disappeared down the street.

When he was sure his mother was gone for the night, he wiped away the water leaking over his cheeks and dug out the notepad he religiously kept under his pillow. There were notes scribbled inside from days past, plans for Operation: Cobra and a To-Do list for when they returned to the Enchanted Forest complete with _learning to ride a horse_ and _beat Charming in a swordfight_.

Opening up to a new page, he used the dim light from the hallway to see enough to guide the pen across the top line. There was a new mission in Storybrooke, should he choose to accept it. He would call this one Operation: Crocodile.

...

Emma went home to a dark, lonely house. The only greeting she earned was Goldie's yipping as her key turned in the lock. The golden creature leaped up on her legs the instant she walked through the door. The dog's head poked around her leg in anticipation of Gold coming through the door, but Emma slammed it closed, snuffing out all hope for Goldie.

"Sorry, Goldilocks. It's just you and me tonight," she muttered.

She dragged her sore feet to the kitchen, with Goldie bounding on her heels the entire time, and she made herself a cup of hot cocoa. It was meant to soothe her and chase the chill from her bones, but she ended up dumping half of it down the drain.

The moans and cries of the house haunted her to no end. She stared glumly at the kitchen table-the kitchen table that they set up not too long ago. It had been collecting dust in the pawnshop for years, according to Gold. The old one broke a leg after she and Gold feverishly made love atop it one long night. Passing into the living room, she glanced around at the piles of clutter that shrouded every corner. Eventually, she shut her eyes to all of it and made her way upstairs to take a bath. Like the cocoa, it was intended to soothe her aches, but Emma's muscles were wound and coiled too harshly.

It took an enormous effort to finally enter their bedroom. The closet door was firmly closed, yet Emma envisioned the tidy rows of suits belonging to Gold. The covers on the bed were elegantly made-up, giving away no sign of the passionate activities between those silk sheets. So many nights she fell asleep in his arms, his breath teasing her shoulder, her neck, the lobe of her ear.

Emma's heart suddenly felt too heavy for her chest to carry.

As though trudging through the stickiest sludge, Emma forced herself to silence the intruding memories and tumbled into bed. Only, she couldn't find a single comfortable spot. Tossing and turning, she flipped the covers over her body and punched the pillow more than it deserved. She fingered the delicate golden swan charm dangling from her throat.

At some point during the night, Goldie came to bed and sniffed Gold's pillow, his head noticeably missing. Emma glared at that particular side of the bed.

"Go ahead, take it," she permitted harshly. Goldie had no further qualms about curling up on Gold's pillow, though Emma thought she caught a slight whimper as the dog buried its black nose into its new white bed. She choked back the hot, angry emotions swelling inside her chest and stared up at the ceiling, counting sheep.

There would be no sleep for her tonight.

...

It was eight-fifteen in the morning. The sun's rays had only recently cascaded through the windows, illuminating every surface and somehow emphasizing the vast emptiness of the grand estate.

For the past half hour, Emma had sat at the kitchen table, cell phone jumping between her hands, and she contemplated a grueling challenge. She had to call Belle and tell her about what happened to Gold last night. Even if she was no longer hanging on his arm as his true love, she felt it was better coming from her than anyone else in town. It was only a matter of time before word spread of the "tragedy" and people began panicking over the rent again.

She just...had no clue what to say to her husband's true love.

Numerous times Emma had dialed Belle's number, heard Belle's gentle, welcoming voice layered with a honeyed Australian accent, and she hung up. The words always got clogged deep inside her, the words hopelessly sticking to the roof of her mouth. She tapped her knuckles on the screen, pondering.

It had to be done. One way or another Belle would find out if she hadn't already and Emma much preferred to have this conversation over the phone instead of face-to-face. She didn't think she could handle a Belle hug or watch the tears rise in those youthful ocean-blue eyes. A Belle hug would be infinitely more emotional than a Snow hug.

Emma dialed the number again, holding her breath as it rang. Once, twice, three times now...maybe Belle wouldn't answer and Emma could recite what she was going to say a little while longer...who knew what Belle and Jefferson were up to...

"Hello, Emma," Belle greeted warmly. Emma slapped the heel of her hand to her forehead. Damn it, she forgot about the fact that Belle had her number programmed into her phone. She was probably assuming Emma was eyeballs deep in anxiety this morning, making multiple phone calls only to hang up immediately. She wouldn't be far off, either.

"Hi," she awkwardly replied. A few beats of silence passed. Oh, she could feel the words sticking together now, never making it past her tongue. She rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes.

"I take it you need to talk to someone," Belle hinted. _What gave you that idea? Besides the first seven phone calls, _Emma thought. However, she admired Belle's underlying message: _I'm listening. _It made it somewhat easier to find the words to say.

"Yeah, I do," she admitted morosely. This time she would not hang up. There was no sense in denying the inevitable. She gathered her strength and pushed on, clutching the phone tighter in her fist. "Belle, something serious happened last night. You are sitting down, right? You're not...on a ladder?"

Belle snickered.

"No, I'm not standing on a ladder. That was one time. I'm currently resting in bed and reading a good book. Why?" Emma's hand gripped the edge of the table. She had the sensation of floating on her chair, with nothing to tie her down to the earth. "If this is about the pirate-"

"No...well, not really. Kind of," she rambled. "See, Belle, last night Gol-um, _Rumpel _and I went to the border. He found a way to cross it, so he could find his son." There was a cry of happiness on the other end.

"Oh, I'm so happy for him. I know he's felt guilt over losing his son for a very long time. It's time that man enjoyed a shred of happiness after everything that's happened recently with Regina and Hook. Are you calling to tell me you and he are leaving Storybrooke, to find his son?"

Emma nibbled on the inside of her cheek. How she wished that was the purpose behind this phone call. She'd love nothing more than to be on a plane with Henry and Gold, on their way to some destination beyond Storybrooke where he would reunite with his son.

"Technically, Rumpelstiltskin has left the building."

Baby steps. Spill the beans in increments. One broken shard at a time. Belle was breathing in Emma's ear, but she seemed at a loss for words. Emma doubted the girl-who never possessed false memories-understood the reference.

"You mean he left Storybrooke without you?" Emma was all too aware of the rhythm of her heart, throbbing painfully.

"He never left Storybrooke, but he's not exactly here, either," she said. She knew she wasn't making much sense. Only her surging hatred for Hook decided her capability of telling this tale. "Hook didn't leave Storybrooke like Gold demanded him to do. He followed us to the border...and he shot Gold. His son's cloak was enchanted; it was meant to be a talisman to prevent him from losing his memories, but the cloak wasn't around his neck and he fell over the border-"

Once Emma started telling the story, it was like a crack forming in a dam. The words flooded out, unstoppable, probably too fast for Belle to decipher.

"I don't understand...he..." A tremor had snuck into Belle's voice.

Emma's patience was terribly thin. It had been ever since Gold fell over the border. Emma had a bone to pick with the world. At the same time, she really didn't want to deal with the world, her wounds still open and burning with salt, but the world wouldn't take the hint.

"He's gone," she blurted. "Rumpelstiltskin as you know him, as _I _know him, is gone. All that's left is Gold, his cursed personality. False memories and all."

She didn't realize she was shaking until the table rocked underneath her stony hand. She had hoped that by telling Henry last night, the story would be easier to divulge. If anything, it seemed harder with each go-around. There was a small gasp in her ear. Now there was no joy left to be found on the other end. Belle sounded on the verge of tears.

"Oh, Emma," she exclaimed mournfully. It was the same pitying tone her mother used. Emma hung up.

...

Try again. That was what her mother advised her to do. Emma had a night to sleep on it, the _sleep _being a loose term, and even though her head still felt full with cotton, she found herself bursting through the hospital doors.

It had been difficult not to bring Henry along, but she didn't want him to see Gold in his cursed form again. Not yet. By Henry's description, Gold's cursed form wasn't pleasant, even if he no longer had access to magic. In a way she was treating the matter as if her husband had died-if there was no way to bring him back, she preferred to have Henry remember him for his true personality, the one that had started to treat Henry as he would his biological son.

To think that he intended to try to be a better man for her and Henry. It added another layer of stinging hurt to the growing mountain of Emma's grief. _You promised, _she couldn't help thinking angrily.

Whale barely gave her a second glance, instead popping orange Tic-Tacs like popcorn to cover up the traces of his most recent drinking. One of these days, she was going to recommend a proper doctor for this place. She briefly wondered if Doc had any experience in the medical field.

The hospital's hallways were clinical and cold, stinking of blood and antiseptic. The trill of machines buzzed from every room she passed, forming a mechanical heartbeat. She had never been to Gold's hospital room before. There was nothing out of the ordinary to make it clear that this room belonged to the most feared man in town. Just a silver plate on the wall, engraved with the room's number, and a plastic tray to hold the clipboard with information about Gold's current well-being.

Emma lingered outside the door for a minute, considering about what to say to the stranger recovering inside. What could she say to make him understand their connection? Insist once more that she was his lawfully wedded wife and mother of his future children? _That obviously didn't work the first couple of times, _she thought, stroking her cheek.

Terrible as it was to think it, she certainly couldn't imagine loving a man who had the audacity to strike her physically and treat her like a piece of property. In his eyes, she was not his equal. How, then, was she supposed to stomach the idea of Gold's new personality and get him to fall in love with her enough to make their kiss restore his memories?

"It's just us, dear. You can come in any time you'd like. I promise I won't bite...again," Gold called out from inside the hospital room. Even now, his awareness of the world around him was astonishing.

There was no walking away now, so Emma entered the room with her guard up. It had been so long since she last constructed walls against this man; he once chipped every inch of stone surrounding her heart and lived there comfortably. Gold was perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in the same suit as last night, with the fabric forever blood-stained. There were no get-well cards or sympathy-driven bouquets on the bedside table, not that Emma expected any different from the citizens of Storybrooke. Gold's brown eyes instantly locked with hers and the recognition was not welcoming.

"Ah, it's _you _again. You're still not getting a cent out of me," he stated briskly. Emma's jaw clenched and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"You bit a nurse?" The only possible reasons that Gold hadn't faced consequences for that sort of rash behavior was because he was both feared and rich. A deadly combination. In any case, he didn't appear sheepish. In fact, judging by the curl of his lips, he was rather proud of himself.

"Only a little. Her cry was quite sweet. I suppose you take pleasure in that sort of thing," he remarked.

Emma stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans, trying hard to remain neutral. She wondered if Gold was actually flirting with her or merely sizing her up, figuring her out, solving her like a complex Rubik's cube.

If he wanted to play, she would play.

"We've had our fair share of it in the cabin in the woods," she said with a tight smile.

Those memories were some of her favorite ones with Gold. That had been the point where she and Gold ultimately surrendered to their attraction for one another and violently made love on the couch in the cabin. She remembered the ecstasy being so powerful that she bit into Gold's shoulder more than once. It hadn't deterred him at all-if anything, it drove him onwards. It wouldn't surprise her if there was still a faint trail of marks under that silk shirt.

Would that be enough proof for him?

"I haven't been to that cabin in years," he said, grimacing. He shifted on the bed, not to offer her room to sit, but to swing his legs up. He stretched across the length of the bed and crossed his ankles like he owned the place. It was arrogant, it was rude, and it made Emma frown in response. She felt sorry for the nurses. "So, did you come to explain how you are truly my wife yet again? Perhaps you brought along some wedding pictures?"

"There were never any pictures. When we got married, it wasn't traditional. You found me drinking alone in Granny's Diner one night. You slipped something into my drink, something that confused me enough to convince me to marry you. I woke up in your bed the next morning with the wedding ring on my finger. I eventually agreed to give marriage a chance and I fell in love with you," she explained carefully.

If Gold found the tale resembling a fantasy more than reality, he didn't say so. His only skepticism came from a dry chuckle.

"How convenient," he commented. She didn't know if it was due to the false memories ensnaring his mind, but Gold did not want to admit the truth. It was almost like he was immune to its logic. She dared to take a step closer to the bed and watched him visibly tense as he lounged there.

"Maybe I'm taking this too fast. Maybe you and I could go down to Granny's after you're discharged-" Taking it slow, that was what her mother implied. But Gold was already shaking his head, the wisps of his gray-streaked hair falling over his cheek.

"To what end?" Despite the pain he must be feeling in his shoulder, Gold shot upright in the hospital bed. "Need I make this perfectly clear? _I do not want you. _I have no recollection of taking a wife, ever. So I suggest you leave me be. Next time, I won't bother asking first."

Emma narrowed her eyes and struggled not to look toward the gold-tipped cane that was leaning beside the bed.

"Is that a threat?" Gold never batted an eyelash.

"Consider it a friendly warning."

Emma opened her mouth wide to toss a haughty challenge his way-_try me _tickled her tongue-but a light rapping of someone's knuckles on the door caught her attention. She reluctantly turned to tell the nurse to give them a minute, only to witness Belle standing there. Unlike Emma, she was still glowing from the inside out, most likely because of Jefferson. She was dressed gracefully in a sapphire number that brightened the shade of her eyes. Belle anxiously bit on her bottom lip.

"Am I interrupting?" Belle smiled apologetically to Emma before craning her neck to see over the Sheriff's shoulder, searching for her true love.

There was a lengthy, moist gasp and Emma's head swiveled back to Gold. His feet kissed the tiled floor, his body jolting up so fast that Emma reached out a hand to steady him. The irritation had drained from his face, replaced with blank, childish wonder. He was oblivious to Emma's hand on his arm, every ounce of his attention focused on Belle.

Emma's stomach plunged faster than the steep drop of a roller coaster.

The way he was staring at Belle...

The way his heart soared into his eyes...

The way he offered Emma no more attention than the bland wallpaper, drifting past her...

No...

"Is it really you? Lacey?"

Emma's brows cinched together. Who the hell was Lacey? Belle was transfixed in place, watching Gold suspiciously as he came within inches of her body. He lifted a trembling hand to caress her cheek, as though testing whether she was real or not.

"No, I'm not-" Belle's hand rose to gently remove Gold's hand from her cheek, but he mistook the physical contact.

Without hesitation, his arm wrapped around Belle's waist and he reeled her in for an open-mouthed kiss. Emma's jaw dropped as Gold poured into Belle the longing he should have poured into her. Belle's hands pressed against his chest, her attempts to stop him rapid at first, yet slowing down as the intimate gesture carried on. When the kiss broke, Belle lowered her head in shame, her cheeks aflame. It didn't stop her from asking a crucial question, however.

"Do you remember?" She gazed into Gold's brown eyes with hope. It disgusted Emma to think that Belle's kiss would succeed where hers had failed, but if it brought back Rumpelstiltskin...

Gold's hand cupped Belle's chin tenderly, a stark contrast to the cruel man Emma had been introduced to last night.

"Oh, yes, I remember everything. Lacey," he moaned and brought her into his arms, lovingly stroking her hair. Belle looked torn between accepting the embrace and stepping out of it. Over his shoulder, those innocent blue eyes tried their best to send silent apologies, but Emma blocked out the sight of those two locked in each other's embrace.

"Looks like I'm the one interrupting," she snapped coldly. Heart hurting worse than ever, Emma fled the room and never looked back.

...

_**Let Operation: Crocodile commence. Also, sorry if False!Gold does not come off as the friendliest guy (tis the point). Since Welcome to Storybrooke only offered up enough insight for about thirty seconds, I decided to write him in my own way. The fact that Lacey still makes an "appearance" should be proof that he's not entirely family material. The way I see it, Gold's false persona (in my universe, anyway) embodies that darker side Lacey loves and Emma wants to improve.**_

_**Shoutouts: I wish to thank DaesGatling, Kelly, Huntress4455, KritiPotterWhovian, discotimelord, asha74, The-Writer2012, Guest, DragonRose4, Revenessa, Wandz, sbcarri, BrittanyMariie, orthankg1, reginamillz, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Mona, Guest45, SwanQueen4055, and megumisakura for their reviews. **_


	68. Chapter 68

_**A/N: I'm trying to keep these chapters rolling for you guys, if only to restore our beloved Rumpelstiltskin. Don't worry-he **_**will **_**be restored soon. Hopefully this chapter will be a little lighter. **_

It was easier than expected, convincing the incompetent staff of Storybrooke General Hospital to send him home. The complaints from the patients practically secured his discharge after an hour of his admittance. Not that he was perturbed by the way he was more or less kicked out. Even after two nights, he was sick of the incessant pestering and the sluggishness of the medicine pumping through his system. The ability to think clearly was as refreshing as a bucket of ice-water in a desert.

He always hated hospitals.

The rattle of pills in the orange bottle in his pocket unnerved him to no end while he conquered the path to his porch. Whale had insisted-using that hideous accent, no less-that Gold take the pain medication home, to ease the discomfort of his shoulder. The fresh wound was nothing short of aggravating, always on fire, but he dealt with much worse before. Pain was no stranger to him; it was more of an acquaintance that never missed teatime.

That was the reason he was using a cane, after all. His gnarled leg made the wound on his shoulder feel like a paper-cut by comparison.

Gold took his time in unlocking his front door. It was never a fulfilling thing, coming home to an empty house. It was always darkened inside, a malevolent cave swallowing him fully until he turned on a lamp, but still the shadows danced in his midst like partygoers that would never take the hint and leave. The rooms would never be brightened by a woman's touch nor the whispers ceasing in their mocking, the cold breezes reminding him he was forever alone. The halls would never echo with footsteps except for his own, the shades were drawn over the windows to shut out the world beyond, the walls were bare of family pictures or sentimental details.

Same old, same old.

His mind swirled with complex thoughts of all that happened in the past couple of days, racing from the puzzle that was the startling blonde woman claiming to be his wife before settling on the uexplainable re-emergance of Lacey. Ah, there had been many a rough drink in the Rabbit Hole and many a night shared between them in the backseat of his car. But he was convinced those wild days of their stormy affair were long gone. It made absolutely no sense, seeing her here, so...un-Lacey-like. Hell, Lacey was acting more like Mary Margaret and he had no interest in _her _whatsoever. The eager-to-please, pure-at-heart nun-type were so terribly boring to him, hence his fiery attraction to Lacey so many years ago.

His head was so muddled with these confusing, tangled notions that he wasn't at all prepared for the ambush.

Something clicked rapidly on the floorboards, small feet scurrying in his direction. Were there rats in his house? That was unthinkable, considering that all living creatures avoided his house like the plague, be it rat or fly.

The creature that bounded along the hall was much bigger than a rat.

Golden fur flashed as it flew through the air-a dog, he registered-and it did the most peculiar thing! Most animals fled any environment in which he was currently standing, as though he were evil incarnate, but this one...this one had its tail wagging faster than a helicopter blade, and its tongue hanging out, and it readily latched onto his leg to begin frantically humping it!

Gold's back collided sharply with the doorframe, his knee jerking as he tried to throw off the animal. Its little claws sank into his thigh, intending to hold on until it was satisfied. He never experienced anything more appalling in terms of invasion of personal space, save for the blonde woman's kiss. Any night now he half-expected to wake up from slumber and find _her _on top of him.

When would this thing stop? And what was it doing in his house in the first place? He certainly never recalled installing a doggy door.

"Stop humping my leg," he roared and bent to physically remove the dog with his hands. Only, the dog did not growl or snap its jaws in fury; it enthusiastically licked his hand. Gold recoiled in horror, rubbing his hand like it had been burned instead of kissed. Was this dog blind? Unloved to the point of craving affection from a monster? Did it understand the owner of the leg it was gleefully violating?

"Goldie, down," a voice commanded. The dog slowed its thrusting, whined pitifully, and finally dropped to the floor.

Gold cringed as he examined his leg. His frantic eyes sought out the source of the voice and he discovered two people standing at the top of his stairs. One was-surprise, surprise-his stalker. The other was half her height, the Mayor's son, Henry. That one was a genuine surprise. Madame Mayor would not be happy to hear about her son's choice of company.

The woman whistled and "Goldie" retreated down the hallway, ears pricked due to the sudden sound delivered by its owner. In her arms was a cardboard box, overflowing with articles of clothing. The boy toted an old notebook with a pen hooked on the silver spiral binding and a black backpack slung over his shoulder.

As before, Gold regarded her with nothing but wariness and impatience.

"Henry, can you take this outside and wait for me?" Never removing her eyes from her opponent, she handed the cardboard box off to the child, who obediently placed his notebook atop the bundles of clothing, shifting the box into his care. He made an effort not to appear incapable of bearing its weight.

The boy might have been innocently naive of his friend's meaning, but Gold saw right through her, as he did most people. She was secretly aiming for a moment alone with him. Walking like a crab, Henry carted the box down the stairs.

"You know, I _am _eleven. If you want to be alone, all you have to do is say so," the boy replied. He had the audacity to wink at Gold, as if Gold intended to carry out some intimate deed with the blonde in private. Gold smirked. So the boy truly was the precocious wonder Mary Margaret praised on and on in Granny's Diner. But, _eleven?_ When did that happen? It made Gold feel old as a result.

She gave Henry a pointed look. Henry hung his head and finished descending the stairs. For a second, when he passed Gold, the boy looked ready to say something. The affection in his eyes made as much sense as Lacey, but Henry passed through the door without a word. How odd. What exactly was Regina teaching that boy?

When Henry was gone, Gold dragged his feet to the banister and peered up at the woman who insisted upon being a thorn in his side. He would very much like to know how she infiltrated his sanctuary, if only to bar her better the next time around. She gradually stepped down to meet him.

"You named your pooch after me. You really are taking your devotion to exquisite lengths," he commented. She barely blinked in face of his cynicism.

"Actually, Henry named her after Goldilocks. You know, _Goldilocks and the Three Bears? _He has a thing for fairy tales," she retorted matter-of-factly. Why was she staring at him so directly? If she was waiting for a response, perhaps a triggered false memory, he had none to give.

"Does the Mayor know you're meddling with her son?" He debated on making a call to Regina, disclosing that very detail. Even if Regina wasn't Mother-of-the-Year material, he might be able to get in her good graces and she would thereby owe him for the kindness. Favors from powerful people, especially powerful pawns, were priceless.

Annoyance pinched that already hardened face, her lips puckering as if she consumed something sour.

"Henry is my son," she barked through clenched teeth. From her defensive tone, this was an argument she had endured several times before. With this new knowledge in mind, Gold could not resist glancing at the small bump rounding the lower half of her white tank top.

"I suppose I'm _his _father, too?" The bitterness thickened his accent.

"In a way," she said.

This stranger's feet struck the last few steps and she came to stand in front of him, nearly toe-to-toe. Only half an inch shorter than his frame, her mouth hovered in line of his own, her breath heating his jaw. She smelled like cinnamon-but did she taste as fiery and sweet?

Where the hell did that thought come from? His tongue betrayed him then, darting out to trace over his lips. The enticement was easy to read in those smoldering green eyes. Did anyone tell her that she somehow had the same green eyes as Mary Margaret? Perhaps she was a long-lost sibling. The evil twin.

"You had the nerve to break into my house-"

"To move out some of my things before you burned them," she interceded innocently. He blinked. No one ever interrupted him, for fear of the consequences.

He recalled the cardboard box of clothes the boy had carried out. It hadn't been filled with his suits-that kind of obsession would be unsettling-but filled with leather jackets and cropped tops. He thought he may have spied the hem of a scarlet dress as well.

His brain swam in circles, unable to process the details she was presenting. It didn't make any sense! Nothing in his memory verified what this stranger was saying. Surely she couldn't be telling the truth. No, of course she wasn't telling the truth! For all he knew, she was a pathological liar sucking him into her web. It was a richly-spun fabrication, some daydream or late-night fantasy playing out in her head while she lay awake in bed.

Despite his shady reputation, he was well-aware of the occasional womanly attraction he earned. Every woman, deep down, was the equivalent of Lacey; Lacey just chose to embrace the truth of her nature and desires. Women loved flirting with danger, fanning the flames.

"Stop lying!" His temper was legendary among the townsfolk and it came to a head now, unstoppable in its might. His teeth gritted in anger and his cane collided against the fine wood of the banister, scuffing it. The blonde stranger jumped a foot in light of his lashing out, but held her ground nonetheless, chin raised defiantly.

Would she never break?

"You are trespassing on my property and, on top of that, you refuse to quit your ridiculous harrassment. You leave me no choice: I'm calling the Sheriff."

Her response was puzzling. The corners of her mouth lifted in sheer amusement. Why was she smiling? Did she assume he was bluffing? She should be on her knees, begging him for mercy. She should be grateful for the warning he issued. Normally he did not depend on the meek authority in this town, governed as they were by Regina's sticky fingers, and he took matters into his own hands.

"Go ahead. Call the Sheriff," she challenged. He reared his head back in outright astonishment. She must be thinking he was joking, that it was a charade to get her out of his house. Well, then, if it was proof she desired...He leaned his cane against the banister and dug out his phone. So did she. "I'll make sure to pick up before it goes to voicemail. I re-programmed the phone in the station so all calls go directly to my cell phone. I hate desk-jobs."

Gold tentatively lowered his phone. A chill pervaded his neck. A lack of understanding plagued his mind, like a mathematical equation without a logical solution. It seemed that happened a lot in the past few days.

"Wait...you're telling me..._you _are the Sheriff?" What kind of game was she playing? Did she have an answer for everything? Most liars would have slipped up ages ago. "Who the hell warranted that change?"

The "Sheriff's" mannerisms became wrought with increasing melancholy.

"Technically, Regina did when she killed Graham. But you were the one to secure me the position, as my benefactor."

Gold shook his head. Inside, he was breaking down in fits of fizzling steam, loose gears, and mad giggling. He felt like he was free-falling through the air without a parachute. His hand curled over the round head of the banister for support.

Graham was dead?

This child was the Sheriff?

Regina killed him? Okay, that part he could reason out in his head given the time, considering the fact that Regina was a daily psychotic, even more so than Graham's replacement. And yet, there was an endless brick wall stretching wide and high and labeled _WTF_. His head was virtually knocking against that wall repeatedly.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm leaving," she said grimly, heading past his shoulder to the door.

He was frozen in his confusion, struggling to piece together the scattered, brittle fragments. It alarmed even him when he reached out and grabbed the girl's elbow. Her feet halted, her spine straightened, and he sensed the tremor shudder through her body. He took his hand away and she turned around, seeking his reason for physical contact.

"Your name-" A gleam coated her eyes, though he could not fathom why. What was her name again? Ella?

"Emma," she offered confidently. "Got it memorized? Emma, Emma, Emma-" Was her record skipping?

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," he interrupted loudly. Emma. Em-ma. Why did that one name, two short syllables, seem to resonate so deeply within his mind? The name struck a chord, though the resulting note was too subtle to catch. There was something he needed to remember...but it was too far out of reach. Probably not that important, then.

She studied him with obvious expectancy.

"Does it remind you of anything?" Emma concealed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. No doubt her fingers were tightly crossed. What was she waiting for? A magical transformation worthy of Disney? The beast becoming the handsome prince?

"No," he lied. He almost felt guilty when her face visibly fell, crestfallen by his apparent obliviousness. "Be sure to take your pup with you on your way out. I sleep alone."

Emma was clearly disappointed, but she did not bother to argue further. Perhaps she no longer saw the point, her faith shaken. Once more, she whistled shrilly and the golden menace bounded into the hall. Gold gave it a wide berth until Emma gathered "Goldie" in her arms. It craned its neck all the way out the door, hoping to give him one last kiss.

He firmly slammed the door behind her and locked it, double-checking by gripping the handle and pulling. _Em-ma. What a...what a lovely..._

...

"I've tried kissing him, I've tried reasoning with him, I've tried saying my name," Emma ticked the points off on her fingers. Exasperated, she slapped her palms down on the kitchen counter. "What else am I supposed to do? Sneak in his room tonight and read him the story of Rumpelstiltskin?"

The excitement in Snow's eyes gave Emma a bad feeling. She returned to fishing through the cardboard box of her belongings. Having to move out of her one true home, even if it was to keep up appearances while they figured out how to deal with cursed Gold, was one of the hardest things she ever had to do.

"It's how Charming woke up from his coma, remember?" Emma gave her mother a dubious look over the pile of clothes in her arms.

"Yeah, but you two are...well, _you_. The ultimate example of true love. For you, the miracle of love is the same as breathing." Snow was about to object, her finger raised in the air, but Charming lovingly took ahold of her hand and caressed it.

"You know, Emma, Rumpelstiltskin still hasn't cashed in on his reward for beating me in that swordfight rematch," he reminded her, hinting of a brilliant idea waiting to be unfolded.

The clothes tumbled from Emma's limbs. That was right-Charming agreed to be responsible for a dinner date between her and Gold. He would make the reservations and he would ensure they were free to spend the night together, privately and uninterrupted, for as long as they desired. Only, she and Gold never got around to taking Charming up on that deal because of the mounting chaos surrounding their family.

"And? It's not like he remembers making that deal with you," she argued. Charming's grin was still locked in place. Whatever was making him so smug, Emma wished he would share. He even went as far as to scold her ignorance with a _tsk-tsk-tsk. _

"As the Dark One's wife, I expected you to be an expert with words by now." By the time Charming laid out his plan, Emma didn't feel so heavy of heart. As a matter of fact, it might just work.

...

Charming excused himself, mumbling an explanation about helping Henry with his homework. He cast one last solemn glance at Emma, who was brutally beating the stray particles of dust from her folded clothes. For the sake of his daughter's heart, he hoped there was a way to restore Rumpelstiltskin's memories. He never particularly liked the imp until recently, but as her father, he hated to watch Emma drown in her despair without accepting any help from her parents.

With one knowing frown sent across the table to Snow, he started up the stairs to Henry's bedroom.

"Would you like some hot cocoa, Emma? It should help soothe your nerves," Snow kindly offered, taking down two mugs from one of the cupboards. Next she set the kettle on the stove and retrieved the shaker of cinnamon and can of whipped cream. But Emma barely lifted her head, the waves of her golden hair shielding her face.

"No, thanks," she muttered. Overlooking the scene from above, Charming saw Emma turn her back on Snow and carry her box of belongings to what used to be her old bedroom before she took her marriage with Rumpelstiltskin seriously enough to move in with him.

It made his heart feel splintered to know Emma was hurting so deeply. He was her father; he should always be able to protect her and chase her fears away. He failed to do that for the first twenty-eight years of her life and now she was in pieces again. Turning away from the railing, he noticed Henry observing him, his notebook tucked under his arm, with Goldie chewing a rawhide bone on the floor by his side. Only Charming had glimpsed what was recently written inside that notebook.

"So, how did it go?"

Charming checked over his shoulder, listening to the whistle of the kettle to verify that Snow was busy with the cocoa. Later on tonight, if she hadn't figured it out already, he would explain it to her, that the reminder of what he promised Gold in the form of a date was actually Henry's idea from the start.

"As if you weren't listening in, buddy. If there's anyone with ears and eyes around this town, besides Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, it's you," Charming teased lightly. Henry shrugged, not entirely denying the accusation. Charming gave him a small thumbs-up. "Operation: Crocodile is in motion."

...

Gold's morning routine was often uneventful. At six, he woke from a dreamless sleep and immediately went about getting ready for the day ahead. Mentally, he would recite his To-Do List while taking a shower, dressing fashionably in one of his expensive suits, and shaving. The only difference today was the addition of two steps: re-dressing his wound and swallowing two pain pills since his shoulder had ignited the minute he stirred from sleep. Other than that, he was out the door around the usual time.

Before walking to work, he stopped at Granny's for some of her (overpriced) coffee and perhaps even a bit of (extremely overpriced) breakfast if he felt particularly cruel to the townsfolk that day. Anyone who came in through Granny's door and zoomed in on his presence in one of the booths always decided to take their food and go. Keep the change.

When he went in there that morning, however, he was baffled by the number of changes he detected.

Ruby wasn't dressed provocatively or flirting excessively with anyone that could be recognized as strictly male in anatomy. In fact, she only had eyes for Archie as she handed him a fresh plate of pancakes. Ruby and Archie? Together? Since when?

Ashley wasn't pregnant anymore. She was sharing a booth in the corner with her boyfriend...no, hang on, there was a wedding ring on her finger! How had he neglected that wedding? And if she had her baby, it meant she owed the little bundle of joy over to him per their contract. The only reason he didn't bring it up right then and there was because Granny was holding the baby girl in her arms and letting it feed from a bottle. She tossed Gold a scathing look before he could even take a step forward.

Leroy wasn't drinking alcohol. He was laughing heartily and getting cozy with one of the nuns, the clumsy one. Wasn't that sort of affection illegal in religious terms? If not, then Whale would have known it by now.

Whale. He was still chattering with an obviously fake accent. Out of all the accents he clung to, that was the one he chose?

Sidney was nowhere to be found, which was strange because the slimy reporter had a nasty habit of shoving his notepad in the faces of passersby in search for a juicy story for his lousy paper.

What was going on in this town? Had he somehow wandered into a medicine-induced dream? He was tempted to pinch himself, but he wasn't in the mood for unwanted attention by the patrons.

Gold dismissed the oddities, though not with ease, and approached the bar to put in his order. Instantly, Ruby's lustful eyes became uninviting as they broke away from Archie and swiveled to the pawnbroker. She impatiently clicked her nails on the bar. Gold noted that they were filed down and manicured, not stretching into deadly daggers as was Ruby's rebellious style. The glass wolf charm that used to swing from the rearview mirror in her car now hung from a leather rope around her neck and she played with it while studying him curiously.

"The usual?" Before he completed his nod of approval, she was off in a flash to fetch it. He stood there awkwardly, sensing the eyes burning into his back, overhearing the whispers sprinkled with his name, and knew he was not welcome here. Oh, well.

He owned this town, held it in the palm of his skillful hand, and if they had an issue with it then they were free to confront him. None of them would ever have the gall to do that. Cowards.

"Morning...Mr. Gold," Archie hesitantly addressed him while drizzling some of that sticky syrup over his pancakes. The amber substance oozed over the plate and dripped onto the counter in gooey raindrops. Gold surveyed the bespectacled red-headed man with dislike. He never harbored much faith in Archie's optimism or his therapeutic practice. "About the rent...that's not really necessary, is it?"

Gold sighed. When would people stop trying to fidget their way out of paying the rent? He always held his end of the deal, did he not? Why was it so difficult for them to do the same?

"Is it necessary for you to pay Mr. Clark before feasting your sore eyes on _The Daily Mirror _or devouring an Apollo bar?" Archie gulped down a mouthful of pancake hard, understanding and dreading where Gold was heading. The dealmaker pivoted slightly, his cane tapping on the tiles. "If you wish to squat somewhere, I recommend New York City. Otherwise, my demand for the rent stands. That goes for _all _of you."

His voice rose several notches in volume in concern for every pair of beady eyes trained on his back. His unforgiving gaze scanned the diner's patrons. Every head lowered in unison.

Ruby cleared her throat, having popped up again behind the bar with his coffee in hand. Her sudden pout suggested she heard his declaration loud and clear, but even she held her tongue.

"One coffee to go, black, with one sugar on the side," she recounted, thrusting it toward his chest in urgency. He debated whether to sit right there at the bar to drink it, if only to dig under her skin, but figured it would do his mood more harm than good. He grudgingly accepted the coffee, handing the correct amount of money with just as much enthusiasm. "You know, I hear Emma's a great catch. In case you were wondering."

And Ruby winked.

Was everyone in this town rooting for Emma? He took Ruby's matchmaking advice with a grain of salt, glaring spitefully at her until she no longer smiled. She brushed her fingers through her silky dark hair-hair that was not streaked with red-and avoided eye contact. _That's what I thought, _Gold noted in his head, gingerly sipping the scalding coffee. Better than the hospital's coffee, but not by much.

He made a limping beeline for the exit. He longed for the silence and comfort of his shop, where no feet dared tread unless the rent was due.

_"Now, I remember why I never liked that version of him. What he needs is to get laid-fast," _Ruby's voice was hushed, yet he still caught the gist of her comment. Archie immediately began choking on a scrap of pancake, causing Granny to dive around the bar, with baby in arms, to pound on his back. Ruby giggled hysterically, much to Gold's chagrin.

It was too tempting to resist. Gold found his feet pausing, the retort hanging on the tip of his tongue.

"Why, my dear Ruby, are you offering?" He grinned wolfishly as her face drained of all color. Archie gasped dramatically for air, clutching at his heart. Granny spun around, with the baby still in her arms, and sent him a look that was meant to kill on the spot.

_Now I feel better, _he reflected as he strode out the door, a wave of hatred licking at his heels as he went. Same old, same old. The euphoria lasted halfway down the street, waned a little bit as he unlocked and entered the stuffy quarters of his shop...and finally it shattered completely with the ringing of his bell.

Ringing was a loose way of putting it. The bell exploded off the top of the door with a scream, flying into one of the many dark corners where it was effectively silenced. Its vanquisher lurched in the doorway, eyes blazing, a crude scar encircling his neck.

Oh, great. The madman from the top of the hill wanted to pay a visit. His week was turning out to be a fabulous one, sarcasm intended.

"You," he grunted harshly, stomping across the floorboards. Gold took comfort in the display case that served as a barrier between their bodies. He lounged behind it and scoured the floor for his poor, broken bell. No sign of it.

"You'll have to pay for that bell," he said calmly, even as the madman reached the display case and seethed.

"Belle was a wreck when she returned home from visiting you in the hospital. It took me at least an hour to calm her down. She's dealing with a wild range of emotions, she's convinced Emma will hate her from now on, oh, and there's the part where _you kissed my girlfriend."_

Gold stopped dragging the ragged piece of gray cloth across the display case and frowned. In the few times he met Jefferson, the man had ranted about the strangest things, from grinning cats to poisonous tea parties to the idea that Paige was his own daughter, but this went beyond all that. Of all the accusations a man had given him...

"I'm sorry, but who the hell is Belle?"

He never knew a woman named Belle in all his life. The only woman he willingly kissed was Lacey. The anger dissipated from Jefferson's face, his skin pale. His lips parted in awe and it looked like he had seen a ghost.

"She was right. You really did lose it, didn't you?" Jefferson looked at him with such pity that Gold found himself debating whether to go through the hassle of throwing him out of his shop. The sympathy was brief, the anger returning as quickly as it had left. "I don't care what you call her. You're hurting her, whether you're aware of it or not. So I suggest you stay away from her. If she wants to talk to you, she'll seek you out."

With that, Jefferson turned on his heel and dashed out the door. _Something tells me it's going to be a long day, _Gold thought.

...

Ever since the break of dawn this morning, her phone hadn't stopped ringing. Crime had not elevated in Storybrooke; rather, an old menace had re-entered the lives of Storybrooke's citizens and everyone was complaining about it at once.

_Emma, this is the fifth time your husband asked me for the rent and I have a hot date waiting for me at the Rabbit Hole this evening. She just doesn't realize it yet. I don't think bruises from a cane-shaped object will win me points, do you? _Whale.

_Are you trying to give me another heart attack? You're all just waiting for me to die, aren't you? Who will make your food, then? _Granny.

_Emma, if I crash through Rumpelstiltskin's window during a full moon and bite him in the ass, please don't arrest me. _Red.

There was a whole list of texts waiting to be read and her voicemail was full to the brim with messages waiting to be heard from those who were not "tech-savvy." Emma had endured their cries of sympathy for two days, but she knew their patience was running thin already. They didn't like having Rumpelstiltskin in their midst, either, but at least he more or less left them alone. Gold would come pounding at their doors very soon and people were panicking. Someone even left a message suggesting that they plant false evidence on Gold-perhaps a keg of beer in his car-and stick him in a jail cell until a cure could be found for his memory loss. She suspected that one was Grumpy.

Emma eventually turned off the phone completely. She was depressed as it was about losing her husband. The last thing she needed was for the people of Storybrooke to remind her about the collateral damage.

Her steps quickened as Gold's pawnshop loomed into view. He would be there; she knew it without a doubt. Her Gold was always punctual, always keeping to commitments in a religious manner. The only exception had been those mornings when she greedily convinced him to spend an extra few minutes with her in bed. She had to believe that this man abided by the same logic of precision.

Emma was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the door to the pawnshop burst open nor did she notice Jefferson storming out until he collided into her headfirst.

"Emma, I'm so sorry," he frantically gasped while rubbing his forehead. He reached out to steady her before she fell backwards from the impact. His eyes scanned her body for any sign of injury, lingering longest on her belly. His face was pale, his grip a little too tight on her forearm.

"It's fine," she said flatly, squirming out of his grasp. "I'm fine."

But the way Jefferson continued to observe her critically, almost seeing _through _her, suggested he knew very well it wasn't the truth. It was something people said when deep down they weren't anywhere close to being fine.

"Where's the fire?" She asked, hoping to change the subject. Jefferson's mouth fell open, then closed abruptly. He glanced back at the door to Gold's pawnshop over his shoulder. No doubt Belle explained what happened at the hospital. "Oh. Right."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, burying his hands in the pockets of his black jeans.

She was on the verge of telling him he said that already, but then she got a good look at the remorse radiating from his face, his shoulders slumped in grief. That was when she understood that he wasn't apologizing for bumping into her anymore. These were his condolences.

"Jefferson-" She didn't think she could handle one more sympathetic apology.

"I know how painful it is to lose someone you love," he continued as if she never spoke. "Watching Grace for those twenty-eight years during the curse meant having my heart ripped out every day. Having my heart ripped out would have been better. It's not easy."

She purposely avoided looking at his face, afraid that she would fall to pieces right there against his sorrow. And yet, she was grateful for Jefferson's comfort. The people of this town had been through a lot during the curse, but somehow they failed to understand exactly what she was going through now that their families were together again. Hers remained broken. _I can save everyone else's families, but I'm helpless when it comes to my own, _she thought sadly. Jefferson understood, having faced endless tragedy with his family long before the curse was even enacted.

"Thank you," she said, hoping he grasped how much she meant it. "Tell Belle...I don't blame her for what happened at the hospital." Jefferson nodded and gave her one last faint smile before they parted ways.

...

It wasn't a challenge to find Gold once she stepped inside the familiar shop. She half-expected him to be in the back room with his feet propped up on the desk, but he was standing behind the front counter. His calculating brown eyes glanced up from a book, narrowed slightly, and dropped once more, effectively excusing her presence as he might any of the dusty antiques cluttering the wall.

"Nice to know you make your customers feel so welcome," she said sardonically. When she did not receive a verbal response, she stepped forward to prove she was not leaving. Her boot kicked an object and it skidded across the floor. The bell. It was no wonder, then, that Gold wasn't opening his arms to visitors after first dealing with an upset, jealous Jefferson.

"Come now, dear, you and I both know you're not here to buy one of my priceless antiques," he said when he finally came to terms with the fact that she was still there in his shop. At last, he granted her his undivided attention, regarding her as a vulture would select its next meal. "What is it you really want?"

Emma went over the plan in her head. This had to work.

"Okay, here's the thing. I made a deal with my...friend that if I beat him in a swordfight that he would arrange a date for me and any man I chose. Well, I won and I chose you." She waited. He wasn't biting the hook. Not even a nibble.

"Is this your way of asking me on a date? Considering you're 'my wife', isn't this a step backwards?" Even without the use of air-quotes, Emma could tell he was mocking her. It dug under her skin like an itch she could never hope to scratch. "Sorry, Em-ma. I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Put simply...no."

"I know what that means. I've seen _Pirates of the Caribbean,_" she snapped. He arched an eyebrow, challenging her relentlessly. "You're a dealmaker. Your word means everything, right? That means you expect others to value their word just as much. You wouldn't expect Char-I mean, _David _to break this deal, would you?"

Gold was well aware of the way she was reeling him in and lining him up in her crosshairs. This was manipulation in a not-so-subtle form. If he sent her away unsatisfied, he would be a hypocrite for not respecting the bindings of a deal. Emma's fingers gripped the edge of the display case, her anticipation rising as Gold's defenses lowered. He was cracking...he was breaking...

"Only if you make a deal with me," he negotiated. Emma fought not to reveal her disturbance. Making a deal with her loving husband was no problem. Making a deal with Gold, stripped of his affection for her and closer to the sneaky imp foretold by her parents, did not give her solace.

"What's your price?" She hated having to bite his line when he was so reluctant to reciprocate. Nor did she want to hear the answer to that dangerous question.

"If this date does not end well, you are never to try to seduce me again. You will accept the fact that you are not my wife and you will let matters lie. Agreed?" He extended his hand. Emma hesitated, sensing the danger of making the deal. He would most likely be walking into the date expecting it to fail and she might have to keep her distance.

But she had to try. She had to fight.

"Deal," she agreed and clasped his hand. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm, but she was certain he did not feel it. If he did, he would deny it. He squeezed her hand a little too hard and a slippery grin crossed his face. It gave her a feeling of dread.

"I'll see you at seven o' clock," he stated, surrendering her hand. Immediately, he removed a silk handkerchief from inside his suit and wiped his fingers as if she were capable of infecting him with a deadly disease by touch alone. "Give Miss Blanchard my regards."

It did not surprise her that he knew where she was staying now. Like Regina, he had eyes and ears everywhere. That much did not change. The handkerchief crawled back inside his suit and his attention swiftly returned to the open book on the counter. It was his farewell, his way of dismissing her. Their business-for it would not be labeled pleasure-was done for now.

Emma's hands slipped from the display case, falling back to her sides. The stillness of the shop unnerved her. Slowly, she began to backtrack toward the door, knowing that she was overstaying her welcome with every passing second.

"Seven it is," she whispered and vanished through the door without even the chime of the bell to announce her departure.

...

It was 6:00.

Emma had the basics of a plan of how to get ready for this date. The details rushed through her head, spinning in a whirlpool while she turned on the shower to scalding hot and stepped under the spray. The warm rain felt so good, so soothing as it poured along her tense spine. She only wished it washed away her emotional strain as miraculously as it did the knots in her overworked muscles. Rock music blasted through the bathroom as she washed up, a distraction from the memories threatening to resurface.

Making love in the shower...underneath the stream of a warm rain...

_Don't think of it, _she told herself and carried on.

It was 6:15.

The bathroom was steamy when Emma emerged from the shower. Her red feet crossed over the cool, moist tiles to the sink where she used the end of her towel to wipe the fog off the clouded mirror enough to see her reflection. Drying off, brushing her teeth, and fighting with her tangled wet hair came next. She decided to leave it straight for tonight. It was strange to see her reflection with straight hair, mainly because it had been so long since she last wore it that way. Making her hair curly was one of the ways she separated herself from the girl who loved Neal. _He _always loved running his fingers through her straight hair, almost as much as her husband enjoyed playfully spiraling her hair around his fingers during their pillow talks and watching the curls bounce back into place.

There were so many forbidden memories clogging her brain today. She blinked it away. It felt appropriate to shed her curls tonight since she was having a date with a man who wasn't really her husband.

It was 6:40.

Panic mode set in. If he was anything like the Gold she knew, he would be here in twenty minutes, no more, no less.

Still wrapped in a towel, Emma rushed from the bathroom to her bedroom and scoured through her pile of clothes for something to wear. She narrowed it down to two dresses for the sole reason that she only had two dresses in her wardrobe. One was the daring, skin-tight crimson dress she wore the night Henry found her in Boston, and a more modest blue dress that covered her cleavage and flowed gracefully to her knees. Undecided, she gathered both in her arms and stuck her head out the door, calling for Snow on the top of her lungs. As she listened to Snow's hurrying footsteps-most likely armed with a dagger just in case-she glared at the alarm clock on her bedside table.

The glowing numbers claimed it was 6:47.

Snow crashed through Emma's door, a black-handled kitchen knife clutched in her fist. Just as Emma thought.

"Which one? Super Sexy or...Mary Margaret?"

Emma dangled the dresses for examination. Snow lowered the kitchen knife. Relieved as she was that Regina or Cora hadn't bombarded her daughter's room, she was not very impressed with the names Emma had attached to the dresses. Raising her chin, she considered each dress for what seemed like an eternity each.

"Sometime today? I have...ten minutes."

It was 6:50. The clock said so.

"You already figured out that coming on too strongly to him isn't the way to go. Mary Margaret," Snow decided, the name grudgingly rolling off her lips. "And next time you want my opinion, do us all a favor, Emma, and call in a quieter voice. This knife isn't for show."

Emma accepted her mother's help in shimmying into the dress, especially since there was a zipper on the back. If Henry or Charming thought anything odd about Emma's cursing or Snow's commands for Emma to stay still, they didn't come into the bedroom to say so. Snow kept pinching and prodding certain parts of the dress until Emma flapped her hands in irritation, shooing Snow away.

It was 6:55. Snow squirted Emma with several spritzes of perfume that made Emma sneeze.

It was 6:58. Snow began fussing over Emma's hair.

It was 7:00...

A knock came from the door. Emma froze up, which gave her mother the perfect opportunity to continue smoothing down the invisible cowlick on Emma's head.

"I'll get it!"

Feet thundered down the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than an eleven-year-old boy. Emma cursed under her breath and dashed from her bedroom to try to reach the door before Henry, but it was too late.

The door was open and she arrived just in time for Gold to get a glimpse of his date. Henry was grinning from ear to ear. That was the one he wore for most things in connection to Operation: Cobra, his _I look innocent, but I'm really up to no good _smile. Oh, no.

"So, what do you think? Isn't Emma pretty?"

Henry gestured enthusiastically to Emma. Gold's eyes flickered her way, giving her a leisurely once-over from head to toe. For his part, he wore one of his more expensive charcoal suits with a white dress shirt underneath. Classic.

"Yes, I would agree that Emma is pretty tonight," he said rather softly. For once, he did not seem to be ready to reject her, a sign of improvement in her book. Heat sprung to her neck and cheeks from the unexpected compliment.

"Great. You should marry her," Henry suggested boldly. Gold's head snapped back around, blanching. Emma felt her stomach drop and she hurried to hold Henry back from his crazy schemes.

"Henry, don't you have some homework to do?" The kid understood that he was being excused on purpose and tossed her a puppy-eyed look that read _I'm only trying to help. _

"Your mother's right, Henry. That long division isn't going to be solved all by itself," Snow added, appearing from Emma's bedroom. Henry's shoulders slumped as his mother and grandmother ganged up on him. Emma tilted her head toward the stairs and he reluctantly shuffled his feet.

"Fine, but when you two get back, I want details," he exclaimed before climbing the stairs and vanishing around the corner. No doubt he would be hanging out above their heads and eavesdropping. No doubt Snow and Charming would join him. Speaking of which...

"Miss Blanchard," Gold greeted respectfully, if not in an entirely cordial manner. Snow had been avoiding looking at him head-on, but now she turned her head in acknowledgement. A forced smile found its way to her lips. Snow hated what was going on in Emma's life almost as much as Emma did.

"Mr. Gold," she returned politely. Emma hoped Snow remembered what she said once or twice about keeping to Mary Margaret's style so as to line up with Gold's false memories. Pulling out kitchen knives, kind of like the one still in her hand, was not very nun-like. "I'm...going to go make some herbal tea and read a Jane Austen book before bed. You two have fun."

Emma closed her eyes. Jane Austen? _That _was what she came up with for Mary Margaret? Then again, Mary Margaret had kept a habit of hiding behind such books while stalking David during the curse. Her mother replaced the knife in one of the drawers and left them alone.

"Your boy never ceases to amaze me," Gold commented when they were without witnesses. Emma inclined her head in agreement. "I see he gets his wild imagination from his mother." Whether that was another compliment or an insult, Gold's tone was too ambiguous to say. Emma took it as an insult.

"Just for one night, do you think you and I can be civil? It sounds to me like you're walking into this date and expecting it to be doomed from the start."

Gold leaned heavier on his cane. She wondered when it started weakening again. The second he fell over the border? His lean form curved inwards, forming a shield that protected the innermost portions of his soul from the forces of the outside world.

It became painfully obvious then that Emma had never invited him inside. He stood on one side of the threshold while she stood on the other. It felt like they were worlds apart instead of a mere foot of distance.

"What can I say? I'm a difficult man to love," he said morosely. That familiar saying shuddered through her heart, giving her a taste of hope that the man she loved was still buried in there somewhere, clawing his way to the surface. "No need to worry, Miss Swan. I'll put as much of my heart on the line this evening as you do yours."

...

There weren't many places to choose from for a night out, but Emma was grateful Charming had the sense to handle the reservations for the fanciest restaurant in Storybrooke. She was afraid he would arrange their date for Granny's Diner. It would have spelled disaster, having Red and Granny listening in on their date and pulling strings in her favor. Plus, Emma didn't think Red forgave Gold yet for whatever it was he did to upset her. Luckily, Emma managed to convince her not to bite his ass during the next full moon.

She and Gold barely exchanged words on the drive to the restaurant, save for him asking if she was cold. There was unbreakable silence even before they were sitting across from one another at the table. For the first few minutes, she busied herself with reading the menu (and he dared to call Granny's food overpriced while he ordered the wine), all the while feeling dozens of eyes crawling over her skin like flies.

Didn't the people in this town have enough decency not to stare? She regretted the fact that she couldn't lock up King George for twirling an invisible mustache.

"So..." Gold began after the wine was brought and the waiter had taken their order for food. He casually leaned back in his chair, the farthest he could be from her while still projecting an air of arrogance. "I half-expected you to be clad in something that showed a little more skin."

Emma's eyebrows shot to her hairline. She foolishly glanced down at her modestly-covered chest.

"My other option was a little red dress before Mary Margaret changed my mind," she taunted. It took a lot of effort to spit out the name Mary Margaret instead of Snow. Was it her imagination, a trick of the light, or was that a hint of amusement flashing across his face?

"Pity," he murmured. His eyes joined the rest of the crowd, drinking her in faster than that wine. "Red is more flattering on you."

His fingers drummed on the table, almost as though he were bored. At first, Emma was pleased about the compliment, only to linger on the double meaning of his words. There always was a double meaning.

"Is that a compliment?" The drumming stopped.

"Observation," he countered. The shell of her husband kept echoing the past, feeding Emma's hope that there was a way to resolve this mess, after all. She just had to figure out which button to press.

When the conversation fell flat between them, Emma practically heard the nails being driven into the coffin that was their date. She had no issue with carrying on a conversation with her husband, but there was an intimidating brick wall in front of this man and it wasn't coming down. Emotionally tired and out of patience, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned closer. From the cringe near his left eye, it was on the tip of his silver tongue to scold her for improper manners. She almost wished he would do it, so she could freely plunge into a rant about his gentlemanly behavior thus far.

She wondered if he ever scolded _Lacey _for her manners. Emma knew, even without truly meeting this _Lacey_, the kind of girl she was. A scandalous barfly, fluent in the ways of men and how to use her body to get what she wanted out of them, a girl that had the captivating power to make a man forget his troubles for a time. Someone like Lacey would never be treated to a fancy restaurant. Her rendezvous were saved for gritty bathrooms and the backseats of cars.

She had seen the raw lust written on Gold's face whilst reuniting with his Lacey. In passing the Rabbit Hole on their way to the restaurant, she had watched his eyes train on it for a minute too long, radiating nostalgia. The way the world worked was not a secret to her; it was easy to decipher his false past.

"What is it about me that you don't like? Besides the blonde hair." She prayed she did not sound whiny. She just longed to hear what was going on inside his head. The inner workings of his mind were always a mystery to be uncovered.

"Where should I begin?" Emma folded her arms flat on the table, her icy gaze warning him that she wanted a substantial reason. _You kissed me in the middle of the road _would not suffice. "You're too...direct for my taste."

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place concerning this false personality. Emma swore she heard the _click. _This false personality hinged on Gold's main vulnerabilities, emphasizing them to enormous lengths. Perhaps this was how Regina viewed her nemesis.

"You don't like headstrong women who challenge you," she translated.

Rumpelstiltskin admired and was therefore attracted to headstrong women because it was the piece of his soul he was constantly missing: that courage and security. He sought out those qualities that he wished to possess himself, whereas this Gold shied away from women with those traits. Lacey would never challenge a man whose pockets were practically lined with money nor would she care enough to change his darker nature. Lacey would never aim for more than he could give her; his reputation and riches were enough. Some women liked that kind of thing.

Gold swayed his hand aside, a gesture that merely said _what-can-you-do? _

"I've told you why I am not drawn to you. It's your turn," he said, changing the subject before Emma could even pursue her line of thinking. It took her off guard and Gold relished it. "Why do _you _like _me? _Out of all the men in this town that could please your every whim, why me? What is it about your _husband_ you love so much?"

Emma's hands dropped into her lap. Her mind buzzed, processing what was the right thing to say. Truthfully, she didn't like this new version of Gold at all. But if her husband were somehow still in there, if he could hear her now, then it would be only to him she spoke these words.

Had she ever really listed the reasons why she loved him so deeply?

"I loved my husband...because he was a mystery that I could never finish unraveling. Somehow, he always took me by surprise. He was broken in many ways, and yet he still had the strength to love me in return. His kisses were passionate every time, as if they were the first and last. His touch was always tender. If he ever loved another, it was with all his heart or nothing at all. As a...desperate soul, he understood me and in turn made me stronger. He made me _happy, w_hich is something I haven't been in a long time. He was the home I've been looking for my whole life."

He and Henry both. Never could she imagine living without them.

Her vision blurred and she hurried to wipe the water away with the back of her hand before anyone else could see. It was unbearably quiet on the other side of the table, her date pondering over her sentimental speech. He helped himself to a few sips of wine.

"Hmm...sorry, dear, but that doesn't sound like me at all." Just like that, her words were discarded, considered as meaningless as Wonderland logic. It rubbed Emma the wrong way.

"You're right. _He _was a better man," she retorted bitterly. Over the rim of his wine glass, Gold's face resembled stone, his eyes two ominous, gleaming steel plates. She did not blink.

"My, is it just me or did the temperature around our table plummet several degrees?" Emma ignored the shiver teasing her bare arms. Her appetite had gone swiftly with her manners. Gold chuckled dryly. "You can sit there and glare at me all you want. Just remember: you asked for this, not me. What you see is what you get, so I suggest you stop trying to mold me into your oh-so-loving husband. Perhaps our date would have been better suited for the Rabbit Hole. I have a feeling your attitude would improve after I get a few drinks in you."

Emma tore her napkin into scraps in her lap. Never mind the fact that she was pregnant and therefore unable to consume alcohol, but a date at the Rabbit Hole was as raunchy as you could get. That was false Gold's style, wasn't it? Drinks were his form of manipulation, not words.

"Well, you'll never find out," she said. Her temper ran high, her emotions were ragged, and it was times like these that her tongue had a mind of its own. "Maybe you should ask _Lacey_."

Gold's jaw locked. She had hit a nerve.

"Lacey is none of your concern," he hissed. His fingers strangled the stem of his wine glass.

"She doesn't concern me." _That much. _Lacey did not exist. There was only Belle and Emma liked to think she knew Belle enough at this point to be assured that the girl would never commit to an affair with her husband over a pack of false memories. But her rage at Gold was growing and she was powerless to stop it. "I'm not a stranger to the real world; I've been living on the streets since I was sixteen. I know what kind of woman Lacey is. Beautiful, lustful, the easy type-"

"Stop," he growled.

"She'll please you for a price-"

"You don't know anything about it!" His voice steadily climbed and now heads from other tables were turning in their direction. Emma paid them no attention. She carved crescents ino her palms with her nails, devouring Gold's dismay.

"Her love was temporary; it wouldn't last and you know it. She'll only leave you empty and longing in the end. She's got you so wrapped around her finger that you're pushing aside someone who claims to actually love you. What makes her so special?"

"_Shut up!_" Gold finally snapped and slammed his wine glass down on the table, so hard that the wine sloshed, the table trembled, and Emma's own untouched wine glass toppled.

The river of liquid dribbled over the table and spilled onto her lap, soaking through her dress and the snowflakes of napkin. Emma shot out of her chair and snatched up Gold's napkin to dab at the spreading stain. And Gold-_you bastard-_went on sipping the remaining wine from his glass, swishing it around his mouth as though Emma had given him a bad taste.

There were no words left to say. The date was a failure, with no hope of saving it. Emma gave him one last scorching stare and turned her back, heading for the bathroom on the other side of the restaurant. Halfway there she paused and made a snap decision. _Screw it, _she thought spitefully and instead strode out the front door.

...

It was awkward the entire ride back to Mary Margaret's apartment.

Emma might have preferred walking, if not for the freezing Maine air and the fact that she confined her feet in a pair of heels. She kept her focus glued to the dark world racing by outside her window while Gold paid rapt attention to the road. When he finally pulled the car in front of the apartment building, Emma expected him to demand that she leave his car, but the demand never came. The only sound was their mingled breathing and the ticking of his ancient car.

"I hate to say I told you so," he ultimately sighed, though he never looked her way. The fight had more or less drained out of Emma, her nerves strung tight and her brain aching from the emotional stress. She needed to sleep for a day or two. "You and I simply do not mix."

That was for damned sure. She and Gold's cursed personality went about as well together as electricity and water. It was a losing battle on her part, a new curse that she could not seem to break.

Oh, God, the words were coming up again.

"You know what your problem is?" She shifted in her seat to face him. "You're pitting yourself against the world when it doesn't have to be that way. You're afraid to accept the love of someone decent because you're convinced it will never last. You push them away and wear the mask of a monster. Sure, you have _Lacey_, but people like Lacey will only love you temporarily. She's a siren, promising you your fantasies and desires without ever coming through. You know it, but you think it's what you deserve. You take all the comfort you can get, but never anything more." Emma took a breath to search for his reaction, but it was like he never heard her at all. She turned back to the window. "Coward."

That one word echoed within the small confines of the car. It pierced Emma's heart to voice it; she couldn't begin to imagine how Gold felt in hearing it. Most people were afraid to greet him in the morning. Surely no one would have the gall to label him a coward, save for Belle.

Denial, anger, rejection...another blow on the cheek...Emma expected at least one of those responses from him as time lapsed by. What she earned shocked her beyond comprehension.

Without warning, Gold's hand firmly cupped her chin, guiding it roughly in his direction while his other hand cradled the back of her head. Her pulse quickened and the heels of her hands pushed against his chest to try to wiggle away, but his body leaped over the distance between their seats.

His mouth crashed atop hers.

She didn't know whether the kiss derived from some secret attraction for her or if this was an attempt to prove her wrong, but Emma was stunned by his forceful kiss all the same. It wasn't soft or romantic in the least. It was hard, powerful, downright hungry. His tongue pried at her frozen lips, seeking entrance.

And Emma yielded.

Fistfuls of his suit were caught in her hands and she instinctively tugged him into her. She was careful not to touch the shoulder that was wounded as he fell onto her seat, their bodies fitting together. She wove her fingers through his hair and moaned as his lips moved to nip her throat.

God, she missed him.

"Gold," she whispered as his hands splayed across the small of her back and flattened her body against his. His breath was warm, trailing over the hollow of her throat and teasing the lobe of her ear. A deep growl emerged from his own throat, born of pure pleasure.

"Ugh...La...cey..."

A jolt went through Emma's body, this one not pleasurable in the least. Her eyelids parted and a cold feeling sunk into her bones, chasing away all the warmth she felt a moment ago. _Did he just call me...Lacey? _

He was thinking about _her_. Kissing her and fantasizing that it was Lacey writhing beneath him and opening up to him so willingly. Emma stabbed her nails into his wound and he shrieked, jumping off her quite fast. His pupils were dilated, his chest heaving. He did not apologize for his mistake.

It was the last straw. Disgusted, Emma threw open her door and slammed it afterwards. The car tore away from the curb before she even made it to the sidewalk. The terms of their agreement haunted her all the way up the stairs.

...

It came to her when she was lying awake in bed that night, restless and heartbroken. The date had been worse than she imagined it would be, if she was being honest with herself. She had been so angry that she stormed into her room without even stopping to complain to her parents.

By her agreement with Gold, she was not allowed to carry out any more seductions or cry out that she was his wife. There was nothing to be done for him, then.

But she could not let him go. If she gave up the fight, she gave up Gold forever. She would be saying goodbye. There had to be another way to stir his old memories, something other than blatantly insisting they were married. There had to be a way...

The solution was so blinding, so simple, she wondered why she never considered it before. _She _could not reach the remaining fragments of her husband, if they still existed in that shell. But maybe there was someone else out there who could, someone with a stronger connection to Rumpelstiltskin's heart.

Not her. Not even Belle.

She had to find Bae. If anything, it would be the last blessing she could ever grant her husband.

...

Hook awoke from a sluggish dream that was heavily laced with morphine. If not for this world's euphoric substances-it must be a more subtle form of magic-then he would be in absolute agony at this point. Everything hurt from his head to his toes; even that most sensitive organ between his legs throbbed for the wrong reasons. That bloody 'Stiltskin bitch had more fire than he originally gave her credit for. He'd be spitting blood in an urn for a week, all thanks to her right hook.

But at least he'd gotten his revenge. That victory alone was worth thousands of injuries. Oh, he could die a happy man and join Milah in that soaring ship in the sky.

All except for these handcuffs. They were stronger and tighter than any pair of shackles forged in the Enchanted Forest. One bracelet, silver and cold, encircled his wrist while the other trapped his ankle, confining him to the hospital bed. The skin beneath the handcuffs was rubbed raw, mostly from his struggling.

Did the 'Stiltskin girl really trust him so little? He'd already gotten his revenge. All he wanted to do now was celebrate with a tank of rum and solve the mystery of that wiggling red substance the staff kept delivering to other patients. Was that what passed for food in this world? It _danced_.

For the millionth time and biting his tongue against the burning pain in his ribs, Hook wrestled weakly with the cuffs, rocking this way and that atop the bed. He folded his thumb into his palm in an attempt to squeeze out of the bracelet. No such luck. Maybe if he had some slick lantern oil to pour on his skin, it might work better.

"My, my. What have you been up to with that wretched Swan girl, Killian?"

He should have felt her presence in the room, but she always made a habit of arriving unannounced. The bittersweet voice, belonging to the devil herself, made Hook pause while he was contemplating biting his other hand off. He could live without hands, or perhaps the magic called morphine was making him think mad thoughts.

Cora stood alone at the end of his hospital bed. No Regina lurking in her shadow this time. Despite her quip, those black holes were not friendly in the least as they devoured his bruised form. That meant she knew he failed and this was his sentencing for that unforgivable crime.

_Play it cool, _Hook thought, settling back against the stuffy pillows.

"A feisty one, isn't she? Most women only go for one set of handcuffs." His voice was hoarse, his throat swollen from Emma's harsh treatment. He feared to glance into a mirror and evaluate the damage.

There was no sympathy to be had from the Queen of Hearts.

"I gave you one order," she reprimanded. In swift, precise steps, she stalked around the length of the hospital bed, closing in on him and lunging like the viper she was. Hook instinctively scooted away across the sheets, clinging to the bedrail for dear life. The stump where his hook had been rose in defense, but Cora swatted it away as she would a housefly. "Take the Swan girl and flee on your ship. Rip her away from Rumpelstiltskin and start your own family. Make him suffer. That was your job, yet you were foolish enough to let her slip through your fingers. Is a crippled imp really that difficult to defeat? I expected more from the self-proclaimed greatest pirate on the seven seas."

Cora's ruby lip curled in disgust and Hook had the displeasing sensation of being backhanded by her words. Rats that infested the holds of ships and taverns would have gained more fondness from Cora than he was at that moment.

"Rumpelstiltskin is nothing more than a coward, even now," Hook protested. A plea threatened to slip out of his mouth, but he collected his thoughts. He also forced himself to swallow any smart remarks he had in store for Cora. He suspected she would not appreciate the words _as if you could do it better. _Anything of that sort and he might literally lose his head. That hatter didn't know how lucky he had been. "It's no matter. I've gotten my revenge on the crocodile, just in a different way than you or I planned. In fact, I sort of enjoy this punishment far better."

Sort of. It was still a shame, not being able to get to know Emma better. He thought he and Emma would have gotten along fabulously.

Cora leaned over the hospital bed slowly, her bony hands suffocating the bedrails. The mask that served as her face was carved in stone, betraying nothing but the swirling darkness underneath.

"What have you done?" Hook smirked, even when she bared her jaws. He tried not to shiver when he had a brief vision of those jaws sinking into his skin and ripping it to shreds.

"I killed Rumpelstiltskin," he declared proudly. It was spoken as happily as when a child returns home from school and tells their parent they got an A on a test. "If not physically. You see, my dear Cora, I shot him and he tumbled over the border. Remember what Regina said would happen if anyone in this town who came from our world fell over the border? Every trace of the imp is forever gone."

_Happy birthday to me, _Hook thought gleefully. _She should have brought the wine. _A warm spot spread through his bruised chest when he recalled the imp's expression of horror an instant before the roar of gunfire. Oh, the scream that Emma released...

That scream...

...was nothing compared to the banshee yell that flooded from Cora's mouth as she exploded.

"You _what?!" _The shriek pierced Hook's eardrums and he was surprised the shrill sound did not shatter the screens of the annoying, beeping machines whose tentacles invaded his wrist.

"You might want to keep it down, love. One of the attractive nurses on this floor might hear you and come running to rescue me," Hook warned. He hoped it was one of the lovely nurses. The really old one with spirals in her blonde hair was usually harsh.

Cora laughed, though it lacked humor. In a split second, the laughter died and the grim seriousness returned.

"Oh, don't worry, Killian. No one will hear a thing. I placed a charm on the door that blocks out every sound you or I make. Imagine the things we could do," she replied. _Uh-oh, _he thought, an instant before Cora's palm bloomed and the aura of magic crackled in the air.

All of a sudden, the muscles in Hook's throat spasmed, clinching together and cutting off the flow of oxygen. A terrible, frail wheezing sound escaped his parted lips. His muscles were thick cords protruding from his neck, grinding against the papery skin that formed the hollow of his throat. He couldn't _breathe..._The handcuff that secured his wrist to the bed rattled and scraped along the bedrail, his hand clenching and unclenching, fighting desperately to reach his neck only to fall short. His limbs flailed, his legs kicking under the sheets.

And still Cora persisted in choking him maliciously.

"You idiot," she spat, never relenting in her hold even when his lips turned blue and the handcuff slowed in its rattling. "Do you realize what you may have done?"

Cora's fingers hooked into cruel claws, Hook's throat constricted impossibly tighter, his vision blurred with black spots...and then it was over. Cora released her hold on him and a painful gush of oxygen tunneled down into his lungs. He writhed under the sterile blankets, coughing and sputtering, his heart hammering in his scarred chest. It was a while before he was able to form coherent words.

"Afraid I screwed up your mission to become the next Dark One?" If Cora was taken aback by the fact that he deciphered her evil plan, she did not show it. The only emotion dominating her face was hatred. "Does Regina realize you're not the loving, apologetic Mommy Dearest you claim to be?"

To him, her true mission was clear as day. Cora did not care to salvage her relationship with her spitting-image of a daughter, nor did she hope to gain forgiveness for Daniel's death. She was merely using Regina for the purpose of power. That was all Cora longed for. And the ultimate power was that of the Dark One.

"The only thing Regina is concerned about is reclaiming her son," Cora answered. A thoughtful look glazed her eyes, a far cry from the viciousness that lingered there a moment before. "The power of the Dark One cannot simply dissipate. There is only one thing to do. I must find Rumpelstiltskin's dagger. I must see it for myself if he is truly gone."

_Someone's in denial, _Hook mocked her inside his head, where it was safest. He didn't care whether Cora pouted about not becoming the Dark One; he was happy the imp was finally gone from the world. Good riddance.

Cora retreated from his bedside and that was when he understood she meant to leave him here. Leave him at the mercy of Emma and her family. His wrist jerked violently and for the umpteenth time he cursed these silver contraptions.

"What about me?"

Surely she did not intend to feed him to the lions, leave him here to rot. All too easily she could heal his wounds and bring him along to wherever she was headed. But the wicked gleam in her eyes claimed otherwise. _Let the lesson be learned...Cora does not give second chances. _

"You?" That one syllable was dripping with malice. "You are right where you belong. Here, keep this as a souvenir for your long-awaited revenge."

An object materialized on his lap. It was the other half of Bae's cloak, the portion Cora and Regina had kept for bargaining purposes. As Cora left his company for the last time, disappearing in a flume of violet fog, the cloak shifted form on his lap, crumbling away into a pile of dry, dead leaves.

...

_**I wish to give shout-outs to all those that have reviewed recently: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, menolikey, Guest45, megumisakura, discotimelord, The-Writer2012, reginamillz, asha74, KritiPotterWhovian, sbcarri, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Mona, orthankg1, Revenessa, and SwanQueen4055. I apologize for all of the broken hearts. **_

_**Also, for any Rumbelle fans here (I know there are some who still like Rumbelle even though this story is Golden Swan), I have uploaded a new project if you wish to check it out. It's called "All I Need" and it's going to be a series of one-shots based entirely on the relationship of Rumbelle. My goal is to write a one-shot a week, but we'll see how that goes. It's mainly because I don't want to write another multi-chaptered story for Rumbelle at the moment, but I do want to keep writing Rumbelle in some form. So, I'm sticking with one-shots for a while. **_


	69. Chapter 69

Emma needed to find Bae, but she didn't even know where to start. The world beyond Storybrooke's border was an enormous one. It would be impossible to track him down. Talk about a needle in a haystack.

If she knew her husband at all, he left behind a clue or note in case something this tragic ever happened. That way, the secret to Bae's location would not be lost with him. Luckily, she saved his main journal amongst her clothes when she left her home. The musings written inside would be no more meaningful than gibberish to his false personality.

Her belongings were still tightly packed inside the single box she had carried out of her home. She was never one to unpack unless she knew she would be staying a while. Unearthing the leather journal from the untidy layers of her clothing, Emma cracked the lid open. The smell of ink and must filled her nose, making her cough.

For a moment, she studied Rumpelstiltskin's elegant script. The surprisingly delicate loops and squiggles were mesmerizing. Then she dived in headfirst, hastily flipping through the crisp pages and scanning notes here and there in search of some small detail that would tell her where Bae was. He must have figured it out, or else he would not be so thrilled with the finishing of the potion.

Maybe in one of his more recent entries...

Emma flipped to the last page that contained writing. This entry was not so organized. It was scattered, hurried, with markings and scribbled phrases swirling all over the page. She imagined he had been out of his mind, trying to piece together the truth of Bae's whereabouts with the time ticking away. The last page was entitled _Family Vacation_ and listed several locations: _Disney World, Arizona, Paris, Scotland-_

_Tallahassee. _

In the middle of the page, Tallahassee jumped out at her. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she memorized the loops and curves of her husband's handwriting. She always wanted to make it to Tallahassee. It was a dream she once shared with Neal.

Oddly, Tallahassee was the only location that was crudely circled. The pen had been driven around and around several times, hard enough to leave an imprint on the other side of the page. Some of the ink had bled through. For some reason, Tallahassee was considered important to Rumpel. More important than any other location on the list. There was no written explanation as to the reason. _What was he thinking when he circled it? _

Did he intend to head there first on their "vacation", somehow predicting its significance to her? Or was it the last place they would hit? Or...

It clicked inside her mind. There could only be one reason why this location would be infinitely more important than any other listed in the journal. This was it; this was the answer. Hidden among the plans of a family vacation, one that was meant to include Bae.

_Found you, _Emma thought victoriously, hugging the journal close to her chest.

If Rumpelstiltskin was right, Bae was in Tallahassee.

...

"Emma, you can't just up and leave. Not without giving us an explanation," Snow pleaded as she followed closely on Emma's heels through the apartment. Quite literally, Emma had bombarded her parents with the news that she was taking a trip to Tallahassee. There was very little she needed to pack for the trip; her leather jacket and a change of clothes were enough. "Why Tallahassee?"

"Rumpelstiltskin's son may be in Tallahassee. If there's a chance that his son can connect with him and bring him back, then I need to find him. It's the least I can do for my husband," she explained,zipping up her jacket.

Charming was as concerned for Emma's departure as Snow was, but he remained quiet on the issue. Perhaps it was because he too would do anything for the ones he loved. Henry was practically bouncing on his toes in excitement. He had been ever since she announced she was going to Tallahassee. She couldn't blame him, since he had never before been past the border of Storybrooke after being handed over to Regina as a baby.

"What about Henry?" Snow gestured to the kid. He pouted behind his grandmother's back. "Cora and Regina are loose in Storybrooke, remember? I do not claim to know what Cora's intentions are, but I do know Regina will stop at nothing to try to take him back. If you're gone..."

Snow's words ended there, though her meaning was painfully clear. No one wanted to finish that sentence. There was no telling what Regina would do if she ever learned that Emma left Storybrooke without Henry. Hellfire would rain down on this apartment and she would come crashing through the door like some demonic version of the SWAT team.

"I know," Emma replied casually. She palmed her car keys. "That's why I'm taking him with me."

"Yes!" Henry threw his fist in the air. Snow looked fearful of letting her daughter and grandson fly off into the big, wide world without her protection. An objection lingered on her lips, but Charming overruled it.

"It might be better for Emma and Henry to leave Storybrooke for a while," he reasoned, much to Snow's obvious dismay. Charming held up his hands in surrender when her mouth fell open in protest. "Emma can find Bae and fight for her husband. You and I will handle Regina and Cora until they're back."

It was clear by the worried furrow to her brow that Snow did not like it. She did not have to. But she did relent in her argument.

"Promise us you'll be back soon," she urged Emma,rushing forward to take her daughter by the forearms. "I've lost you once before to that world beyond this town and I don't want to do it again."

Emma felt sorry for her parents. It couldn't be easy on them to watch her leave. In a stroke of comfort, she gave her mother an awkward hug.

"I'll find Bae and then I'll be coming home." Home. That sentimental word alone made Snow hug Emma tighter. "Okay, okay. Enough...squeezing." She pried herself from her mother's arms. She turned to Henry and bounced her keys in her palm. "Pack your bag, kid. We're going to Tallahassee and we'll need to leave as soon as possible."

Henry's eyes brightened and suddenly he was racing for the stairs.

"I'll need my book! And a change of clothes and the stash of Apollo bars I keep under my pillow-" Snow and Charming exchanged bewildered expressions in reaction to that last part. Emma checked the clock on the wall. The sooner they left Storybrooke in search of Bae, the better.

"Hurry up, kid! And the dog has to stay here!" There was a noise of complaint from upstairs, but Emma ignored it. This was supposed to be a secret mission of sorts, not _Beverly Hills Chihuahua. _

"So, how do you plan on paying for the plane trip?" Charming asked, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity. An excited echo of _plane trip _came from Henry upstairs. That was right-he had never been on a plane, either.

A mischievous smile claimed Emma's lips.

"One of the perks of being Rumpelstiltskin's wife," she boasted, digging around in her back pocket for a thin item. She held it up for Charming and Snow to see. "I know where he keeps his emergency credit cards."

...

"Can we go to Miami?" Emma rolled her eyes.

"No."

"Can we go to Disney World?"

"Maybe we should wait until your father gets his memory back. I heard he's itching to try out the ride _It's A Small World," _she said wryly. The Mickey Mouse ears would be a requirement if he wanted entrance to the park. Emma flashed back to the page in his journal marked _Family Vacation. _If all went well after they found Bae, maybe that plan could be turned into a reality.

"Can we go to T.G.I. Friday's?"

That request earned a ghost of a smile from Emma. The kid vowed on eating his weight in "exotic" foods ever since trying out Starbucks at the airport. It still amazed and saddened Emma that his life in Storybrooke had been so cut off from the rest of the world. Other kids his age would have made McDonald's their best friend by now. Then there was Wendy's, Burger King, Dairy Queen...

"Maybe," she answered.

She became a little more distracted, scanning the busy street for any clue about finding Bae. Getting to Tallahassee, otherwise known as the haystack, was the easy part. Now she had to dig out the needle.

"I'll take that as a yes. And Friendly's for dessert? They have chocolate-dipped cones. Storybrooke should take notes," he said joyfully.

Emma paused on the sidewalk and ran her fingers through her messy hair. It was hot, she was pregnant, she was hungry, and she was irritable about the almost impossible task of finding Bae. Exhaling sharply through her nose, she crouched down to Henry's level and took him by the shoulders.

"Henry, I know this is a big adventure for you and that you're excited. But we need to focus. We're here to find Bae, remember? Not to go restaurant hopping all over Florida."

Henry nodded understandably and they began walking along the crowded sidewalk again, her arm protectively slung around his shoulder.

"This might be easier if we wear signs like that guy on the corner that say _Have You Seen Baelfire?_ Or if we hung up posters," the kid suggested. Emma doubted it. Even asking around for anyone named Baelfire would be a flop. The name Baelfire was strange for a child, never mind a lost dog or cat. _Come here, Baelfire. Come here, boy. _

"I don't think he'll want to be found, Henry. He doesn't have a healthy relationship with his father at the moment," she said glumly. As a matter of fact, Bae didn't have a relationship with his father _at all_. She had to wonder if anything she had to say would make a difference. What if too much damage had been done for Bae to want to see his father, let alone forgive him?

"So, if Bae comes back with us to Storybrooke, that means he'll be your stepson," Henry pointed out. Emma bit down on the inside of her cheek to stifle her cry of dismay. She really didn't want to linger over any family complications right now.

"Yep," she agreed curtly. That was if Bae even accepted the fact that she was married to his father.

"And I would be his stepbrother," Henry continued.

"Yep." Henry must have sensed her growing tension, since he grew suspiciously quiet beside her. Emma concentrated on the search. A sea of unfamiliar faces swam by her. Every time a male stranger passed, she scrutinized his face closely, always secretly questioning: _are you Baelfire? Or you? What about you? _

She wished her husband had left some written instructions about how to find his son. What was she supposed to do? Go up to every guy on the street and ask: _Excuse me, sir, but is your real name Baelfire? Is your father Rumpelstiltskin? _

Not very subtle.

Suddenly, Henry grabbed ahold of her arm.

"Hey, look! There's a wishing well!" With incredible strength she didn't even know he possessed, Henry led her through the crowd to an elegant fountain in front of a tall building. There were black stone dolphins rising out of the fountain and squirting water. "I always wanted to try throwing a coin into a fountain. Do you have one?"

Emma obliged, digging around in her jeans pockets until she came up with a penny. Wishes ranked right up there with magic and fairy tales; it was sacred to him. If it made him happy, she wasn't about to object.

"Do us a favor, kid, and make a wish to find Baelfire," she said. _Sometime today would be nice, _she mentally added.

He shushed her loudly and clenched his eyes shut, the penny trapped tightly in his fist. From her perspective, it looked like he was praying. Then the coin sailed through the air and plunged into the water, making it ripple. He wouldn't tell her what he wished for.

"Should we keep searching? I'd say another hour and then we'll go to T.G.I-" Emma turned around and she slammed into someone. A cup of coffee, which had previously been in their hand, was now all over Emma's shirt. She gaped at the spreading stain, her skin underneath scalded by the hot liquid.

At least the shirt wasn't a white one.

"I am so sorry, I-" The man dabbed her soaked shirt with a napkin, but it hesitated. His words halted. Was he getting a good eyeful? "Emma?"

She froze in place. Hold on. That voice. How many times had she dreamed about that voice when she was eighteen and in jail, pregnant with Henry? No. No way.

Slowly she lifted her head and realized it wasn't a daydream or hallucination. He was there, standing less than a foot away. She reached out and touched the hand that hovered in front of her shirt. It was solid and warm. Fear and surprise mingled on his face.

"Neal?" So he finally made it to Tallahassee.

He squeezed the coffee-stained napkin in his fist and averted his gaze to the sidewalk. No doubt he didn't expect to toss coffee on his ex-girlfriend today. And, oh God, Henry was here with her. The kid's head motioned back and forth between them, trying to piece together what was going on.

"Fancy meeting you here," Neal said, though he didn't sound too pleased about it. He was looking everywhere except her. "Sorry about your shirt. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going."

If he had, chances were he would have run in the opposite direction.

"Clearly," she snapped coldly. Apparently, Regina had managed to rub off on her a tiny bit. Then another startling thought dawned on her. This couldn't be a coincidence. Emma didn't believe in coincidences. Neal and Bae in the same location. "Wait...You can't be him."

Alarm flowered over Neal's face.

"Can't be who?" Was he really clueless? Or was he playing dumb?

Henry swiveled to Emma, his eyes brimming with excitement. He didn't yet realize the full extent of what was going on here. Emma's mind supplied the details and her legs felt too weak to support her body.

"Do you think it's him?" Henry asked. He wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that they were on a mission. This was one big adventure for him, a fantastic quest bestowed on him by Rumpelstiltskin. Neal scratched his head.

"Who am I supposed to be exactly?"

Emma studied his face, picking out the similarities between Neal and Rumpel. Everything else might be explained away, but those eyes...How many nights had she spent in Storybrooke staring into those same fathomless brown eyes and she never made the connection? Bile rose in her throat.

"Are you...Baelfire?" Perplexity masked his face, but it was all too quickly followed by disgust and anger. He threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"Aw, hell no! Are you kidding me?" Neal's boot scraped the sidewalk, a couple of pebbles flung into the street. He was distant for a long moment, his hand rubbing his bearded jaw. The next time he glanced up at Emma, he had accusations hanging on his tongue. "Did my father send you to find me?"

That confirmed it, at least in her opinion. It made sense, even though the truth had not fully wrapped around her head yet. Neal was Baelfire. Rumpelstiltskin's son. The person she had a child with was...Oh, this was could not be happening.

"No, I came on my own to find you. It's a long story and we really don't have time for it," she said. She'd left the town vulnerable to Cora and Regina, with her husband reduced to a miserable, abusive jerk. Who knew what havoc mother and daughter were wreaking in her absence? Her plan was to find Bae and return to Storybrooke as soon as possible.

If only it were that easy.

"Actually, I have all the time in the world," he said, starting to pace up and down in front of her. This was probably awkward for him, too, but she was reeling from the news he hadn't heard yet. She had married Neal's father. Bae was Neal, his son. It gave her a pounding headache. "You know my father?"

Henry smiled up at the man who remained a stranger to him.

"Know him? She's kind of married to him," the kid announced. Emma felt the color drain away from her cheeks. Inevitably, Neal's expression mirrored her own-outrage and utter speechlessness.

"_What?!_" His jaw fell to the ground. Her mouth opened to explain, only to close without sound. "How the hell are you married to my _father_?"

"I didn't know he was your father! How was I supposed to figure that out? I haven't exactly taken the time to memorize your family tree and all possible aliases. You were always Neal to me," she shouted back, her voice breaking. Henry hung his head, realizing he made a mistake.

"I guess this is a bad time to mention she's pregnant," he said under his breath. Neal caught every word. He looked ready to pass out before he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes to block out the sight of Emma.

"This is a nightmare," he growled. _You've got that right, _Emma thought, only because her tongue was too numb to form words. Neal abruptly lowered his hands and glared at her. "I suppose you're going to tell me the kid is his, too? Why are you married to him?"

"Because I love him," she exclaimed. Neal's head whipped back as if she slapped him. Her heart thudded in her chest. "And I am the only one who is allowed to be angry here! You hurt me worse than anyone else and, yes, that includes your father."

Now Henry was at a loss. But Emma knew he was a smart kid. Given the time and resources, he would figure out their history and Neal's significance and be able to recite it as if he read it in a book. Neal took a few steps back from Emma and forced himself to calm down.

"Something tells me we need to have a long talk. There's a T.G.I. Friday's down the street," he said and began walking without waiting for her consent. Henry raced to catch up, satisfied enough by the T.G.I. Friday's invitation.

"That's it? You want to talk this out over lunch at T.G.I. Friday's?" A nice, awkward family outing. How great. Neal walked backwards, waving for her to tag along.

"This isn't a conversation I'd like to have on the street. And it's either T.G.I. Friday's or the closest bar. Since you're toting around a kid with you, I figured T.G.I. Friday's would be a better choice," he said, shrugging. Emma dragged her feet. "Don't worry. You can keep yelling at me while we walk."

...

T.G.I. Friday's was only a few blocks down the street, but it was the longest walk of Emma's life.

Her feet shuffled on the sidewalk and every step sapped her energy. She kept Henry between her and Neal. The kid was talking up a storm, asking Neal all sorts of questions about his life in the Enchanted Forest and having Rumpelstiltskin for a father.

A few glimpses here and there was all it took for Emma to register Neal's rigid facial structure, his jaw defiantly set, his eyes wandering into the distance. He answered Henry's questions as politely as he could, but Emma could tell he hated talking about his father. It was a sour relationship, indeed.

Emma did not talk to Neal. There were plenty of things she might have said-_you broke my heart_ or _by the way, Henry is your son_-but she kept her lips firmly sealed. Occasionally Henry would fall quiet and observe her and she knew he sensed the tension between her and Neal. This was supposed to be her...gulp...stepson. She was supposed to be welcoming him and getting to know him, not shutting him out.

She had to tell about his father very soon. It would be better if it came from her than Neal if and when he put the dots together. Right now, Neal was raging over the fact that she was married to his father, but soon he might realize that Henry's age fit the timeframe of when she was involved with him, two kids running on the streets.

How was she supposed to tell Henry that his father wasn't the hero she made him out to be? If she ever considered that this situation would unfold, she never would have told him such a grandiose tale. God, Neal _hated _pumpkin pie.

Should she sit Henry down, right here, and just explain it the best she could? What would he think if he knew that his mother, the savior, his hero and in all ways different from Regina, had lied to him? Emma stuffed her hands into her damp pockets and wrung her fingers together.

She had to tell him. The restaurant loomed into view. It was so close. Neal was reaching for the door...

"Here we are," he announced, though he did not sound particularly joyous. Emma decided now was her best chance and she laid a hand upon Henry's shoulder to stop him from rushing inside.

"Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Henry?" Henry tilted his head up questioningly at her. Neal rocked back on his heels, looking uncomfortable no matter how casual about the situation he tried to be.

"No problem. I'll get us a table," he said and headed inside without waiting for Emma's response. Emma escorted Henry away from the door. Her mind was already scrambling for explanations. She sat Henry down on a bench and knelt beside him. He scrunched his face in confusion as she struggled to form words. His patience was a blessing. _Please understand, _she thought.

"Henry, do you know who that man is?" She craned her head back toward the entrance door of T.G.I. Friday's. Neal's name stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Confidence glimmered brightly in Henry's eyes. Henry's brown eyes. _You're so much like both your fathers, _she mused.

"He's Rumpelstiltskin's son, isn't he? Baelfire?" Emma forced a smile, but it felt sad. It was simple for him-they had found Rumpel's son, mission accomplished. What more was there to it? She clasped his hand.

"Yes, he is," she confirmed. At least, Neal's reaction to the name Baelfire seemed genuine. What reason did he have to lie? _August did, _she remembered, but tossed that thought away. The last person she wanted to think about, besides Neal, was August. "Henry, I want you to understand that this isn't easy for me to say. It's a sensitive issue, very complicated. Neal may be Rumpelstiltskin's son, but...he's also your biological father."

Henry's hand curled over the edge of the bench, the knuckles turning white from the effort. The hand that was caught in her own slipped away, leaving her palm hopelessly empty. She could tell he did not yet understand what she was implying.

"But...I asked you about my dad once. You told me he was a firefighter and that you and he met while you were working in a diner. You told me he was dead," he exclaimed in protest. The guilt must have been written over her face. "You lied to me?"

The accusatory note in his voice stung. It was the same tone he used when talking about something horrible Regina had done. She never imagined it would be directed at her.

"I know I did, Henry," she lamented. Her voice was laced with regret and sorrow. "But you have to understand why I did it. I never had any intention of seeing Neal again and that's because he broke my heart. I never wanted you to know the truth because, Henry, he was the farthest thing from a hero. I wanted you to have hope. That part of my life wasn't pretty. The only good thing that came from it was _you_."

Henry was balancing on a tightrope, debating whether to believe her explanation or not. He softly chewed on his lip, thinking.

"And the pumpkin pie?" She hung her head.

"Neal hates pumpkin pie," Emma said. She gave him the time he needed to sort through his thoughts. An array of emotions played out on his face: disbelief, anger, confusion, sadness. Every single one took a knife to her heart. All she wanted to do was protect him.

"I don't like how you lied to me. You should have trusted me with the truth. Regina never trusted me with anything." That was the part she had been dreading most. Being compared to Regina, the Evil Queen. Before this, Emma and Regina had been on opposite sides of the spectrum in Henry's mind. Now, they seemed to be merging.

"I know. I'm sorry, Henry," she apologized profusely. "I trust you. I do. It's _him _I don't trust. I never wanted to give him the chance to hurt you." Henry nodded, though his frown stayed on his lips.

"Thanks for telling me now," he relented. A new realization bloomed in his mind, the spark dancing in his eyes. "So, Baelfire is my father...and you married his father?" Emma wove her fingers together.

"As I said, it's complicated."

She didn't even know how Rumpelstiltskin would react to the news when he awoke from his false persona. They had found Bae, who happened to be Henry's father. No doubt Rumpelstiltskin would be ashamed or insecure about having her as his wife. Would he suggest they sever the marriage, as a way to salvage his relationship with Bae? Or would he assume that suggestion would come from her? It was a horrible mess, but when she pictured her husband's face, she found that her love for him had not waned by a degree.

"What does that mean for Rumpelstiltskin?" Henry continued. "I still kind of want him to be my dad. And I don't want to hurt him by telling him he's not my dad." Her heart chipped. There were very few people who loved Rumpelstiltskin, but Henry was undoubtedly one of them.

"Oh, Henry," she sighed. "If you still want to look at Rumpelstiltskin as your father, you have every right to do so. I know you've grown to love him, just as I have." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and then stood. Her knees were cramping from kneeling for so long. "Are you okay with this?"

Henry nodded and jumped to his feet, slinging his backpack more comfortably over his shoulders.

"I'm okay," he assured her. "Can we go in? I'm hungry. And you might need this." He handed her the backpack. Oh, right...the coffee. It was a good thing she had packed a change of clothes.

...

Emma paced the length of the bathroom. The dial tone buzzed in her ear when all she wanted to hear was her mother's voice. Finally, the call went through.

"Emma?" Why did her mother always sound so frantic over the phone? Just because she called didn't mean it was a life-threatening emergency. Though, this did qualify as an emergency.

"I'm fine. No need to whip out the arrows. Well, actually...it depends on your definition of _fine_." Emma bent over the white sink and glared at her reflection. The coffee problem was solved, but she still looked tired and stressed out. After this hectic week, she might even sprout wrinkles around her eyes and gray hairs.

"Emma, what's going on? Did you find Rumpelstiltskin's son?" Emma's fingers tightened over the edge of the sink. How was she going to explain this one?

"Yeah, I found him. There's just one problem. Baelfire...is the same guy I got involved with ten years ago. He's Henry's father." Let that one stew in her mother's mind for a little bit. Was her mother even breathing? Emma yanked the phone away from her ear to check that the call hadn't dropped. Nope, she was still there.

"Wait, what?" Ah, Snow was alive after all. "He's Rumpelstiltskin's son and Henry's father...and you're married to Rumpelstiltskin..." Her voice trailed off.

"Hurts your head, doesn't it?" She didn't want to know what Emma really felt like. Medicine would be a heavenly gift for her headache at the moment. She started pacing restlessly again. "It's not like I knew Henry's father was his son! What am I supposed to do, Mom?"

She was suddenly transformed into the mindset of a troubled teenage girl unlucky in love and in despaerate need of her mother's advice.

"You called me Mom," Snow crooned. Emma rolled her eyes. So the title had slipped out. She had been considering using it for a while, but never thought it was the right time.

"Focus. What do I do?" She could almost hear Snow thinking on the other end of the line. Snow White was the epitome of goodness. If anyone knew what was right, it was her.

"Okay, let's start with this: do you love Rumpelstiltskin? Don't overthink it, Emma. What does your heart tell you?"

Emma tried not to overthink it, but being told not to do it was making her do it. Clearing her head, she summoned up a mental image of Rumpelstiltskin. Her husband. Immediately, there was an overwhelming sensation of affection and longing.

"Yes. I love him," she said without a doubt.

"And what about Henry's father? What do you feel for him?"

Emma reluctantly replaced Rumpel's image with one of Neal. The affection faded. The only thing she felt in terms of Neal was hurt and anger. She hadn't forgiven him for setting her up to go to jail. He'd broken her heart and that sort of emotional wound seldom healed. There were usually scars left behind.

"I'm angry at him, even after all these years. The way he hurt me was too great to pick up our relationship. I don't think I could ever be happy with him again. Not like I am with Rumpelstiltskin. Is that wrong? I don't want to think I belong to Neal-"

"Emma, you do not belong to anyone. You are an independent woman and only you can make this decision," her mother interrupted. There was a heavy release of breath in her ear. "My advice for you is this: follow your heart. This situation will be sticky no matter which way you look at it. Be happy."

"Really? That's all you have for me? Follow my heart? Is Henry tutoring you in the history of Disney?" Her mother stifled a giggle.

"Sometimes, Disney has it right," Snow replied. "Just do what you think is best for you and Henry. And come home soon. I hate the thought of you being so far away, where I can't reach you."

A smile tugged at the corners of Emma's lips.

"What's going on over there? Please give me a shred of good news to balance out the awkwardness," she requested. Hopefully, Cora and Regina hadn't ravaged the town.

There was a hollow _thunk _in the background. Oh, God, her mother wasn't practicing throwing knives at apples again, was she? Snow never missed her mark, but that didn't mean the apple and knife didn't keep flying. Emma only hoped Charming hadn't agreed to place an apple on his head.

"I had lunch with Belle. Your husband came over to our table and apologized to Belle for the way he acted at the hospital. That's progress, right?" Emma took that as a good sign. "I have to go, Emma. Your father is calling me and if we practice that three-way call, he might hop on a horse and charge out of Storybrooke in pursuit of you."

Sadly, Emma pictured that sceanrio quite clearly.

"You mean, you two aren't sewn at the hip?" She teased. Snow gasped, followed by another _thunk. _That was definitely an apple.

"We are not sewn at the hip! There are plenty of things we do alone." Emma raised her eyebrows at her mother's defensive tone.

"Oh, really? Like what?" She had a feeling that would be a very short list.

"Well..." The seconds ticked by. _I'm waiting, _Emma thought. "We take separate showers."That was not what Emma was expecting. That was it?

"Nice to know," she said sardonically. They said their quick goodbyes and hung up. Emma studied her reflection again and ran her fingers through her messy hair, hoping to fix some of the knots underneath. She splashed water on her face to cool her cheeks and braced herself for the tension that was to come over lunch.

_Follow your heart, _her mother advised. If only it were easy to decipher what her heart was telling her in the first place. Oftentimes, it seemed the heart had a language all its own.

...

The waitress brought over three cups: a coffee, a Shirley Temple, and a hot chocolate. Emma wasn't back from the bathroom yet, but Neal hoped she still enjoyed hot chocolate with a pinch of cinnamon. Supposedly, she took it that way ever since her first foster home. Neal sipped his coffee and burned his tongue.

His mind was jumbled, all because of Emma's unexpected reappearance in his life. He never thought he would see her again. Any hatred she harbored for him was well justified, in his mind.

But he never imagined in his worst nightmares that his ex-girlfriend would end up married to his father, of all people. That technically made her his stepmother! And she was carrying his father's child, too! That meant they...ugh, he couldn't even finish that thought. What the hell did she even see in him?

Now here she was, in Tallahassee, out of the blue...with some kid in tow...

Neal paused to survey Henry across the table. The kid was thirstily inhaling a virgin Shirley Temple, like he never had one before. By Neal's estimation, Henry was around ten. Ten years, maybe a little older. That was awfully close to the last time he'd seen Emma. She definitely didn't marry his father that young. So then who did Henry belong to?

Unless...

"Hey, kid. How old are you?" He had to know for sure. Henry glanced up and popped a bright red cherry into his mouth.

"Eleven," he answered and spit out the pit of the cherry into his napkin.

A stone settled into the bottom of Neal's stomach. That lined up perfectly with the time he had been with Emma. It had been ten years since they parted ways. Ten years, combined with nine months it took a baby to grow and be born. There was no way Emma had met his father before serving her sentence in jail. Eleven months had been her sentence. It meant she must have birthed Henry while in jail.

Which meant...

"To save you the trouble of figuring it out, I'm your son," Henry concluded aloud. Neal felt a cold sweat mask his forehead. Henry was his son. Not Rumpelstiltskin's. The surprises would not stop coming. "I know I was born in jail. And I know something bad happened between you and my mom. Does that mean you were the one who put her there?"

The kid was smart. Neal wondered if he even inherited Rumpelstiltskin's level of intelligence. That could either prove to be a good thing or a bad thing. It meant the kid hardly missed a thing.

"Yeah, I am," Neal said regretfully. It was possibly one of the worst mistakes he had ever made. Henry certainly looked disappointed, his eyes returning to his Shirley Temple. "I'm sorry for what I did to your mom. Not a day goes by that I haven't thought of her. The reason I did it was because a guy named August said I was getting in the way of her destiny."

Recognition lit up Henry's face.

"August? You took orders from Pinocchio?" Henry made it sound ridiculous. Neal leaned back in his seat.

"That guy was Pinocchio?" It wasn't the Pinocchio he knew from this world's animated movies. This Pinocchio rode a motorcycle. For a guy who was crafted out of wood once, he ran fast. "Did Emma ever break the curse?" That was part of August's tale, that Emma was a savior who would ultimately break a powerful curse.

"Yeah, she did," Henry stated, smiling proudly. He had it pretty lucky. His mom was a hero and a princess by birth. The daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, if Henry told it right. If Neal knew back then that she came from _over there, _he never would have touched her. "Oh, here she comes."

Right on cue, Emma slid into the booth beside Henry. She tossed the backpack under the table, where it landed on Neal's shoe. Her new clothes were coffee-free. She wrapped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, but she didn't drink it. Was it because she no longer trusted him? He had gotten to know Emma very well all those years ago and he recognized when her guard was up. The wall in her head was so high, it would take several tall ladders just to peer over it.

"Before you start yelling, I want you to know that I am sorry for what I did to you all those years ago, Emma. If I could go back and change it, I would," Neal said. Emma stiffened in her seat. She looked like she had multiple things she wanted to say, none of them nice, but she bit her tongue. Neal suspected she would not hold back if Henry weren't here.

"Duly noted," she replied coldly. Neal got the message: she accepted the fact that he was sorry, but she did not forgive him for it. Neal couldn't blame her. "Right now, we need to talk about your father."

Even if he wasn't physically here, Rumpelstiltskin's influence hung over their table like an ominous black cloud. The last person Neal wanted to discuss was his father. But he was the reason Emma was here in Tallahassee, so he figured he should hear her out.

"How exactly did you end up marrying him?"

He didn't mean to sound rude, but the idea of Emma and his father bound together in holy matrimony rubbed him the wrong way. He would call her bluff if she claimed they took things slowly and fell madly in love. Yeah, right. His father was not the romantic type, at least not that he ever saw.

"I..." Emma hesitated. He wasn't going to like this story, was he? "I married him one night while I was drunk." Oh, it was worse than he thought.

"That explains it," he muttered. The only question left was why Emma had agreed to stay with Rumpelstiltskin for so long and even bear his child. Had he blackmailed her? Held a severe debt over her head? Seduced her?

"Your father is a better man than you give him credit for," Emma argued. Neal made a snide noise in the back of his throat.

"Forgive me if I don't agree with you," he returned without missing a beat. Henry looked disheartened by Neal's resentment of his father. Emma simply looked pissed off. Neal remained firm on the subject; nothing she said about his father would sway him.

Miraculously, Emma let it go for the moment. There were more pressing issues at hand, judging by the way she massaged her temples.

"Look, your father is in trouble," she said. Neal tapped his fingers on the rim of his coffee mug and snickered without humor.

"I seriously doubt that." Emma was at the end of her rope. He knew from experience that her temper was a force to be reckoned with. That was back when he knew her. What was she like now after years of hating his memory? He would bet all the money in his pocket-a five and a couple of ones-that she could throw a killer punch.

"Why?" Henry was the one to ask.

"Because there is very little my father cannot handle. Somehow, he always finds his way out of tight situations. He has a sense of self-preservation that could outlast immortals. The only thing that could possibly stump him is death." Neal saw the uncertainty and hurt flicker through Emma's emerald eyes. He frowned. "Emma, is he...?"

"No," she cut him off. Nonetheless, there was something she wasn't telling him. "He's not dead, but he may as well be."

Then she told him everything. She told him about Storybrooke and the breaking of the curse. She told him how his father brought magic to this land, supposedly to find him. She told him what happened if someone crossed the border...and how his father fell over the border after being shot.

"Let me see if I understand this. My father lost his memory, replaced with a false persona that by your definition is worse than he is, and your theory is that I can restore him to his real self?"

He had his doubts. Love was said to be the strongest magic and Neal held little love for his father. If Emma loved Rumpelstiltskin as dearly as she claimed, she should be able to bring him back. If it didn't work, then maybe his father was gone for good.

Neal didn't think the world would mourn the loss.

"I've tried everything I can think of to bring him back. Nothing's worked. You have to come with us to Storybrooke," she said.

"Please," Henry added for good measure.

Neal's gaze wandered to the bustling crowds of people inside the restaurant. There were couples laughing and enjoying one another's company, there were families of four living in their own little world, there were normal people here. People that did not believe magic truly existed beyond fairy tales and the occasional classic Disney movie. The idea of returning with Emma and Henry to Storybrooke, willingly walking back into the fire and dealing with his father, did not provide any heartwarming feelings.

"I wouldn't complain if I never saw my father again," he said rather harshly. Emma's hands trembled around the handle of her mug. "Not after what he did to me."

"He's been trying for centuries to find you," she said. Neal scoffed. That didn't prove that his father was a better man than the last time Neal saw him. The fact that his father still leaned on his crutch of magic said the exact opposite. He never changed.

"And I'm sure he's ruined countless lives to ensure that," Neal retorted. "That's what my father does. He's selfish, Emma. When he wants something, nothing in the world can stop him from getting it. That's why I'm not going with you. I refuse to be handled like a piece of property in the hands of my father. If you were smart, you'd take your kid and do the same."

Emma looked to be inches from throwing her hot chocolate in his face. He could have sworn he even saw the mug lift an inch from the table. Henry stared into his empty glass, crestfallen. Neal softened a bit upon the reminder that this kid was a product of the love he once shared with Emma.

"Emma, if you want to stay in Tallahassee..." _With me, _he was about to add. It was once her dream. But he realized that dream had long since evaporated.

"Don't," she hissed. Every muscle in her body had hardened, her heart unattainable. "Despite what you think, Neal, I'm not stuck. What I have with Rumpelstiltskin is one of the best things I've ever had, save for Henry. I love him and I'm going to keep fighting for him, even if you've already run from that battle."

Neal cringed. He knew she probably didn't intend that underlying meaning, but her last words made him think of his father's bad leg and how he had run from battle right before he was born. From then on, the entire village labeled him a coward until he gained the power of the Dark One.

He wondered if his father still had the scar that sealed his brand of cowardice.

"I know that there's bad blood between you and your father. You have every right to resent him for what happened. But if you ignore the chance to see him, you may never know how much he regrets what he did. All I'm asking is that you give him one chance. And if it doesn't work, then nothing's stopping you from walking away."

Neal drummed his fingers again. Either way, he knew he would be going to Storybrooke. For Henry, not his father. If he ignored Henry, he would be no better than his father or his mother. It was time to break that cycle of abandonment.

At last, he sighed.

"Alright. One chance. And if I don't buy it, it's over. I'll have nothing to do with him," Neal said. Emma nodded agreeably. It was settled. They would leave for Storybrooke as soon as possible.

Just then, Emma's cell phone chirped in her pocket. Neal watched her dig it out and check the screen. He could tell, before she even answered it, that it was bad news. He had never heard of Cora.

...

_**Originally I was going to have Emma stick with the story that she gave Gold on their honeymoon concerning Henry's father (not Neal) but talking to my muse and a few reviews changed my mind. For the record, there will be no triangle between Emma, Neal, and Rumpel. I'm planning to set him up with someone else eventually. I have an idea about who it will be, but feel free to give your theories. **_

_**As always, I would like to thank all those that have reviewed recently: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, GuestRoom, liliesandroses, Don't Open the Door, sbcarri, discotimelord, orthankg1, Mona, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, BrittanyMarie, and SwanQueen4055. If I don't get a chance to update another chapter this week, I'd like to wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy some turkey and family time. **_


	70. Chapter 70

There was a reason Snow White truly valued the existence of Granny's Diner besides the fact that it was a hot spot for meals. No matter what issue or threat hung over Storybrooke, the diner never changed. It was a kind of sanctuary for the town citizens, immune to the problems whipping past the windows outside. The diner's atmosphere was forever inviting, offering to slip those burdens off her shoulders like a jacket the minute she stepped foot over the threshold. The hamburgers sizzled, the coffee streamed into mugs, people enjoyed the company of others.

Snow felt at peace here.

Charming handled the station and patrolled the town for Cora and Regina. She would have liked to work alongside him, but he practically shoved her out the door, insisting she deserved a period of relaxation. It was hard to relax when her only daughter was in Florida, a world away, chasing after her husband's lost son in hopes of restoring his memory.

But she promised Charming that she would try to calm down, so here she was. Snow deeply inhaled and exhaled, forcing all troubling thoughts to scurry into the crevices of her mind.

In one of the corner booths, Belle was reading a book. Though, even from where she was standing, Snow thought Belle was conentrating on it awfully hard. Never had she seen Belle distracted from reading a book before, but there were moments when the girl failed to keep her eyes on the page, instead letting them wander aimlessly. It wasn't like her.

_Poor girl, _Snow thought with a sudden rush of sympathy. _Here I am worrying about my daughter when she's lost her true love. Just because she's not with Rumpel romantically doesn't mean she stopped caring. It must be hard for her, too. _

Before she was even aware of commanding her legs to move, Snow's feet carried her over the tiled floor and directly to Belle's table. Perhaps they both could use some relaxation and pleasurable company.

"Belle," Snow greeted warmly. The girl looked up from her book and immediately put on a friendly smile, though her eyes did not seem as bright that day. It meant something was bothering her. "How are you holding up?"

Belle set aside the book and invited Snow to sit down. Snow slid into the booth, across from Belle.

"I'm fine," Belle said. Already her smile was struggling to maintain its position on her lips, drooping. Snow rested her arms on the tabletop and offered Belle a knowing look. Her motherly instincts did not have to apply to her daughter alone.

"Really?" Snow tapped the book. "Because the way you were staring at those pages, I'm surprised you didn't burn a hole through them. You need to talk?" Belle folded her hands in her lap. Her shoulders slumped. The facade had crumbled.

"Is it that obvious?"

She released a weak laugh. Snow leaned closer, telling Belle that she was here to listen. Belle's blue eyes glimmered and she drew in a sharp breath. Sadness and longing rippled over her delicate features.

"I miss Rumpelstiltskin," she admitted. "How can I not? I had grown a little attached to him after living in his castle for months on end. Enough to fall in love, actually. I can't even imagine how Emma must feel, having lost her husband. I'm angry at the pirate for hurting him so cruelly, I'm worried about whether Emma will be able to find a way to bring Rumpel back to us, I'm confused because this false side of him clearly has feelings for me and kissed me in front of Emma, I'm nervous about my friendship with Emma because he kissed me in front of her, and I'm also holding out hope that his story won't end here. If I feel any other emotions on top of that, I think I may self-destruct."

Snow handed Belle a napkin to dry her eyes. A few tears had slipped over her cheeks while she was explaining her wild array of emotions.

"Losing someone you love is never an easy burden to bear. Even more so when it's your true love," Snow said understandably. She had once suffered a broken heart and drank a potion to erase her memories of Charming because it hurt so much. She watched Belle closely. The girl was conflicted with her next answer, her fingers strangling the napkin in her hand.

"Jefferson told me that Emma isn't upset over what happened at the hospital, but I'd still like to discuss it with her myself. I'm not the jealous type, Snow. I respect the fact that Rumpel chose her over me, even if we are true loves. All I want is for him to be happy. I can live with that," she said softly. Snow admired Belle for her constant courage and integrity. She never put herself first, even when an entire world of suffering rested on her shoulders as a result.

"And are _you _happy?" Belle glanced down at the napkin that was caught in her palm. Snow caught a glimpse of a small smile playing across the girl's lips. She seemed lost in thought for a good while, reminiscing silently.

"I am," she confirmed confidently. "I've learned that happiness exists in many forms. The way that I'm happy with Jefferson and Grace is far different from the way I was happy with Rumpelstiltskin, but in a good way. Despite Jefferson's fears, I never think of Rumpelstiltskin when I'm with him. I think...I'm beginning to love him as dearly as I ever loved Rumpel."

Snow was glad to hear it. Even before the curse set, it was difficult finding a happy ending. Snow nearly had hers within reach and had it ripped from under her feet by Regina. Belle could never be with her true love, but she was being given a second chance at happiness. That sort of gift was priceless.

"Supposedly, everyone has a true love," Snow said, leaning back in her seat. "Just one, the single missing piece to the puzzle. It's sort of a limited concept, don't you think? So many things can happen to separate two people that are meant to be together. I've always held hope that what will be will be, but I also think there's plenty of other ways to love someone besides true love. Just look at Emma and Henry. The love of a mother to a child is just as powerful as the love shared between two people destined to be together. I've always hoped that there was a second chance of happiness if the first time didn't work out as planned."

Belle nodded in agreement.

"Well said, Miss Blanchard," a velvety voice interrupted their discussion. Snow's head shot up to find Gold approaching their table. It startled her to the point where her spine straightened stiffly against the back of her seat. Belle's cheeks grew rosy as Gold's brown eyes devoured her like a luxurious evening meal. "Always a pleasure to see you, Lacey."

_She's not Lacey, _Snow wanted so desperately to say, but she felt suddenly closed off from their world, on the outside looking in.

His hand darted forward to capture Belle's hand-the one that still trapped the napkin-and he brought it to his lips, giving it a kiss that was longer than appropriate. Snow squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with the sight of Emma's husband openly displaying affection for Belle, even if Belle was his true love. Belle gently pulled her hand away, shamed and obviously excited at the same time.

"What is it you want, Gold?" Snow snapped harsher than she intended. It was enough to direct his focus away from Belle, his gaze growing formidably cold as it settled upon her. A smug look crossed his face.

"My, look who's finally showing a bit of backbone," he ridiculed her. "Who are you and what have you done with the Mary Margaret Blanchard everyone in this town knows and pities? You know, the one who would foolishly fall to kiss Regina's boot if she commanded it."

The mockery lacing his words rubbed Snow the wrong way. Twice during his spiel she glanced at the fork that was innocently waiting on a white napkin by her hand. The thought of swearing fealty to Regina made her stomach roll endlessly. She would rather cut her own tongue out and never confess a word of love again than to drop to her knees in front of her enemy. Not after all the suffering Regina had caused.

This version of Gold didn't even realize how wicked that woman truly was. To him, she was a big bully in Prada heels hiding behind a fancy desk in Storybrooke's Town Hall.

"Sn...Mary Margaret," Belle whispered in warning. Snow hadn't even realized that her hand inched toward the fork. Gold chuckled darkly, drumming his fingers atop the gold head of his cane.

"Settle down, Miss Blanchard. I wield words, not weapons. It wouldn't exactly be a fair fight, would it?" Snow bit her tongue. That cane was a greater weapon than a fork could ever hope to be. His expression turned gravely serious. "To answer your question, I am here solely for Lacey. No need to panic; I'm not here to steal her away from you on a gallant white horse. I am merely here to apologize for my behavior at the hospital. Looking back, I admit that I was not thinking as clearly as I should have and I acted on impulse. Forgive me if it frightened you."

This last bit he spoke directly to Belle. The sincerity in his voice and eyes was hard for Snow to dismiss. But then she also knew that this version of Gold was similar to the Rumpelstiltskin she knew well and that he was capable of donning masks from time to time. The last thing she wanted was for Belle to get hurt, emotionally if not physically.

"You didn't scare me," Belle replied calmly. Snow suspected that nothing about Rumpelstiltskin would ever scare her off, much like Emma. They both had the power to see sides of Rumpel that were off-limits to others. "You just...took me by surprise. I accept your apology."

Gold dipped his head gratefully. He started to turn away, but then snapped his fingers. For a second Snow held her breath, fearful that this false verison of Rumpelstiltskin had discovered magic. But, no, nothing came of it.

"Ah, before I forget. I wanted you to have this," he said abruptly, slipping a hand into his suit. He revealed a long-stemmed red rose, slightly wilted from being pressed to his chest inside the suit. He handed it to Belle, who accepted it hesitantly. "Consider it a symbol of the love I harbor for you. You've always fancied roses."

"Thank you," Belle said politely before he left their company.

He did not stay, instead heading straight out the door. Red must have been eavesdropping on the whole scene, for she rushed over quickly with a small vase of water for the rose. Belle dropped the rose into the vase and stared at it solemnly.

"So..." Red lingered by the edge of their table, eyeing Belle with a mixture of disapproval and a thirst for gossip. "Please don't tell me that you two are...that you're thinking of..." Red thrust her pelvis once or twice to get her meaning across. Snow gasped and Belle paled of all color.

"No, of course not! He isn't Rumpelstiltskin and even if he was, I could never do that to Emma," Belle protested passionately. Red sighed contently. She had tossed daggers into Gold's back with her eyes as he left. She didn't trust him one bit. "But I think the rose is a good sign. Maybe there's pieces of him still in there, begging to be saved."

Red snorted.

"Let's hope Emma saves him soon. I'm surprised that man could even walk out that door after talking with you, Belle. Or shall I say, _Lacey_?" Red's eyes rolled downwards to indicate what she meant. Both Snow and Belle were appalled. "What? Like you two didn't notice."

...

Belle and Snow left the diner in better spirits. Their afternoon lunches together meant a great deal to them both. Those lunches offered a type of solace and comfort their beloveds could never give them. Belle said her goodbyes to Snow with a gentle hug and watched on as Snow answered her ringing phone. Most likely, it was Emma checking in from Tallahassee. The worried tone of Snow's voice verified it.

Belle started to stroll down the street with her book by her side and the rose caught between her fingers. She brought it to her nose and savored its pungent aroma again.

This thorny situation with Rumpel's false personality boggled her mind. It was more trivial than the hardest level of Sudoku. Old feelings of longing for Rumpelstiltskin stirred deep inside her, but she shoved them back down. He was Emma's husband, not hers.

How was she even going to explain the rose to Jefferson? He was insecure about Gold's desire for her as it was.

She released a built-up breath over the petals, making them flutter. _Hopefully Emma will be able to find Bae. If she can bring back Rumpelstiltskin, then everything can go back to the way it was. No more Lacey, _she thought demurely, floating past Modern Fashions and the clock shop.

"Oh, how sweet," an icy sneer broke the silence from directly in front of her. Belle's grip on the stem of the rose clenched tight until it bent at an odd angle, the sap oozing between her fingers. Her head lifted and her eyes widened once she discovered who the voice belonged to. Regina. "It seems some little princess has an admirer. What would Emma say if she knew you were digging your hooks into her husband while she was away? _Tsk, tsk, tsk._" Regina clucked her tongue reprovingly.

Belle wasted no time with Regina's foul mind games. She spun on her heel, aiming for the alleyway alongside the clock shop, but her path was blocked by another menacing figure. Regina's mother, Cora, for who else would ally herself with the Evil Queen?

"I don't think so," Cora sang. A disturbingly wide smile was plastered on her face.

Before Belle could plan her next move, Cora's hand thrust forward and Belle's body soared backwards into the brick wall of the clock shop. The rose and the book fell to her feet, hopelessly forgotten. Invisible chains of magic bound Belle's arms and feet to the brick wall, rendering her vulnerable to whatever the mother-daughter duo intended to do. Belle opened her mouth to scream, but Regina lifted her hand threateningly.

"Don't make me steal that pretty voice of yours. It wouldn't be the first time I did it," she warned, her eyes gleaming like two obsidian orbs. They flanked Belle on either side, wearing matching grins and shades of midnight. Black was the only color dancing in Belle's vision.

"Would you care to do the honors, Regina?" Cora beckoned her daughter with a generous sweeping gesture. Belle refused to show fear in front of someone like Regina, even when she took a step closer.

"My pleasure," Regina responded.

To Belle's internal horror, Regina peeled her sleeve away from her wrist and removed her glove to expose her spidery fingers. Perfect for burying into someone's chest and grappling for their heart. Belle swallowed nervously, but did not bat an eye when Regina studied her with revulsion.

"Now, dear, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It'll be your choice to make. If you tell us what we want to know, then I promise we will let you go. No harm done."

Belle ground her teeth together behind her lips. Whereas Rumpelstiltskin always abided by his word, Regina's promises were always empty. This had something to do with Rumpelstiltskin or Emma, she knew, but she would rather die right then and there than to give them over to these two psychopaths.

However, it didn't stop Belle from finding out all she could about their purpose for holding her hostage this way. Knowledge was just as powerful as magic.

"And what is it you want to know, Regina?" She hated the way her voice trembled when she spoke. Regina translated it as fear and smirked, lapping it up like a leech sucking blood.

"Rumpelstiltskin's dagger," Cora answered. Belle fought to keep her face neutral. Show no recognition. It took all her efforts not to strain against whatever powerful magic was holding her down. "The one magical item that forever binds his magic. Where is it?"

Cora decided to tack on a smile for good measure. It was unsettling and made Belle trust her even less.

Belle forced the image of Rumpelstiltskin's dagger from her mind. The jagged edge of the blade, stained with centuries of spilt blood, the thick engraving of his name across the silver, the way it seemed to hum with power as she held it in her hand...She kept her mind busy from it. If they knew she knew about the dagger's location, they were likely to torture her for the answer. Belle recited her ABC's, counted up to ten, anything to keep from thinking about the information they desperately wanted.

"I wouldn't know," she finally uttered. Regina narrowed her eyes. "Rumpelstiltskin trusts very few people in Storybrooke. He certainly never trusted _me _with it. After all, as you say, it's the key to his power. Why would he give anyone control over him?"

Cora tilted her head back to examine Belle curiously. Belle began to hope that she agreed with some of what she said. It wasn't technically a pack of lies: Rumpelstiltskin was incredibly picky about who he trusted with his life, having narrowed it down to only Emma and Belle, and he vowed never to let anyone have control over his power as the Dark One.

And yet, Regina smelled a rat.

"She's lying," she hissed and flicked her palm in Belle's direction.

Immediately, a wave of unexplainable agony surged through every muscle in Belle's body. It seemed to drill into her bones and contract through her heart. Her back arched against the wall, her head rolling across the bricks, and her tongue more than once nearly getting bitten off in her attempt to staunch the pain. She might have screamed, but there was too much blood rushing in Belle's ears to hear it. To escape the pain, she fled inside her mind, calling up happier memories to help her ward off the agony, but what her mind provided did not comfort her.

...

_Belle adored Rumpelstiltskin's pawnshop. It might even be one of her favorite places in Storybrooke. Often, she would use any excuse to visit it, and not just because of its owner. There were so many marvelous wonders inside-she hadn't yet discovered them all. She liked to think each item, no matter how big or small, had a unique story and she always asked Rumpel about them when she visited. _

_ Today, there was little time to peruse the wonders of his shop. Rumpel had called the library and requested her presence immediately. She had been loading new books on the shelves in anticipation of the library's opening, but he sounded so urgent over the phone that she didn't think twice before donning her coat and rushing out into the street. _

_ When she arrived, he was waiting for her behind the front counter. There was a book on the counter and it looked like he was trying to distract his mind while waiting. His eyes lit up when she strolled in, but everything else about him was tense. Worry began to gnaw at her nerves, the short hairs on the nape of her neck rising. _

_ "Belle," he greeted, saying her name as he always did: softly, silkily, desperately, a verbal kiss. She approached the counter and noticed a mysterious bundle not two inches from his pianist fingers. It was impossible to tell what the object was since it was wrapped in a gray cloth. _

_ "What's happened? You sounded upset over the phone," she lightly prodded. His forehead sported lines of uncertainty, the skin around his eyes creasing in the same manner. His fingers teased a loose string of thread hanging from the gray cloth. _

_ Gently, he reached over the counter for her small hand. It felt like he was holding on for dear life. She clasped her other hand over his, silently encouraging him along. _

_ "You are one of the few people in this town I can trust with my life. For that reason, I wish to show you something special." _

_ Taking his hand back, he carefully unfolded the gray cloth to reveal its contents. Inside the nest of fabric was a dagger. Immediately, Belle could tell it belonged to their world, the Enchanted Forest. _

_ This was tempered steel. The handle was carved with elaborate designs, the nicks and ridges a testament to the skillful handiwork put into forging it. The blade looked smooth and glinted magnificently in the shaft of sunlight drifting through the shop. The edge of the blade was shaped in a wavy pattern and Belle was tempted to trace a finger along the curves. She started to, but hesitated, not entirely sure if Rumpel desired for her to touch it. Already she could sense the magic radiating from it. _

_ Rumpel waved his hand over the dagger, granting her permission to examine it any way she wished. Unable to resist her curiosity, Belle gingerly picked up the dagger. She didn't notice how Rumpel cringed or his shoulders hunched tighter from the shift in ownership of the dagger. _

_ Turning over the blade, her heart skipped a beat. Inscribed in the blade was Rumpelstiltskin's name. She doubted it was simply a brand of ownership. She ran the pad of her finger over the bold black lettering and looked to him for an explanation. _

_ "There has been a long line of Dark Ones in our world, Belle. Even I do not know how the curse originated or when. This dagger has followed each host. Its sole purpose is to bind the Dark One's magic and the host's soul for as long as he lives to serve the curse. It is the only object that can ever control my power. It is also the only object that can kill me, so long as another takes my place as the new Dark One." _

_ A forbidding chill crept across Belle's skin. Suddenly, she did not like the way the dagger felt in her hands. She began to question Rumpelstiltskin's purpose for bringing her here. _

_ "Rumpel, I can't-" _

_ She tried to give the dagger back to him, but he pushed it back into her hands. This would not bring anyone happiness, except for those in town that deemed Rumpel's power dangerous. Did he think he deserved to be controlled? Enslaved by the woman he once imprisoned in his castle? Or was he asking her to..._

_ "Don't worry, Belle. I'm not asking you to make me your slave, nor am I wishing for death at your hands. I've seen a previous Dark One being controlled before and it is not a fate I would choose for myself. And I would rather live forever in this ancient, cursed form than to bestow that dark curse upon someone as sweet as you. It only brings misery and loneliness. All I'm asking is that you hide it for safekeeping. There may be some unpleasant people coming to Storybrooke and I refuse to take the chance of them finding the dagger." _

_ The weight of his request crashed over Belle's head. This was no small favor. He trusted her enough to handle one of his most precious items, one that would allow the possessor to take full control of his entire being. _

_ She handled the dagger with utmost care, tucking it away inside her jacket. _

_ "I'll hide it somewhere clever, somewhere it can never be found by anyone else," she promised. _

_ "I know you will," he said, smiling with relief. Briefly, he touched her pink cheek and she turned her head away, breaking the connection. It was no mystery that he loved Emma with all his heart, but his love for Belle was too strong to ever fade completely. He sensed his mistake and dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. It's just...you still mean so much to me, Belle. If not my true love, then my dearest friend." _

_ Belle's heart crumbled in spite of the way she was trying not to linger on her old feelings for Rumpelstiltskin. As a friend, she walked around the counter and embraced him affectionately. To comfort him, nothing else. _

_ "Does Emma know about the dagger?" She still felt the mystical dagger pressing against her side underneath her jacket. Rumpel inclined his head. _

_ "I told her about it last night. Our marriage would be rather empty if I didn't trust my wife with my deepest secrets. At first, I considered asking her to hide it, but..." His words caught in his throat. Belle recognized the struggle on his face, the inner thoughts of his mind closed off to her. _

_ "But you did not want to risk putting her in danger," she finished the thought on her own. "If your enemies learned that she knew of the dagger's location, they would do anything they could to get it out of her. You didn't want to submit her to that torture. So you asked me instead." _

_ Even though she understood the risk she was taking by hiding the dagger, it did not sway her determination. This meant so much to Rumpel, even so far as preserving his life, and she would gladly do it for him. _

_ Rumpel nodded solemnly. The pained expression on his face sent another ripple of sadness though her._

_ "I'm so sorry, Belle. I know I'm asking a great deal from you, and I can never repay that favor. But there is no one else I trust. And I cannot lose Emma," he cried out, his accent thicker in his despair. She rested a hand on his shoulder. _

_ "There's no need to apologize for protecting the ones you love. I understand. I will hide the dagger for you. Everything will turn out alright." She squeezed his shoulder for added comfort and he nodded in agreement. He offered her a cup of tea and she accepted. She always enjoyed the tea Rumpel made. _

_ "Tell Jefferson he's free to join me for tea," Rumpel called to her back as she left the shop. She smiled, knowing it was his way of asking her to help ease his loneliness. It had been a while since he and Jefferson got together for a chat. Just as she needed Snow and Emma to talk to over afternoon lunches, so he needed someone he could relate to beyond his immediate family. _

_ Belle patted the spot where the dagger rested under her clothes. Already she had a spot picked out for it. It would be clever, indeed. She would hide it in plain sight, in a spot that everyone looked over from day to day. No one would ever realize its existence. _

_ She would hide it in the heart of Storybrooke, in the clock tower. _

_..._

She had no clue how long Regina tortured her with magic before letting her body slump weakly in reprieve. Black dots swirled before Belle's eyes and her limbs quivered from the intensity of Regina's dark magic.

"I can't very well question Emma about the dagger's whereabouts, can I?" Gods, was Regina still rambling? "No, because she's galloping off to who knows where and had the gall to take my son with her. I'll ask again. Where is it?"

Belle regained control over her breathing and met Regina's spiteful gaze. She sent a challenge of her own. Even in the face of danger or failure, Belle was not one to give up easily.

"You honestly think I would tell you where it is? Why? So you can kill him and take the Dark One's power for yourself?" It was clear in both their eyes; that was exactly what they were hoping to accomplish. Cora folded her hands together and pursed her red lips.

"What else is that dagger good for besides attaining the greatest source of power in all the realms? What more could you possibly need?" Belle was amused to watch Regina break away from her confidence enough to send her mother a doubtful, accusing look. Apparently, the alliance was not as solid as they would have everyone believe. "Though, I suppose it could come in handy for flaying fair skin."

Cora dared to reach out a hand to try and grab Belle's chin, but Belle swiftly jerked her head forward and sunk her teeth into the meat of Cora's hand. Cora screeched, swore, and stumbled backwards, cradling her swollen hand to her chest.

"You wretched girl!" Cora raised her hand as if to strike Belle, but Belle held her chin high and did not blink. The lack of fear made Cora think twice about landing a blow on Belle's cheek. The look of hatred transformed into one of pure thoughtfulness. "What did Rumpelstiltskin ever see in a good girl like you?"

Regina was back in the game, more impatient than ever.

"Where is the dagger? You really do not want to try our patience, Belle," she snarled. Belle figured Regina was at the end of her rope already. Oh, well.

This time, she stayed perfectly still and did not answer at all. Regina sent another wave of hot agony searing through her bones. Sweat beaded over Belle's forehead and even her hair came alive for an instant with the electricity thriving through her body. When Regina let up, her chest ached for air, her heart was on the verge of exploding, and Belle's limbs had turned to spaghetti noodles. If it weren't for the magical binds, she would have kissed the concrete long ago. _Be strong, _she encouraged herself.

"We can do this for as long as it takes."

Belle had no doubt that what Regina said was true. Time meant nothing to them, even as the clock tower's hands crept around the clock face. If anyone happened to walk by and see this treacherous scene unfold, they would be dead on their feet before they could decide which way to run for help. _Please don't let anyone pass by, _she silently begged. She didn't care if she was alone to deal with Regina and Cora. But to watch someone else die while she was incapable of stopping it, it would drive a nail through her heart.

"I will never sacrifice his heart, no matter what pain you inflict on me," Belle choked out. Her voice had grown hoarse due to Regina's brutal treatment. She could barely hold her body up against the wall, but still she fought on. "I will never tell you."

"Pity," Cora muttered without emotion.

Together, mother and daughter applied twice the amount of agony to Belle, for what felt like twice the length of time. Belle tossed her head back and writhed over the bricks. The veins in her wrists were strung tight as piano wire, grinding against the magical bonds. Warm moisture clouded her eyelids, seconds from overflowing. She bit down on her bottom lip so hard that it hurt almost as much as the torture.

When they finally stopped, Belle's brain was foggy and she wondered if she could even spell her own name. Everything hurt, even areas of her body she never knew existed.

Belle shook her head loosely. No. Always the same answer: no.

"You were right, Regina," Cora commented bitterly. "This one is difficult to break." Belle might have scoffed at that, if she had the energy. Rumpelstiltskin could not hope to break her spirit, even when he was still her harsh captor instead of her true love.

Oh, but she was so terribly weak. Belle never knew pain like this before. It twisted inside her stomach, it festered inside her coiled muscles, it throbbed through every last toe and finger. She was disoriented, her mind not as sharp as before, begging for release from this imprisonment. And all she could picture was Rumpelstiltskin's dagger, the one thing that would bring Cora and Regina's reign down on the heads of everyone in Storybrooke.

Everything hurt...

She wished it would stop...

The dagger...

She never meant to do it. Perhaps her mind was only supplying the information and she acted on it. Belle's head shifted against the brick wall and her blue eyes flickered to the clock tower. The clock tower...the dagger...

"Don't worry, we've only just begun," Regina told her, cupping Belle's chin and guiding it away from the image of the clock tower. "Believe it or not, it's only been a few minutes since we started our interrogation. Staring at that clock tower won't make this end any faster."

Cora was oddly silent, observing Belle with something close to fascination. Her cold eyes switched from Belle to the clock tower and back again. The corners of her lips curled.

"Wait, dear," she said to Regina, holding up a hand to stall her. "I believe she finally cracked. She told us what we wanted to know."

The sorrow, shame, and terror in Belle's blue eyes confirmed Cora's suspicions. A tear escaped from under her stinging eyelid and slid down her rosy cheek. _Rumpel, forgive me. I wanted so much to be your hero. _

"The clock tower, hm?" Regina followed her mother's guidance to survey the clock tower in the distance, looming over the rest of Storybrooke. "Shall we kill her, then?" She wiggled her fingers eagerly.

"No," Cora rejected the idea, much to Belle and Regina's surprise. Belle became instantly alert and wary. There was no way this was a change of heart, not when she was labeled as the Queen of Hearts. "There are worse things than death. The suffering of a broken heart is one such fate. You of all people know that, Regina."

Tension crackled through the air. There was that underlying distrust Belle sensed earlier. Regina carefully licked her lips and spun on her mother with a look that was meant to kill.

"Yes, I do, Mother," she returned crossly. "It's not every day that you get to watch your true love's heart being ground to dust in the hands of someone else you thought you loved unconditionally. Old scars never fully heal, do they?"

Belle wiggled in the midst of the magical binds, trying so hard to get loose, but they were too powerful to break physically. There was nothing to do except blow the stray strands of hair from her forehead and watch Cora turn a malicious glare onto her daughter.

"I'm sorry, Regina, are you...implying something?" The overly bittersweet tone of Cora's voice was nauseating even to Belle's ears. Regina balled her fists angrily. Belle yanked even harder on the invisible binds around her wrists. If these two submitted to a magical battle, she would be a sitting duck.

"Perhaps I am," Regina retorted, her voice rising. Belle quit struggling with the magical binds for now.

"I recommend Jerry Springer," she said mostly under her breath. From the way Regina and Cora bickered, there was a dark, tragic history there with enough cracks to grant seven years bad luck on both. Cora heard Belle's quip and furrowed her brows.

"Pardon me? Jerry who? Is this another one of your boyfriends, Regina?" It was the last straw for Regina. She whipped her head back to Belle and gave her a scathing look. The message was plain to read: _stay out of this. _

"Enough! Kill her, don't kill her, I no longer care. Let us be done with her and finish what we started," Regina snapped. Cora placed a hand on Regina's shoulder, perhaps a token of comfort or understanding, but Regina shook it off, pouting like an angst-ridden teenager.

"Of course," Cora obliged and her hand blossomed in front of Belle.

Belle barely had time to think when her head rebounded against the brick wall and unconsciousness swept in from all sides. Her body slumped and strained against the magical binds, but this time there was no further movement. Her dark hair hung like a curtain to her belly, her limbs lax. The only detail to assure her wellbeing was the slow rise of her chest if viewed from the right angle.

Regina's fingers waved and the binds disappeared, causing Belle's body to fall to the concrete. She took a step toward the girl, but Cora calmly held up a hand.

"Leave her. She's no use to us anymore. We've gotten what we wanted."

Regina made a low _humph _inside her throat and backed off. Cora disregarded Belle's huddled form and bent to retrieve the beautiful rose, twirling it between her fingers. Rumpelstiltskin never gave her a rose, not even when she modeled her wedding dress for him. What made this pathetic mouse so special?

Under Cora's scrutiny, the stem began to steam and the petals began to curl and turn to ash. Then the entire flower burst into a magnificent flame, black snowflakes sprinkling to the ground. Cora wiped her hands free of ash and prepared to abscond with her daughter in a flume of purple fog.

"Now, about this Springer fellow..."

"Mother!"

...

Charming turned onto the main street of Storybrooke again. For a couple of hours here and there he would patrol the streets to make sure everyone was safe from Cora and Regina. It was his job to protect the town while Emma was away.

He appreciated the support and help he got from Snow, his rock, but even she was wearing down under the stress. Her brows had been furrowed for too long, her fingers wove together so many times he thought they might be stitched together, and she was getting a good workout by pacing when she had nothing left to keep her proccupied. Of course she was worried about Emma, same as he was. He only hoped her lunch with Belle would ease some of her anxiety.

He stifled a deep yawn as his car rolled past Modern Fashions. It was the late afternoon, but the streets were quiet. They tried to keep the threat of Cora from spreading to prevent panic in the town, but people were still worried about Regina being on the loose. Cora and Regina together were a deadly duo, but at least the pirate was locked away in a cozy cell, though his injuries from Emma kept him anything but comfortable.

Something caught Charming's eye in the alleyway beside the clock shop. He pulled the car alongside the curb. At first he thought it was a thick bundle or package of some sort, huddled as it was. Then everything snapped into focus. Dread pulsed through his veins as he realized that small, still, huddled form was Belle. From his seat, it didn't even look like she was breathing.

Wrenching away his seat belt, Charming bolted out of the car and sprinted to Belle's side. He knelt next to her and checked for a pulse. It was there. Regina must have attacked her, due to her connections to Emma and Rumpel both. He prayed that her heart was still right where it belonged, in her chest.

"Belle? Belle, can you hear me?" He tried prodding her shoulder and jostling her awake, but there was no response.

He returned to the car to get a bottle of water and squirted it over Belle's face. The fluid dribbled over her chin and soaked her hair, but it also startled her awake. She rolled onto her side and sputtered, coughing up the water that had flowed into her mouth. Her eyes were disoriented and unable to focus on him for longer than a few seconds. Her head lolled on the pavement.

"What did they do to you?" The way it came out, it might have been more for his benefit than Belle's. She swallowed a few times and Charming handed her the bottle of water, letting her down what was left inside it.

"Regina," she moaned after handing the bottle back to him. Her voice was thin and so he listened closely, his head hovering above hers. "She...dagger...clock tower..."

There were only a few words here and there. None of it made sense.

"Belle, I'm sorry, but I'm not following you," he admitted sheepishly, shaking his head. He peered over his shoulder at the clock tower.

Was that where Regina and Cora were headed? A light touch on his wrist reclaimed his attention. Desperation burned brightly in Belle's blue eyes. She had such little strength at the moment, but there was a message she was determined to get across.

"The dagger...the source of his power. In the clock tower. They'll kill him...and Regina will be...Dark One," she slurred.

Charming understood Belle better that time, though he'd never heard of any dagger that was the ultimate source of Rumpel's power. Rumpel didn't trust Charming or Snow enough to let them in on that little secret. No doubt Emma knew. And if Regina and Cora found the dagger, if they succeeded in gaining Rumpel's power by killing him...

Storybrooke would become a bloodbath. No one would be safe from Cora and Regina, least of all his family.

Charming settled back on his heels, thinking. How were they supposed to prepare for this? They were on the crux of war. Emma might not be back for another day or so, and now he hoped she would not be back quite so soon, if only to keep her beyond Cora's reach. And if they failed to stop Cora and Regina, he didn't want her to witness this tragedy.

Should he warn Snow first? Head to the clock tower with her to find Cora and Regina? That might do more harm than good. Plus, depending on how much time had passed since Belle's attack, they might have already found the dagger. It would be easy to kill Rumpel now, since he was lost in his false personality with no memory of magic or the threat they posed. All he had was a cane to wave around.

Charming vowed not to disappoint Emma. His daughter had suffered enough. He would start toward Gold's shop and prepare for the inevitable confrontation.

"Okay, Belle, I'm calling the hospital. You're safe now. I'm sorry I can't stay with you," he said, scooping her up in his arms. He brought her back to Granny's Diner, where she would be well-protected until an ambulance arrived for her. He shouted over his shoulder at Granny to call Jefferson.

Then he hurried off to save Rumpelstiltskin.

...

Snow was reluctant to end her phone call with Emma so early, but Charming kept trying to get through. She answered his call and placed the phone between her ear and shoulder while she unlocked the door to their apartment.

"Hello, honey. I just got back from lunch with Belle and you were right. It helped to ease my mind a bit-"

"Snow, you need to listen to me very carefully. We have a major issue," Charming overrode her words frantically. The blood in her veins turned to ice. The key clicked in the lock, but she let it dangle, the door creaking open.

"What's wrong?" One thousand possibilities thundered through her head all at once: Regina, Cora, Emma, Henry, Rumpel, Belle, Red...

"Belle was attacked by Regina and Cora. She's on her way to the hospital, but before that she told me there was a dagger that bound all of Rumpelstiltskin's power as the Dark One. They're looking for it, Snow. They want to kill Rumpel and gain his powers as the Dark One. If that happens-"

They would be in big trouble. As a matter of fact, 'trouble' would be an understatement. And Henry and Emma would return to find desolation and death. Snow covered her mouth to stifle her cry of despair.

"I'm coming to find you," she declared, removing the key from the lock and slamming the door closed. If they were together, surely they could find a way through this. There was always a way.

"No," Charming exclaimed loudly. He sounded inches from begging. "Snow, please, no. We need to find a way to stop them. If not Regina, then Cora. She's the mastermind behind this. I'm on my way to Gold's shop now, but the last thing I want is to place you in their crosshairs. Can you think of anything that will slow them down?"

Just one. Of course, it would require Emma's help. But could she really jump to that conclusion?

"Emma found Cora's heart among those in Regina's vault and she hid it somewhere it would never be found by our enemies. If we find it...maybe we can..."

She lowered her head in shame. It went against all her morals to even consider this route, but what other choice did they have? The threat of Cora could not be contained as easily as Hook. Like Regina, she would never stop.

"Snow? Are you suggesting...we kill Cora?" Snow closed her eyes in regret.

"I need to do what is best for our family, Charming. I'm so tired of running from Regina; she'll never stop. We're trapped between a rock and a hard place. If we don't end this now, then Regina and Cora will be unstoppable. They'll massacre all of us without blinking an eye and you know it. I don't like it, either, but...Charming..."

She had survived Ogres, evil witches and queens, being turned into a mermaid, wolves, being labeled a traitor to her kingdom, and endured endless suffering in her name, all without breaking. But this terrified her more than all those hardships combined. Tears welled up in her eyes and she mashed the phone to her ear.

"I trust you, Snow. I love you," he breathed in her ear at last. She wanted so much to believe that this would not be the last time she heard him say that.

"I love you, too, Charming. I'm so sorry," she murmured back and disconnected.

A second later, she was dialing Emma's number again. In her mind, she recalled the enchanted candle given to her by the Blue Fairy when she was a young girl. If Cora tried to kill Rumpelstiltskin, his life could be exchanged for Cora's if Snow whispered her name over the candle. Then there was the matter of getting her heart back in her body...

"Hello...again," Emma said into Snow's ear. The blessed sound of her daughter's voice made her knees weak. She was doing this for her family. She could not bear to lose Emma a second time. "Did you want to continue the conversation about my complex love life?"

If only.

"Where did you bury Cora's heart?"There was a pregnant pause and Snow knew Emma was reading between the lines. Snow's stomach churned sourly.

"Why?"

The suspicion in Emma's voice warned Snow that she had a fairly good idea already of where this conversation was headed. Snow made it out to the street and rotated in a circle, wondering where she should go. Not to Gold's shop, obviously. Time was ticking away.

"Emma, I don't have time to explain. Just, please, tell me where it's hidden," Snow pleaded. _It may be our only chance, _she wanted to add. She despised every word that came out of her mouth. Each one left a rancid taste on her tongue.

"You're going to kill her, aren't you?" Emma's voice was low and dangerous. Snow tried to figure out whether her daughter was accusing her of the crime before it was even committed or whether Emma was only reading her mind. Either way, she hit the bullseye. Snow's silence told her all she needed to know. "What's going on over there? If you need me to come back-"

"No," Snow yelled into the phone. That was the last thing Snow wanted. "Stay in Tallahassee. You're safe there, Henry is safe there. Stay there until me or your father calls to tell you it's safe to come home. Even then, you shouldn't trust it so easily."

Regina had shielded her face with a glamor once or twice; Cora had probably mastered the same technique. If they called Emma pretending to be Snow and Charming, they could lure Emma back to Storybrooke.

"Fine, but do you understand the consequences of what you're intending to do? You're Snow White, the epitome of goodness and all that. You're meant to preserve life, not take it away like Regina. That kind of decision won't be easy to live with."

Snow kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. Every word Emma was saying had already crossed her mind at least once. She knew the risks, but it seemed there was no right way to handle this situation. The odds were stacked against them.

"You're saying I shouldn't do it? Emma, I know how terrible this sounds. My choices are very limited and none of them are pleasant. My family is in danger, Rumpelstiltskin is in danger. I can't stand by and watch those I care about be torn apart," she cried out.

"I'm not asking you to do that. I just wonder if you're ready to deal with the aftermath of this choice, even if it means protecting our family," she said. Snow heard the strain in Emma's voice and knew she was trying to stay rational. "I buried Cora's heart at Graham's grave. I figured it would be the last place Regina-or my husband-would look."

Snow did not thank Emma. This was not a task she was grateful to accept.

"I love you, Emma. Whatever happens, I want you to know that without a doubt. Make sure Henry knows that as well," she said, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks.

"I will," Emma proimsed. This time, Emma would not resist coming clean about the way she felt. Not when their fate hung in the balance. "I love you, too."

It took all of Snow's strength to end that call. She turned and raced for the cemetery without stopping to have second thoughts.

...

The doors of the library exploded inward, disturbing the serenity Belle's sanctuary once offered. It was so sudden that the wood cracked and the hinges shattered, hanging at an odd angle off the doorframe. Regina and Cora infiltrated the library and already the sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to fade in their presence.

There were only a few walls and shelves stacked with books, the rest of the tomes unorganized in cardboard boxes. Dust motes danced in the air and when Regina traced a fingertip along a shelf, it was tainted by a gray streak of dust afterwards. She cringed, wiping her finger on the hem of her suit jacket.

The maid needed a maid.

"Belle has a thing for books," Regina pointed out as distastefully as if accusing Belle of having an addiction to heroine.

Her heels clacked on the yellowed tile floor when she entered the heart of the library. So many books, so many hiding places. _If I were a princess with my head in the clouds and a thing for beasts, where would I hide a magical dagger? The romance section?_

"What if she hid the dagger in one of her books?"

Regina continued to have doubts about whether the dagger was here at all. For all they knew, Belle had purposely lured them here and the dagger was somewhere on the other side of Storybrooke. Gods, what if Rumpelstiltskin had hidden it in the woods? They would never find it in decent time unless they burned the entire forest down.

But her mother would not be swayed. Sometimes, she was the most pigheaded person Regina knew, counting Emma Swan.

"Would you care to sort through every single volume?" Regina bristled under the stinging backlash. Cora raised her chin when all Regina returned was silence. "That's what I thought." Her mother had an irritating habit of underestimating her.

"We'll check the tower first, then," Regina relented at the cost of her pride.

She led her mother to the winding wooden staircase that would take them to the clock tower above. It was gloomier than the library, shadows creeping over every surface. The boards groaned under Regina's heels, but Cora restrained her by the elbow.

"Dear, what are you thinking?" Regina glanced at the stairwell and then back at her mother in puzzlement. "Why waste our energy on something so mudane as climbing stairs?" Cora waved her hand and magic draped their bodies like a second skin, transporting them to the top of the tower before Regina could draw another breath.

It was an unwelcome reminder that her mother used magic for everything, not unlike Regina herself. Regina hadn't used magic for 28 years during the curse and she found that she could, in fact, live without it. She just didn't want to. Not until Henry was in her possession again. But Cora lived, thrived, _thirsted _for power, had lived for power ever since she got her first taste of it as a lowly miller's daughter. For her, power and happiness went hand in hand. _What more could you need? _

What was her mother's purpose of doing this? To make up for the mistake she made for Regina and grant her the one thing she loved most? Or was it self-serving, a mission for power and nothing else? After all, if they killed Rumpelstiltskin, _Cora _would become the new Dark One, not Regina. That was the agreement. She would get Henry, Cora would get a promotion in power.

And her mother would trap Regina under her iron thumb once again...

No, she couldn't afford to think like that! This was precisely what Belle and those _heroes _wanted, to plant the seed of doubt in her mind and make everything fall apart! Her mother was her ally; the so-called "good guys" were the villains. Her mother loved her.

Didn't she?

"Well?" Cora's impatient manner brought Regina out of her depressing reverie.

She turned to scrutinize the face of the town clock. There weren't many places to hide a dagger. She approached the clock and fumbled over the minute hand, within arm's length if she stretched on her toes. On the back of the hand, strapped down, was a protruding object. Regina ripped it away and wrapped her fingers around the cold hilt of the dagger.

Clever for a bookworm, but not clever enough.

Regina turned the dagger over in her palms, admiring the elegant detailing carved into the hilt and the menacing waves of the blade's edge. The edges were flecked with old blood. Flipping the dagger over again, she found a disheartening surprise. Rumpelstiltskin's name was still marked on the blade, binding every ounce of his power.

"Just as I thought. That means he still exists somewhere in that shell of his, slumbering. He can be brought back," Cora said what they were both thinking. A chill skated down Regina's spine as her nail traced her adversary's name. It also meant that Rumpel's power was up for grabs. "Hand it to me, Regina."

Cora extended her hand in request, but Regina readjusted her grip on the dagger. A guarded look entered her eyes. Why did her mother have to be the one to hold the dagger? What if this was all she really wanted?

Her mother must have interpreted her skepticism, since that old cunning smile snapped in place. So many hearts were stolen under the force of that smile.

"Don't you trust me, Regina?" Did she? Ever since Daniel's death, Snow's betrayal, and her first taste of magic, Regina had been wary about lending her trust to anyone.

But this was her _mother_, the woman who was obligated to love her unconditionally. If she couldn't even place trust in her mother, then she would be forever alone.

Regina gave her the dagger.

Cora cradled it to her breast, stroking Rumpelstiltskin's name in the way a maiden might cherish a lover's letter. She cupped Regina's chin and raised it high to match her own.

"Don't look so glum, sweetheart," she cooed. "Everything you or I ever wanted is about to come true." Regina certainly hoped so. It had been too long since she felt genuinely happy.

...

It was another quiet, slow day in the shop. Sometimes Gold wondered why he wasted the energy and the day inside those walls, but then he remembered his lonely, empty house. There was nowhere else in Storybrooke he belonged.

But, God, it was boring work!

All he did in the shop was dust the shelves (perhaps he should hire an assistant), scare the people that entered to pay their rent (a bunch of sheep, they were), organize his contracts (no one ever reads them, anyway), and kick his feet up on his desk in the back of the shop. The only benefit was having someplace that Regina could not rule. This was his territory, not hers. If he were a bit jollier at heart, he might have valued the ice cream shop directly across the street, but his sweet tooth was a shriveled, wantless thing. He did not care for such delectables as ice cream.

It was nice and quiet.

And then David Nolan crashed through the door.

The door slammed into the wall and toppled the row of artworks next to the display window. The plates of glass rattled in the square frames on the door. Gold gritted his teeth in annoyance, fighting the urge to rub his aching temples. Was this man so brain-damaged by that coma that he needed to be instructed on the proper use of a door?

"I would demand you to leave my shop, but I have the sinking feeling that I would be wasting my breath," he grumbled and went back to dragging the tattered gray cloth across the glass case. David slammed the door again, locked it, and backed away from it as though afraid something worse would storm in. He even switched off the lights and flipped the _Open _sign to _Closed. _

Was he being chased by a mob of wanton females or something?

"We need to go into the back room," David bluntly ordered. Gold stared at him with increasing distaste and bafflement.

"Excuse me?" No one ever gave him a command, except for Emma Swan.

Oh, no, she wasn't waiting for him in the back of the shop, was she? There was a _bed _back there! Did she hire David Nolan to herd him in her direction like an unruly sheep? It was part of their deal that she could no longer seduce him, but there were too many experiences where his customers did not hold to their end of the deal for him to believe her word.

It alarmed him when David latched onto his shoulder. If he didn't remove it in exactly thirty seconds, he would have to be sent to Whale for a broken hand.

"Gold, I'm sorry, but we don't have much time to discuss it. Trust me when I say you're in danger. If you don't come with me into the back of the shop, then...then you will die," David hastily explained. And Gold always assumed _he _was the most dangerous citizen in this town. Did Kathryn find out about David's affair? He would think this was a robbery attempt, but David Nolan wasn't that much of a threat.

"I am not going anywhere with you, least of all into the back of my shop," Gold said and brutally pinched David Nolan's hand to remove it from his shoulder. He had enough of this nonsense. "Now, unless you're buying something-which I doubt-then I suggest you leave my shop. And try not to crush anything on your way out."

Gold lowered his head in dismissal, trying to ignore the man in his shop. The man that _would not go away-_

"You leave me no choice," David said. He ducked around the glass case and snatched up Gold's cane. Gold whirled around, but David had already darted away. No one touched his cane without his express permission!

"Hand over my cane this instant," he roared, eyelids narrowing to dangerous slits.

He took a step toward David in pursuit and David fled backwards by three steps. Instead of the front door, he ws heading for the curtain that shielded his back room. The logical thing would be to feign ignorance, to avoid giving David what he wanted, but his grubby fingerprints were getting all over the gold handle.

Why was David wearing that idiotic smile? Was this some sort of game to him?

"Or you'll what?"

David tossed the cane back and forth between his hands. He was an accident waiting to happen; a bear in a china shop. Any minute now, the brainless oaf would break something with the way he was swinging the cane. Gold circled around the counter and gave chase to David, who slipped out of his reach time and again.

Damn this gnarled leg of his!

"If you want your cane back, you'll have to do as I say," David proposed. "Get in the back room."

Gold's eyes swiveled between David and the cane. He had a terrible feeling about this. He lunged for the cane, but David whipped it away and he stumbled into a display case, his leg beginning to cramp up from the exertion. Gold rubbed it, but it helped very little.

"You dare to negotiate with me? Give me my cane and I promise not to beat you over the head with it once I reclaim it," he barked. There was a fierce knot swelling in his leg, preventing his progress. Gold's breathing became labored and David stopped trying so hard to get away. "Give me my cane...or you'll be carrying me."

Without his cane, he could only make it so far on his own strength. Even now, his strength was dwindling, draining away swiftly with every step. David looked sympathetic and uncertain. And yet, he pointed the end of the cane to the back room.

"Fine," Gold ultimately surrendered while sharp jolts of pain shot up his thigh. He despised his weakness and reliance on his cane. "If you want it so badly, let's carry this conversation to the back room." Anything to get his cane back and get David Nolan out of his shop.

He detested it entirely, but he limped after David into the back room without the use of his cane. It seemed David had the sense not to hand it to him too early. He hissed against the discomfort, crossing the threshold. He lumbered to his desk, rested on the corner of it for a moment, and then carried on to the bed along the wall behind it. He did not take a seat, nor did he offer one to David.

"Stay down," David commanded in his ear.

A rough hand shoved Gold's back and he swayed unsteadily on his feet, losing his balance. His arms flapped in the air, but gravity would not be bested. He flopped face-first on the mattress. The cane plopped down next to him. Gold grabbed it and rolled onto his back, just in time to see David yank the curtain closed.

First, a gunshot wound from a man dressed as a pirate. Then, a delusional blonde woman claiming to be his wife and carrying his child. Now this. What was next? An alien invasion? Assassins?

"What the hell are you-"

David pressed a finger to his own lips, signaling him to stay silent. Gold pulled himself on the edge of the bed, his muscles trembling from being overworked in such short time. That was when he heard the voices. Two female voices from the front of his shop, just outside the door. One belonged to Regina. The other he did not recognize, though it filled him with an unxplainable sense of disquiet.

"Looks like no one's home," Regina's silky voice slithered through the shop. "No lights, _Closed _sign..."

David crept to a wall of shelves and began sifting through the objects stacked there. He pushed aside a battered brown ball, lifted and dropped a matchbox, and rubbed an ancient golden lamp only to be disappointed when nothing came of his rubbing. What did he expect, a genie?

"Where else would he be?" A monstrous growl. That was a voice that was capable of shattering souls to shards.

"There's the ice cream shop, or his house. It used to be pink, but his little wife convinced him to have it repainted red."

Gold's eyebrows rose in surprise. He always remembered his house to be bright pink, much as he loathed the sensitive color, and he never understood how it suddenly turned red. Perhaps he would send Emma a thank-you note for that much at least.

David tossed aside a number of trinkets, making Gold scowl. He would pay twicefold for what those antiques cost if he broke any. He handled an empty jar and turned to set it down, only to hear something rattle. Gold cocked his head.

That didn't make any sense. The jar was empty! David met his eyes and they were thinking the same thing: _how was that possible? _David held the jar up to his ear and shook it again. Once more, a suspicious rattle.

"Should we check the ice cream shop first? Chances are, if his old personality exists, we can corner Gold while he's licking his cone," Regina suggested with a suffocating air of amusement. There was a tremendous moan.

"If you insist. I must admit, I crave something sweet," the unfamiliar, clipped tone agreed. David wiped his brow in relief when all fell quiet once more. They were gone for now.

"Where do you keep your records of your items?"

Gold gaped at the ex-coma-man and then at the jar that held contents that were...invisible? He had no idea what was going on anymore, almost like he stepped through the looking glass into an alternate reality.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you would do with an empty jar," he griped, stuck in denial. It simply did not make sense no matter which way he turned it in his head, but he instructed David to check under the front counter. David ducked through the curtain and returned in less than a minute, carrying a thin box that stored records of every item in the shop. The box dropped into Gold's lap.

"Find it," David ordered. There was meant to be no room for argument. Gold's tongue snaked over his upper lip, his patience very close to dissipating. He placed two fingers atop the fine wooden lid of the box, but did not obey David's request.

"And what'll you do for me if I consent?"

_Everything comes with a price, _he repeated one of his trademark mantras in his head. More than anything, he wished to know how desperate David Nolan was to accomplish...whatever petty goal he had in mind. Desperation generally goaded people into revealing their true colors.

"I'll owe you a favor," David said. Gold could tell from his hasty offer that he hadn't thought it through, but it was no concern of his. It was the responsibility of his customers to hold their end of the deal, even if they did not grasp the consequences of which they had agreed.

"Deal," Gold lilted and flipped the lid off the box. He thumbed through the cards until he came to one close to the center. In a wide flourish, he whipped it out of the box and read over his elegant handwriting.

"Ah, yes. One glass peanut butter jar, hardly worth the pawning..." He paused, frowning. That didn't make any sense, either. There was an extended note under the initial title of the item. It was his handwriting, of course, but he couldn't remember writing it. He felt David watching him and struggled to keep his cool. "Chalk. To ward off unwanted visitors. Do not drop. That part is underlined twice."

Gold lowered the card and eyed the glass jar again. There was no chalk inside it. Nothing but dust and strings of web coating its walls. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing. Was he having a midlife crisis? Did he need to stop at Archie's office on the way home?

David reached his hand in the jar and fumbled around for a piece of chalk that wasn't there. It couldn't be. His fingers enclosed around something. When his hand emerged from the jar, his fingers were rigid, mimicking the action of holding a piece of chalk.

It was a joke, a quip, a prank. Someone was playing him for a fool.

"It's chalk. I know you must think this is crazy or impossible, but touch it." David stretched his arm toward Gold, his fingers still gripping thin air.

Experimentally, Gold let his hand float to that invisible space between David's fingers, poked it with the tip of a finger. The minute he did, he jerked away and scrambled backward on the bed. There was something solid between David's fingers. It had been hard, yet powdery.

Chalk.

Gold cautiously rubbed his hand over that section of air again. The powder covered his fingers, and he felt it when he rubbed the pads of his fingers together, even though they were clean.

How...?

"Magic," David answered his unspoken question.

Gold's brain was numb with disbelief, unable to process what this man was suggesting. Magic did not exist in this world. The misery he endured throughout his life proved it. David hurried over to the curtain and bent at its hem.

"I know it sounds impossible, even insane. But I'm going to use this to save your life."

And he began scribbling.

...

Regina and Cora turned away from the dark pawnshop and crossed the street to the ice cream shop. Most likely, this was a waste of time, but Rumpelstiltskin was forever unpredictable, cursed or not. Who knew when that man would need to satisfy an ice cream craving?

They didn't bother with the door. Regina opened her palm and made it fly. Screams erupted from inside the shop as pieces of wood rained to the polished floor. Music to her ears.

"Remember me, darlings?" She darkened the doorway, reveling in the way tables screeched across the floor and heads ducked down for cover from her wrath. Cowards.

"Hmm...he's not here," Cora stated in disappointment. She pushed past her daughter's shoulder to scan the bobbing heads under the tables. If Rumpel were here, he would disregard their dramatic entrance and go on licking his cone. She swept from table to table, taking the time to examine every terrified face. "Not you, not you, certainly not you. It seems we've come here for nothing."

Regina glared at every individual in the room.

"Back to the pawnshop, then. We'll blow that door down as well," she growled. "Or would you care for your first taste of this world's creamy cavity in a cone?"

Cora drifted along the row of ice cream choices, wrinkling her nose at more than half. The worker behind the counter looked pale enough to pass out.

"I suppose I'll try one. Consider it my early reward for a job well-done," she boasted, clapping her hands together in sinister delight. Regina groaned loudly, wishing she never offered. She stomped across the floor to join her mother, just as the worker rushed to fetch a cone. People took the opportunity to usher their children out the door to safety.

Cora selected the double chocolate ice cream, oozing with fudge, and grimaced at the tub of bubble gum ice cream beside it. The worker hurried to scoop the ice cream into the cone in generous mounds, though his nervousness made him intolerably clumsy. Twice the spoon clattered into the tub of ice cream and he nearly fell in trying to retrieve it.

"Two dollars," the worker weaky announced, his voice barely a squeak. He practically threw the cone into Cora's waiting hands. Both women stared at him threateningly. "Or...not. It's on the house."

"That means it's free, Mother," Regina translated before Cora opened her mouth to question it. "It doesn't mean you have to eat it on the roof."

Cora rotated her cone, observing the melting ice cream from all angles. Regina pursed her lips and clicked her dagger-sharp nails on the counter. A drop of chocolate fell to the floor, but still the cone kept turning...turning...any minute now, she'd flip it upside-down and Regina would have to get her a new one...

"Just lick it!" Regina shrieked, startling the worker out of his skin. Her mother wasn't impressed, either by Regina's atittude or the dessert.

"You mean the only way to eat this thing is to use my tongue? How inappropriate," she complained. Regina huffed loudly, blowing a stray strand of hair from her anxious, lined forehead. Cora brought the cone to her lips and quickly stuck her tongue out, lapping up a trail of ice cream. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to hand the cone over to Regina. "Ugh, it's too cold!"

"Well, I can't exactly heat it up, Mother. It will melt. Ice cream soup isn't a specialty by any means." Regina pushed the cone back to Cora. A drop of fudge dripped on Cora's thumb and she even refused to suck that off. It was like feeding a child their vegetables.

"It's making my brain hurt! Clearly, this delicacy you call ice cream is poisonous!" She thrust it back to Regina, the fudge flying everywhere.

"It's called brain-freeze. Now eat it before one of us is wearing it!" Regina shoved the cone away and flitted beyond Cora's reach. Confusion passed over her mother's stern face.

"A minute ago, you claimed I was eating ice cream. Now you're calling it brain freeze? Which is it? Or is that the type of poison they use?" Regina's boot stomped on the floor.

"You _are _eating ice cream! Brain freeze is the phenomenon where your brain hurts after eating the ice cream. It happens. Nobody is being poisoned in this town!" Though, Regina had to admit it would be a good way to get back at Rumpelstiltskin, by serving him toxic ice cream. Cora licked the ice cream again, but her response remained the same.

"You can have this back. It's terribly disappointing to me," Cora said, flinging the ice cream back to the worker behind the counter. His eyeballs were aligned with the counter, he was cowering so badly. The ice cream landed in a puddle on the floor at his feet. Regina swore under her breath as she escorted her mother out of the ice cream shop.

"I hate ice cream."

...

Snow was winded by the time she reached the cemetery, her breath coming in quick, heavy pants, her cheeks beat red, but still she did not stop to rest. The muscles in her legs had begun cramping and screaming long ago, but still she pressed onward. There was no time to rest, no time for anything except saving those she loved. Every second that passed, Cora was one second closer to winning.

The cemetery was deserted except for the departed souls six feet below. Ever since the news of Regina's disappearance into the shadows, nobody dared to tread on that soil in case their heart or head was taken next. Snow was thankful for the solitude-it would be far easier to complete her task without having to explain to others what she was doing. If she did, she might reconsider carrying out the deed.

No time.

It was simple to recall which lonely grave belonged to Graham, what with the aid of her false memories swirling in the back of her mind. Oh, she remembered the night he died, the very same night Emma drunkenly married Gold. She remembered the funeral, how it had rained the entire day. He had been too young, too good a man to deserve such a cruel fate.

_You saved my life once, _Snow thought sadly as she bent on one knee before his grave. Her fingers caressed the cold etched letters of his false name and then the bright petals of the flowers sprouting from the soil. _I wish I could have shown you the same courtesy. _

It would be a shame to have to dig up the beautiful flowers around his grave in order to find the heart buried there. She dug her hands into the hard soil, getting to work in removing patches of it.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she whispered as she wrenched aside the flowers and scooped out handfuls of dark earth. If they won this battle, or survived it at least, she would buy and plant new flowers, more beautiful than the ones that were ruined if that was possible.

The task of digging soon became frustrating. Snow stopped caring whether her hands were covered in dirt or how much soil got under her fingernails. She put all her effort into sifting through the layers of dirt and longed to locate something solid. She supposed Emma buried it this deep on purpose, in case rain washed away the topmost layers of dirt to expose the hidden treasure underneath or if someone ever got curious enough to check. Even Snow was beginning to wonder if she heard Emma wrong on the phone or if Emma fed her false information to deter her.

Then her fingers brushed the corner of an object. It wasn't a rock or lumpy pebble, but a solid, straight edge. Snow's own heart jumped into her throat as she scraped away the dirt, uncovering the object and dragging it to the surface. It was a black metal box, similar to the boxes that stored countless hearts in Regina's vault. Regina had one just like it in her office at Town Hall, as a matter of fact.

Snow sat down on the ground and placed the box in her lap. Cautiously, she pried the lid open, just to be sure of its contents. It would be clever of Emma to hide a decoy box in case anyone was searching for the heart. She noticed the unsettling red glow before she fully opened the box.

There, throbbing in one corner of the box, was a beating heart. _This is it, _Snow thought with growing apprehension. She snapped the lid closed, mainly so she wouldn't have to look at Cora's heart too long.

To do this, she needed to find the candle. It had been lost to her for a very long time, but she recalled Emma describing some of the trinkets and keepsakes in Regina's vault when she and Gold reclaimed the hearts. What better place to keep dark items in Storybrooke than the Evil Queen's secret vault?

Snow got to her feet and wiped the smudges of dirt off her jeans. She stared down at the atrocity that was Graham's gravesite and did her best to smooth the piles of dirt back in their proper place. It was obvious someone had tampered with it, but it was the best she could do for now.

Snow's green eyes drifted to the Mills' family vault a few graves away. Holding the box close to her chest, she inhaled a deep gulp of fresh air and hurried inside.

...

"Let's hope this works," Charming said mostly to himself, finishing up with the chalk.

He had never dabbled in magic before, but he knew one way to make it work was to believe in it. He _believed _that it was necessary to hold off Cora and Regina; he _believed _that he had the strength to save Rumpelstiltskin and his family.

"Oh, no, I dropped the chalk!"

That was the third time! It was such a pain, locating invisible chalk.

He got down on his knees and scoured around the floor for the invisible chalk like Velma searching for her lost glasses. When he found it, he finished up the door to the front of the shop and moved on to the back door. Better safe than sorry.

All the while, Gold watched from the bed, uncomprehending Charming's efforts. Charming understood how risky it was to reveal the existence of magic to Rumpel's false personality, but what other choice did he have? Desperate times called for desperate measures. He only hoped it wasn't detrimental to Rumpel's longlasting sanity. Emma would never let him hear the end of it.

"Generally, people wish to kill me because I demand too much for rent...or because I gave their child nightmares worthy of therapy. It seems those two plan to kill me _just because,_" Gold mused.

Charming knew he was struggling to sort out this situation in his head, find some shred of logic. _No, they have a reason for killing you. You'd never believe me if I told you, _he thought. The title of "The Dark One" wasn't exactly common in this world.

"Here I thought your first move would be to call our lovely Sheriff. Not...draw with make-believe chalk," Gold continued.

Charming reached the corner of the doorframe with the chalk and watched the air shimmer in a spectrum of colors in front of the door. A protective barrier must be in place. The question was whether it would hold. He dropped the chalk back into its jar and rubbed the invisible powder from his palms on his jeans.

"Unfortunately, the Sheriff is away on business matters," he replied. It wasn't a lie, not really, but the tension on Gold's face told Charming he thought it was. But he did not care enough for Emma to press the issue. Charming was starting to seriously miss the imp, the one that kept his daughter safe at all times.

"They're back," Gold half-sang, eyes darting to the black curtain. Charming strained his ears to listen. Voices arose from the front of the shop-Regina and Cora, indeed. It might have been his hectic mind processing it wrong, but he swore they were arguing over ice cream toppings. Specifically, worms and jimmies. "Shall we invite them to tea?"

Charming gave the pawnbroker a pointed look. This was not the time for quips, but then again Gold could not understand the threat these women posed. He already underestimated Regina on a daily basis and he had no memory of Cora at all. An explosion rocked the floor and he knew without looking that they had blown through the front door. Their heels clacked on the floorboards.

They were inside.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Cora taunted. "I promise not to bite."

"Suddenly, I miss the Sheriff very much," Gold commented from the corner, shuddering. _I'll bet you do, _Charming mentally retorted. This version of Gold would never know how lucky he was to have Emma's love.

Charming searched the walls for a weapon and spotted the swords adorned with a shield next to the back door. He reached for the center one and sensed the magic coursing through it before his hand closed around the hilt. It was sleek, sliding smoothly from behind the shield with hardly a noise. The blade shined like glass, even more so when the sun graced the steel. It was far from Excalibur's prowess, but it was a powerful blade nonetheless.

"Don't poke your eye out," Gold advised. Charming sliced the sword through the air, becoming familiar with the weight of it in his hand. The black curtain swept aside, the metal rings screeching along the pole. Charming spun and aimed the tip of his blade at the intruders.

Regina and Cora regarded him with all the courtesy of prey.

"Ah, the noble prince is here to save the day," Regina mocked. Charming held the sword tighter and steadier, proving he would not yield. Regina's eyes glittered with malice, two black diamonds seeking to strip the flesh from his bones. "You think you can save him? You think you can save your precious family?"

"I'm willing to try," he countered and side-stepped to block Gold from Cora and Regina's sight. Gold apparently did not value his protection since he climbed to his feet with his cane and approached Charming's side. Charming swung the blade around to prevent Gold from stepping too close.

"What have I done to warrant a sentence of execution? Did your apple tree tumble when I sneezed this morning?"

Charming bit the tip of his tongue to quench the smile that was fighting to rise to his lips. It would be a blessing if that tree fell and its rotten fruit was destroyed. Regina's face darkened with fury.

"I'll have you know that my tree has never been better," she said defensively.

From her cloak, Cora drew out the dagger and held it victoriously. Charming noticed Rumpel's name inscribed in the silver blade. _That proves it. He's still trapped in there, somewhere, _he realized with new hope. _And now they're going to kill him to ensure he never returns. _Regina was on the precipice of gloating.

"Admit it, Charming. It's over. We have the dagger; we've won. That sword will never be enough to protect you."

Regina and Cora started forward, intending to enter the back room, but abruptly halted in their tracks. The air shimmered where their bodies impacted the magical barrier. Charming grinned proudly.

"What are you so smug about?" Cora sneered, baring her teeth under her crude red lips. "All you've succeeded in doing is stalling the inevitable for a half hour, if even that. I suggest you begin considering your last words. This barrier will not keep us out forever."

Charming never felt confident that it would. He only needed it to keep them occupied long enough for Snow to do...what she needed to do. Cora raised her hand to penetrate the barrier, but new fear and rage contorted her face. She grasped Regina's arm for support. Regina held onto her, her black heart leaping into her eyes.

"Mother?"

Charming did not know how Regina could place her trust in someone who had betrayed her in the worst possible way, by ripping the chance of love away from her, but it was obvious Regina still felt an inkling of affection for her mother. It was a shame, because it would only hurt worse in the end. Charming had no doubt that Cora was playing Regina like a violin, but Regina herself could not see it.

"My heart," Cora gasped, placing her hand to her heaving chest. If Charming didn't already know that her heart was not in her chest, he might have assumed she was having a heart attack right there. Regina's eyes widened. "Someone has my heart."

"Where have you hidden it?" _In the heart vault, _Charming answered Regina's inquiry in his head. But it wasn't there now. Only Emma knew its location because she was the one to bury it. That meant she told Snow where it was and now Snow must have found it.

Snow's intentions suddenly took on a whole new level of reality for Charming. It was going to happen; Snow was going to kill Cora and be done with it.

"I ripped it out so long ago, but I hid it in my heart vault before you pushed me through the mirror to Wonderland," Cora explained, her mind far away in the past.

"The hearts in your heart vault were placed in my own heart vault after that regrettable scene," Regina added. Panic swept over her face and her nails curled into her palms. "Well, isn't that convenient. Our holier-than-thou savior stole the hearts from my heart vault. The ones that belonged to owners still living, anyway. It means she had your heart hidden away."

Regina sent a piercing look through the barrier at Charming, as if it was all his fault. If he pretended to understand Regina-logic, it was his fault for marrying Snow, having a wedding night, letting Snow birth Emma, putting her through the wardrobe to play her role as the savior, and eventually allow Emma to be where she was today, taking back the hearts that Regina stole in the first place. Yes, he was to blame. He almost said as much, but feared that would spur the duo on twice as hard.

Cora let her eyes drift closed. It looked like she was concentrating on something, though Charming could not say what. A moment later her eyes snapped open and he did not like the clarity he witnessed in those swirling dark depths.

"The heart is somewhere in the cemetery. I glimpsed a headstone. Does the name Graham ring a bell?"

Cora turned to gauge Regina's reaction. Charming knew Regina well enough to notice the slight curl to her lip that indicated she was beyond enraged. In a flash of purple smoke, she disappeared from the room, leaving him to deal with Cora.

Cora drank in the sight of the two men behind the barrier.

"Where were we?"

"Well, I think you were at the part where you were about to kill us," Gold remarked. He didn't take the threat of Cora seriously, and the existence of magic was not aiding the situation. "Ripping our hearts out and burning them seems to be your style."

Charming pointed the sword at Gold's throat.

"Will you stop giving her ideas?" Gold smacked the blade of the sword away, but it didn't stop Charming from scolding him.

Cora snickered, accepting the macabre suggestion with open arms. She waved her hand above her head and a spark of brilliant golden light fired from the top of the barrier. Specks of dust began to rain over the floorboards, centimeter by centimeter the barrier crumbling in a fountain of golden stars. It wouldn't be too long before Cora smashed the entire barrier.

_Hurry, Snow, _Charming willed his wife with every ounce of his being. _We don't have much time. _

...

The first thing Snow registered about the vault was that it was incredibly musty inside. The air was stale and stunk of mildew and decay. The horrible stench crawled up her nose and nearly choked her. There was little sunlight except through a thin, narrow window, so cracked and gray with dust that it seemed the sunlight had changed its mind about dwelling in such a mournful place. It took some time for her eyes to adjust and she was not comfortable reading the nameplate on the white casket when they did.

_Henry Mills._

She knew the Henry the casket was meant for was Regina's father, and Snow couldn't say she remembered much about the man as he'd always been cast in Regina's and Cora's shadow. But the name reminded her what was at stake.

Snow recalled what Emma told her about the vault and balanced Cora's heart box atop the casket long enough to push it aside. Underneath it was a stairwell, leading down into the secret vault.

Snow shivered, both from cold and trepidation, when she descended into the darkness. There was a short hallway, her footsteps echoing on the stone walls, and a broken mirror at the end of it. Cabinets lined the walls on either side, though the only hearts left belonged to those victims that already died. Snow could not imagine in her most terrible dreams what it was like to live without feeling anything. _Oh, Graham, _she mourned his loss again.

To the right of the mirror was a wall with several alcoves, the alcoves filled with strange and magical items. Vials, scrolls, liquids Snow dared not spill or consume. Tucked beside one of the scrolls was a slender, waxy object. The candle. Snow carefully took it from the alcove and felt the power coursing through it.

She had hesitated in using it to save her mother...Could she find the strength to use it now? _It's for my daughter. It's for my family. _

Snow quickly performed the ritual. Twice she nearly changed her mind. She lit both ends of the candle, white and black. She said Cora's name three times. Then both ends of the candle were blown out.

It was done; there was no going back. Cora would die in Rumpelstiltskin's place. _Better the devil we know than the devil we don't, _she thought in a pathetic attempt of optimism.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Snow dropped the candle and spun around with the box. The heart box was trembling in her hands.

Regina stood a few feet away, her face a marble mask as she glared daggers at Snow and then the box. Snow realized with surprising clarity and acceptance that she was dead where she stood...unless she came up with a reasonable explanation that would temporarily distract Regina. Manipulation wasn't her cup of tea, either, but the only alternative was being the first casualty and letting Emma bury her mother next to Graham's grave in the cemetery. Regina already had murder written in her merciless eyes.

This was war; there was no room for pardons, least of all from the Evil Queen. Nothing Snow said would likely convince Regina to let her walk out those doors alive.

"Regina," Snow gasped. Regina took one step closer. Snow did not try to run. She looked from the Queen to the heart box in her hands and the explanation formed in her mind. "Regina, listen to me. Your mother does not love you."

"And what would you know about mothers? I refuse to take advice from someone who shipped her daughter to Maine," Regina hissed, shutting out every syllable Snow uttered. "First, you kill my true love. Then, you're seeking to take my mother away, too? When will it ever be enough for you?"

Snow could have asked the same thing about Regina, considering all the lives she had taken to hurt Snow. But she swallowed the accusations because it would only anger Regina to say them, not make her see reason.

"It's true, Regina. You may not want to believe it, but that doesn't make it false. How can she care for you if she does not have a heart? I'm trying to help you," Snow pleaded, her voice rising frantically when Regina loomed closer.

Snow did not want to know what menacing ideas Regina was considering inside her mind. Would she rip her heart out, too? Store it in one of these cabinets? Crush it until the dust was carried with the wind? Or summon a fireball to burn her alive?

"No, what you're doing is trying to ruin my life again. I won't give you the chance," she snarled. Snow opened the lid to reveal the heart. Regina stopped in place, her eyes locked on its eerie glow.

"Please, Regina. You'll be so much better off...if you put her heart back where it belongs."

Regina looked wary and uncertain, torn between ridding the world of Snow White and taking her advice. It was to be her choice. Snow offered the box to her and she slowly took it into her own arms, admiring the heart inside as though it were an eternal trove of gold.

With a sudden rush of sickness to her stomach, Snow recognized the desperation in Regina's eyes. She'd always assumed that Regina was incapable of love, having allowed the darkness in her heart to burn and magic to shape her soul into something twisted, but it dawned on her that Regina might yet long for her mother's love again. She would put the heart back in her mother's body, and Snow would succeed in killing Cora.

She almost told Regina to give the box back and never consider placing the heart in Cora's body. But Regina wrapped her arms around the box and tossed Snow an irritated look, though not a murderous one.

"I'll deal with you later. And if you or any of your nosy family members ever step foot inside my vault again, your heads will be hanging as ornaments outside it for Christmas," Regina snapped and stepped backwards, into a thick cloak of purple fog. When it parted, Regina was gone.

Snow breathed for what felt like the first time since Regina appeared. She collided into one of the walls of hearts and slid to the floor, bunching her knees to her chest. Only then did she bear the extent of her actions, the ache building up in her heart until a tear slipped from her eyelid, dissolving in her black hair.

_What have I done? _

...

"It won't be long now," Cora taunted through the barrier. It was almost destroyed, now level with Cora's hips. Gold had the audacity to whistle the _Jeopardy _theme. Charming's sword aimed at his throat again.

"You might be in denial about magic and you might not think she can do a lot of damage to someone like you, but I know the truth. She is powerful, she is dangerous, and if she gets through that barrier she will slaughter us both like turkeys on Thanksgiving. You won't be able to charm her or impale her on your cane. So I suggest you quit making it worse for us."

The _Jeopardy _theme was not resurrected.

"Oh, Prince Charming, you flatter me," Cora called through the cloak of magic, batting her eyelashes. "If only you weren't so...pure. I might have had other uses for you." Charming squirmed uncomfortably under her soul-crushing gaze.

"I would appreciate it if you can stop pointing that sword at my neck," Gold protested, directing the sword away with the tip of a finger. "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, David Nolan, but there is more to swordfighting than 'sticking them with the pointy end.'"

Said the guy who cheated in swordfights. Charming refused to bite that line; he knew far more about swordfighting than his cursed counterpart. Knowing Gold, he'd be interested in making a bet on it.

"For the record, she does not perturb me," Gold added, pointing a finger directly at Cora. "I have dealt with Regina for as long I can remember. That woman has an everlasting menstruation cycle. Nothing can possibly be worse than that."

Charming begged to differ. Even though Regina's moods resembled a woman's time of the month, something worse was standing two feet away, breaking through a magical ward in an attempt to murder them for supreme domination.

"You might want to exchange your goodbyes _before _I get in the room. I'm much too eager to have you off with your heads," Cora warned.

Charming and Gold blinked at each other. _Well, what kind of goodbye should I give him? You will be greatly missed? It's too bad we could never be drinking buddies? Oh, the good times we've shared together? _

"If we don't live through this...I would like you to know...you aren't as bad as I originally assumed. There will never be...another imp like you. I appreciate all you've done for my family," Charming said honestly, clapping Gold on the shoulder. Gold used the gold head of his cane to nudge Charming's hand away and brushed the invisible germs from his suit. He averted his eyes to the floor and looked like he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole.

"I'm sorry...that the town will no longer be able to find amusement in your daily naivete," Gold offered. Charming waited, but there was nothing more to come.

"That's the best you've got?" Charming spread his hands incredulously, his jaw dropping. Gold looked at him like he was insane. Was he still holding a grudge over Charming stealing his cane?

"You're lucky for that much," he said briskly. Charming wished Rumpelstiltskin was here instead of Gold. He had a feeling the imp would value his words more than this guy.

"How touching," Cora said sarcastically.

Charming's grip on the sword tightened, the blade quivering from the pressure. It was the only weapon in his defense against Cora. What if it wasn't enough? Right about now, he'd rather take on a fully-grown, fire-breathing dragon than face the Queen of Hearts.

A sense of impending doom overwhelmed him, so much that he almost dropped his sword. He suddenly needed to talk to his daughter. He had always held on to the belief that having hope was as powerful as true love and that there was always a way, but if this battle was destined to be lost...he could not bear the thought of leaving this world or any other without telling Emma how much he cared for her.

Reluctantly taking his eyes off Cora for the moment, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed Emma's number. Gold observed him wordlessly as the dull tones buzzed in his ear.

"Hello?" He counted a beat, just to be certain it wasn't her voicemail. He always fell for that fake 'hello'. "There's this little thing called caller ID. I know it's you, Charming."

His breath whistled through his lips. It was really her. Immediately, his chest constricted while he searched for the right words to say to his daughter. Everything he ever wanted to say to her bubbled up so fast in his throat that he didn't know which line to spit out first. He didn't want to believe that this may be the last time he heard her voice.

"Emma," he said her name, savoring the way it sounded. He pictured the purple stitching in her baby blanket, spelling out her name. He only held her in his arms for that short time.

Gold stiffened once he heard Emma's name, but Charming ignored it. Nothing would ruin this moment with his daughter.

"Is it over? Is Cora...?" It came out flat, but Charming liked to think Emma was holding out hope as well. He did not dare to glance at Cora, despite the ever-shortening wall barring her entrance, the fountain of golden sparks erupting in the air.

"Not yet," he admitted. He heard her groan of dismay. "I wanted to call to tell you that I love you, Emma. I haven't gotten the chance to say it enough since we reunited. Your mother and I love you with all our hearts and it hurts us that we missed out on so many years and memories with you. I want you to understand that we only let you go to give you your best chance, just like you gave up Henry for the same reason. A parent should always be willing to put their child first, no matter what. You have grown into a beautiful, strong, independent woman. You've grown into a hero. You have what it takes to be a wonderful mother to Henry. Always know...I'm proud of you."

"Stop," Emma interjected, her voice shaking. She sounded stressed, tired, her nerves run ragged. "You're not going to die. Stop saying your goodbyes. First Mom did it, now you." It was such a fine line between denial and hope. He had to wonder which side of that line Emma was on.

"I only wanted you to know, just in case," he insisted. Gold shifted his head away from Charming, silently offering him a moment of privacy. Cora paused in destroying the ward long enough to pull a face of disgust.

"Thank you, Dad," she murmured in his ear. The heartfelt title made his heart swell. "I'm on my way to the airport with Henry and...Bae. If you can hold her off for a little while..."

Emma's words burned out before the end of that sentence. Even if she was coming, it would take hours to fly from Tallahassee to Maine. Charming flew into a panic. Emma might be walking straight into the fire.

"Emma, no. Stay in Tallahassee. It's safer there," Charming rushed to reason with her. Gold tossed his hand up in the air in dejection, as if he'd been dreading the news that Emma was returning. _Typical, _the gesture claimed.

"If Snow was in danger, even if it was far away, would you sit still and wait for it to be over? Or would you fight for her?" Charming didn't have to answer that question. He and Emma knew perfectly well what the answer would be. There was no arguing with her, not when her family was on the line.

"I would fight until I drew my last breath," he said. "Just as you intend to fight for your husband." She truly was his daughter.

"I'll see you soon," she promised. The connection broke and there was nothing else for Charming to do except return his phone to his pocket. Emma was coming. Whether he would be able to meet her with open arms remained to be seen.

The barrier fizzled away, lowering to Cora's thighs, then the lower half of her legs, then her ankles. At long last, the barrier was broken, the last of the golden sparks popping, and Cora invaded the back room. The battle began.

Charming stepped in front of Gold and raised his sword in defense. Cora looked at it like it was little more than a wooden sword and waved her hand. The force of her power crashed into the sword, but it did not make it any further that that. Charming expected to be knocked off his feet, but he was left standing strong, an immovable force in his own right. Cora studied her palm and then the sword, puzzled.

Charming remembered the energy he felt coming from the sword and he understood its purpose, like a secret he had long ago forgotten. The sword deflected her magic.

This time, Charming made the move and put Cora on the defensive. The sword swung down and, though he didn't plan to drastically lop her head off, the dagger rose to prevent the blow. There was the jarring sound of metal on metal and the dagger flew out of Cora's hand, skittering across the floor.

Cora took one step forward to retrieve it, but Charming came at her again, distracting her momentarily and forcing her to retreat. Cora blasted off fireball after fireball, but each one sizzled out upon impacting the blade in his hands. He herded her as skillfully as he once herded sheep.

The tide was turning. He was pushing her back through the door.

Gold stayed out of the way of their fighting. Even in his true form, he was often a spectator, not a team player. The sidelines were more his forte, the man behind the curtain, the puppeteer. He took the opportunity to skirt around Charming in pursuit of that most coveted dagger, but Cora heeded his movements.

As soon as Gold was visibly beyond Charming's shoulder, his human shield, Cora craned her neck and shot off a blast of magic at Gold. Charming was too slow to stop it. The energy hit Gold square in the chest and lifted him off his feet, sending him reeling into his desk. The collision was thunderous enough to topple several items on the desk and made Charming's head snap around to verify Gold's condition. He was sprawled over one corner of the desk and gripping the meat of his thigh, groaning.

Charming should never have taken his eyes off Cora.

She seized the moment greedily, placing her palm against Charming's chest and pumping enough electricity through him to make him drop the sword. As with Gold, his body flipped backwards through the air and landed painfully on his face, lips kissing the floorboards.

He barely had strength to raise his pounding head, his muscles reduced to Jell-O and traumatized from Cora's magic. But he knew Cora would go after that dagger. It wasn't just his life at stake. So he summoned up every last ounce of energy in his bones and staggered to his feet.

Gold limped in front of the desk, leaning more heavily on his cane than ever. Charming could tell that his bad leg was aching. At times, it seemed he was losing the ability to stand on it, sucking in deep breaths as he reclined on the desk for support.

And Cora held the dagger.

"You despicable fools," Cora berated, stroking the jagged waves of the Kris blade. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Charming's eyes scanned the floor for his sword, but it was sitting on the threshold of the doorway, behind Cora. He'd never be given the chance to reclaim it.

"I've had people attack me verbally and physically for a variety of purposes," Gold said, his breath strained. "Money, casting out evil, the occasional pregnancy rumor...What's your excuse?"

Cora appeared to grow larger, her shoulders broadening and her cloak billowing. Her papyrus skin creased around her forehead and mouth. While her figure had hardened into a thick shell, impenetrable by all who opposed her, those cruel black eyes softened enough for Charming to glimpse a shred of pity. Just a shred for Gold before it was crystalized with hatred once more. He may have imagined it.

"You have no memory at all, do you?" Gold's look of sheer bewilderment confirmed it. Charming wondered what sort of past Rumpel had with Cora. On second thought, he didn't want that revelation to be his last musing before he died. "It's a shame. After all, you were the one who granted me the gift of power in the first place. The reason I had to tear my own heart out of my chest and lock it away. My weakness, the obstacle I had to overcome in order to achieve what I was really meant for. And you were the only man I ever loved."

Charming felt sorry for Regina's father. Unless...

"_You _had a roll in the hay with Regina's _mother?_" Charming gaped at the man he once knew as Rumpelstiltskin. He prayed Regina wasn't his child. Their family tree could not endure any more twisted branches.

He tried to imagine how Gold was dealing with this. If Charming was Gold, trapped in a false persona with no recollection of magic or past lovers, he'd be scheduling an appointment with Archie. He peered over at the pawnbroker to check that he was still functioning mentally.

"I lost you after 'shame'," Gold replied dryly.

His indifference shook Cora away from her regretful reminiscing. The dagger glinted dangerously as she strode forward to finish her mission. Charming moved to confront her, but her arm snaked out and launched him back, all without sparing a glance his way. No doubt his fate would be granted later, after her throne of power was secured.

Before he could recover and scramble to his feet, there was the sound of a struggle, the clattering of Gold's cane, and a wrenching cry of agony. Cora had stabbed him deeply with the dagger. It hadn't been in his heart; the dagger was buried too low in his chest for that. But it rendered him motionless and pale, no longer fighting against Cora as hard, just as she willed it. When she pulled out the dagger, it was slick with Rumpelstiltskin's scarlet blood, weeping over their shoes, coating his true name completely. His body grew weak, swaying, but Cora shoved him up against the desk and held him upright.

One more stab into the heart-that's all it would take now.

The tip of the dagger skated up over Gold's chest, slicing his silk shirt to ribbons as Cora brought it to the area where his heart was hidden beneath taut flesh. Cora drew it back, aiming once more, this time fatally.

Amidst the tension, Charming witnessed something startling behind Cora, though Cora herself was too focused in her task to register the change in the room. All at once, Cora froze in place. The dagger never swooped down on its prey. Her head bent back to expose her throat, a low guttural noise escaping her lips.

Her fingers uncurled and the dagger fell to the floor. Charming hastily snatched it up.

Regina had transported behind her mother and thrust her arm between Cora's shoulder blades, returning her heart to its proper place. Fear and longing sprung to Regina's eyes as she awaited the consequences of restoring her mother's heart. Cora slowly pivoted on her heel to meet her daughter, her arms reaching out to her.

"R-Regina?" It was a whisper, if that, a soft noise no more perceptible than the slight draft in the back room. Tremors shuddered through Cora's body, her movements weighted as though she were trudging through quicksand to reach her daughter.

And then she fell.

Before she could touch Regina's arm, she withered away to the floor, a crumpling leaf losing its essence of life with every inch it dropped. Regina sank to her knees to cradle her mother's limp body. Cora's head rolled in the crook of her elbow. Regina's lips hardly moved, but Charming swore his ears picked up a pleading chant of _no, no, no. _

Cora's hand grazed Regina's cheek.

"I...have not felt this way...in a long time. I had forgotten. This...you...would have been enough."

There was nothing to significantly mark the moment Cora passed from this world. There was no last cry of eternal damnation for those that had scorned her, and there was no triumphant warmth in Charming's heart. One minute her hand was pressed to Regina's cheek, the next it had fallen to her lap, lifeless, never to steal another heart again. Her eyes glazed over, the light fading, her jaw slackened, her lips parted to release her final breath. Then it was over.

"No," Regina wailed this time, shaking her mother's body like a child who sincerely believed their parent was only sleeping. But Cora would never wake. Emotions warred on her face: grief, regret, anger. In time, the numbness she felt would subside and, if Charming knew Regina, she would not be satisfied until her mother's vanquishers were served as roasted meals on her table with apples in their mouths.

Even now, Regina's chin lifted and rage was directed at the two surviving men in the room. An oath of vengeance was already hanging on her tongue.

"You," she hissed, gathering her mother's corpse against her chest to spare it their unlikely gloating. "Damn you! Damn all of you so-called heroes! You think this was war? If it is war you long for, war is what you shall have."

Charming came back to life and started for Regina. She was there, a mere foot away. This could all be stopped tonight. No more lives needed to be taken-she was welcome to occupy the jail cell next to Hook for the rest of her miserable days.

Regina must have expected the fate he had in store for her and just as quickly rejected it. With Cora's body still laying in her arms, she spread her hand over both their heads and a flume of smoke enveloped their forms. Charming hastened his steps, even stuck his hands in the smoke in hopes of dragging Regina back, but they came away empty. The smoke cleared and there was no evidence that Cora or Regina had been there except for the blood on the blade of Rumpel's dagger.

The blood...Rumpel's dagger...

Charming whirled to behold Gold, who was standing noticeably straighter and pawing his chest. A quizzical look marred his normally calculative, wise fetaures. There was no blood soaking through his torn silk shirt, no lingering pain keeping him at bay. His wounds had been healed, his life exchanged for Cora's.

"Are you alright?" Charming approached the man with his hands outstretched before him in caution. It was meant to be a warning to Gold that he was not about to harm him like Cora had. Gold turned his back, escaping behind his desk. He shook his head numbly, his brown hair cascading across his face. "Gold, say something."

"You want me to say something? How's this? Take your infernal dagger and get out of my shop."

Charming stumbled back a step, shocked by Gold's abrupt dismissal. How was that for gratitude?

"That's all I get? Get out? In case you haven't noticed, I just helped save your life," Charming exclaimed. Truthfully, Snow White had saved his life and made a sacrifice he wasn't entirely sure she was ready to pay. Taking a life was no easy burden to shoulder.

Gold never bothered turning around.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings? Would you care for a cookie or a golden star for your achievement?" The biting sarcasm disgusted Charming. It was all too much to bear. Without another word, Charming left the shop with the dagger still swinging by his side.

...

_"It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have sunlight on your face..."_

Grumpy paused in singing long enough to tip his glass to his lips and take a shot of whiskey. He scrunched his nose as it burned its way to his belly. How could Leroy swallow this stuff day to day? He was only doing it because the water cooler ran out of water and he happened to find the bottle of whiskey in the old deputy desk.

Through the sea-green bars of the jail cell, Hook slouched against the wall and raised his cup in a friendly salute, downing the contents happily. He was tilting and he grasped the bars to stop himself from falling. The drink helped ease the pain from his recent wounds.

Technically, Grumpy wasn't supposed to give anything to Hook, least of all the hook that was locked in the desk, but it was rude to have a drink and not offer him one. The dwarf remembered what it was like being locked up in King George's castle, watching the guards gulp wine from flasks while he was served slop, if lucky.

Besides, it wasn't like he was walking over and sticking his arms through the bars to hand the pirate a drink. That was plain stupid. Grumpy was sitting with his back against the desk and _sliding _the drink across the floor to Hook's cell. If the cup made it to the cell without falling over, the pirate could have it. It was always in a paper cup, never glass.

"_Did you ever know that you're my he-ro? You're everything I would like to be!" _Grumpy refilled his glass with an unsteady hand. Some fluid spilled over the rim, his mind sloppy and sluggish due to the alcohol.

"You, my friend, have good taste in drinks," Hook commended Grumpy, his words slurring a bit. "But your singing voice leaves something to be desired. I've heard pigs squeal more harmoniously than you."

Hook slid the paper cup across the floor to Grumpy. The pain of moving was worth the drink. The dwarf generously refilled it. Then he forgot it was meant for Hook, drank it, and had to refill the cup again.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I am a member of Archie and the Crickets! People love us," Grumpy defended his singing capabilities with too loud a voice. The cup of alcohol glided over the floor to Hook. It nearly fell, but Hook rescued it in time.

A spilled drink was an unforgivable crime in Hook's book.

"Never heard of it," the pirate boomed.

Before Grumpy could tell the tale of how he, Archie, and David chased after Emma one time while singing romantic songs to convince her to get back together with Gold, his phone buzzed on the desk. Grumpy reached up for it and accidentally grabbed a lamp. The lamp crashed to the ground and exploded with blue light. He finally found his phone on the corner of the desk.

"'Ello?" There was no one answering on the other end. He pulled the phone away from his ear. "Whoops. 'S a text message. Be...there soon...Cora...is...dead." Grumpy stared blankly at the screen. "What? She _died?_"

"She's gone?" Hook searched his soul for a speck of emptiness or sadness, but found none. No more creepy smiles, no more suspicious squeezes on various parts of his body, no more Operation: Repopulate the Enchanted Forest. "I'm free! This calls for another drink, mate!"

And he slid his cup across the floor for another. This wasn't quite so bad. One day, with Cora's shadow no longer hanging over his head, he might even get used to this way of living.

_"I could fly higher than an ea-gle!" _

So long as the whiskey didn't run out, he could live with it.

...

**_I do not own the song Wind Beneath My Wings by Bette Midler, in case anyone happened to wonder. I just used it for fun. _**

_**I just realized while editing this chapter that it is...50 pages long. A very long chapter (my longest yet), but I wanted to finish Cora's storyline, so there it is. I hope everyone enjoyed it despite the incredible length. **_

_**Just a heads-up: it's finals week for me. The next chapter might take me a little bit of time to write up because of that. Hopefully, everyone had a nice and safe Thanksgiving, by the way. **_

_**For their reviews, I wish to thank DaesGatling, GuestRoom, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, bellegold89, sbcarri, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, megumisakura, Mona, discotimelord, orthankg1 (glad you like the Neal twist! It'll only get weirder from here), SwanQueen4055, and PrincessofSea. I'm glad everyone seemed okay with Neal being in this story. So many people asked for it, so wish granted. (-; **_


	71. Chapter 71

_**A/N: At last, it's here! I think everyone will enjoy this particular chapter. I most likely won't update again until after the holidays, so I wish everyone a Merry Christmas. I have DaesGatling, Loki Holmes, sbcarri, Huntress4455, KritiPotterWhovian, megumisakura, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, orthankg1, beverlie4055, and bellegold89 to thank for their reviews. Cheers! **_

Henry had waited for the opportune moment to bombard Bae with his cluster of questions. It was too strange to think of Rumpel's son being his real father, so he stuck with calling him Bae.

His curiosity beat its wings against the bars of its cage, begging to roam free, but he didn't grant it freedom yet. He didn't want his mom to overhear their conversation. She was already upset as it was and he knew too much stress wasn't good for the baby. Rumpelstiltskin told him that. It was only when he asked if that stress applied to the things that made Emma moan during the night that his dad changed the subject-quickly. Henry guessed the activities his parents did together at night was an exception.

He sat on a hard, stiff seat, his legs swinging methodically back and forth. The airport was crowded with people rushing to catch their plane or retrieve their luggage from conveyor belts. Henry got bored watching the crowd long ago, the faces soon blending and becoming the same. One after the other, marching within their own bubbles. The shrieks of children pierced his ears, but he could never pinpoint the source. There were too many children.

As always, Henry felt detached from the world which those children belonged, same as when he ventured to Boston to find Emma. He was on the outside looking in-their worlds rested side by side, but refused to merge. Those children were blissful in their ignorance, destined to lead normal lives. They had parents and siblings; not saviors and wizards, but lawyers, doctors, teachers. Normalcy. Their loved ones would not be lost due to the price of magic. Those children forged friendships easily, with other children that were not doomed to stay the same age for three decades.

At the same time, Henry disregarded his loneliness and felt sorry for those children. Their dreams may be full of princes, princesses, dragons, and evil witches, but those dreams faded with each new morning. Eventually, those children would reach an age when they no longer believed in magic, thinking it to be child's play. They would never know the magic they dreamed of truly existed. In Henry's mind, that was a sad truth to behold.

This world needed more magic.

He barely heard his mom when she reluctantly told Bae to keep an eye on him before hurrying off to the bathroom. The last time Emma went to the bathroom, she returned with sore, red eyes and flushed cheeks. Henry knew she'd been crying, but she explained it to Bae as "pregnancy hormones." His mom was never a good liar.

Bae was slouched in the seat directly beside him, eyeing the crowd as blankly as Henry had been, his head full of confusing thoughts. Henry wondered what caused the tired lines underneath his eyelids. They hadn't been there when he first ran into Emma and spilled coffee on her shirt.

This was his moment-he readily seized it.

"What were you like as a kid?"

Henry felt such intense relief as he let his curiosity be satisfied. Rumpel once said his curiosity reminded him of Belle, but now Henry imagined that he inherited most of his curiosity from Bae. Emma was curious in her own right, but Henry sometimes felt that his dad saw through him, envisioning something else in his place. Had he been thinking of Bae, back when he was Henry's age and still adored him?

His biological father-how strange-straightened up in his seat, his train of thought returning swiftly to reality. He blinked a few times and forced a smile for Henry.

"Me? I was..."

Bae's voice trailed away. His focus wandered from Henry while he searched for the right words. Or was he debating how much to say in connection to his father? Henry made a note in his mind to ask Rumpel about his childhood as well. He had been curious about that, too. Finally Bae's attention returned to Henry, but there was no forced smile this time.

"Before my father became the Dark One, my childhood was okay. It wasn't great, but it wasn't very bad, either. It was...quiet. Mostly peaceful, save for the war. My father and I weren't well-off. Technically, we were peasants, but our cottage was comfortable and it resided on a field where you could see the sun rise and set each day."

Bae's features softened on the heels of a long-lost memory. The fondness and nostalgia were reflected in his eyes. Henry clasped his knees and leaned closer.

"And...after Rumpelstiltskin became the Dark One?"

Immediately, Henry knew it was a sensitive subject. Bae tensed, his muscles hardening until he resembled a statue in his seat. If not a statue, then a wax figure. Bae rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if determined to wipe away the spreading revulsion and hurt.

"My father used to be a good man. That man died the night he became the Dark One. It was like...he made a trade. In my name, he traded his soul and all that was left was something tarnished, blackened, inhuman. After that, I was lonely. No one wanted to be friends with the son of the Dark One. No one...except Morraine."

Bae stared down at his hands, forming a cup in his lap. Henry registered the distance in Bae's eyes and knew Bae did not see that cup. Greater pain than ever before consumed him. Morraine. The name echoed in Henry's head, but he knew they weren't talking about the same person.

"Your father knew Morraine, too. He and Emma were going to name their baby Morraine. That was before her miscarriage," Henry said solemnly. He wondered what it would be like if Emma hadn't lost that baby. She'd be closer to having a daughter.

Bae apparently didn't like the sound of it at all.

"Morraine was my childhood friend. She was the one that gave me the idea to ask the Blue Fairy for help, so that I could take my father to a land without...magic." Bae hissed the last word through his teeth. Henry didn't see why it mattered. It was too loud to be overheard. The guy in the seat behind them had his head tossed back and was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, as Emma had a habit of saying. "If my father intended to find me, I'll bet he planned to use Morraine's name as further insurance for my forgiveness."

Henry settled back in his seat. It made him sad to see that Bae harvested hatred for his father. It hurt, too. Bae had spent centuries away from his father; he didn't know Rumpel as he was now. He wasn't as bad as Bae made him out to be.

"Why do you think he'll use his baby against you? Whenever he mentioned Morraine, he always looked upset, like he was sorry for whatever happened to her all those centuries ago."

Surprise governed Bae's face. Just because he gave up on his father didn't mean Henry was ready to follow in his steps. Someone had to fight for Rumpel and Henry was happy enough to be that knight. But then Bae shifted in his seat, facing Henry fully, and that dark seriousness unnerved Henry.

"No, Henry. My father only used Morraine's name because it reminds him of me. It would only be another way of chaining me down to his side. That's what he does. He's selfish, willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants, even if it means unhappiness for everyone else involved." The bitterness radiating from Bae made Henry wince. "What did he do to cause her miscarriage?"

Henry's head snapped up. A trickle of ice slithered down his neck. Was that what Bae assumed? Was his opinion of his father so low, his hope so shattered, that he thought Rumpel was responsible for Emma's pain? His stomach somersaulted as if he just stepped off a mighty rollercoaster.

"Rumpel had nothing to do with it," Henry almost shouted. His hands gripped the edge of his seat. "A man named Jefferson captured Emma and her mom one night. He tackled her and that caused the miscarriage. Not Rumpelstiltskin."

Truthfully, Henry never saw Rumpel so broken as when he and Emma lost Morraine. He still recalled the way Rumpel held him in a tight embrace soon after that tragedy, afraid to let him go. Henry didn't know if he even forgave Jefferson yet. He liked Grace, but he always thought of Morraine when he looked at Jefferson.

Bae's shoulders hunched. He looked ashamed.

"Oh," he mumbled. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, Henry, but I've witnessed my father hurting people before. I want to be sure that he doesn't hurt you or Emma as well."

Henry sensed that Bae meant well, but his frustration and sadness rose to higher levels. Sticky, black thoughts swarmed his mind, a cloud of poison that threatened to fly from his mouth. It was getting harder to hold it in, especially when he pictured Emma's bloodshot eyes.

"You hurt her worse than my dad ever did," Henry blurted angrily.

He watched as the barb hit its mark and it felt unexpectedly good. Bae was silent for a long time, enough for Henry to clear his head. He didn't know all the details of how Bae hurt Emma, but he had never seen her so distressed before. She never looked at Rumpel the way she looked at Bae. Empty, regretful, pained beyond measure. Betrayed.

"Henry, I don't know if there can be a stable relationship with my father anymore," he admitted. "But I'm going to try to atone for what I've done to Emma and you, by extension. That is, if you'll give me a chance."

Bae extended his hand. Henry wasn't certain how he felt about his biological father appearing so suddenly in their lives. He definitely wasn't going to stop caring for Rumpel as a father figure. Maybe they could work something out with Bae. If anything, accepting Bae's proposal would be Henry's way of setting a good example.

"Everyone deserves a second chance," he said. He looked Bae in the eye the moment his hand wrapped around Bae's to seal the deal. Henry only hoped Bae would be able to take the hint and offer Rumpel the same kindness.

He missed his dad so very much.

...

"Welcome to Storybrooke," Neal read aloud the black letters on the town's plain white sign.

She didn't know whether it was because she had magic in her veins, magic that had recently been tapped, but Emma felt it when they officially crossed the town border. It was like a breath of fresh air. Emma had another name for it. Coming home.

"You know, the night I came here, I accidentally mowed down that sign," Emma told Neal, grinning at the memory. She didn't know why she mentioned it. Maybe she was trying to make friendly conversation. It had been awkward between them ever since they reunited.

"Accidentally?" Neal turned his head away from the window and gave her a doubtful look. Emma gaped. Did he think she would drive her car into the town sign on purpose? In hopes of leaving her mark on the town before she sped off?

"I saw a wolf in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid hitting it and I...killed the sign instead," she explained. Henry chortled in the back seat. To this day, she never learned what became of that wolf after Graham's passing.

Emma drove straight to Gold's pawnshop. Through the frosted window, Neal studied everything that passed by with wide eyes, like a little boy getting his first glimpse of Mickey Mouse at Disney World. It was a modern town snuggled within a patch of woods, a town that did not belong there. When they stepped out of the car, Neal read the cream-and-gold sign above the door of the pawnshop and scrunched his nose. Emma shoved him forward, afraid that the false name on that sign would remind Neal of what his father had done.

"Henry, stay out here," Emma demanded, gesturing to the front section of the shop. There was plenty to keep him preoccupied. Already he was studying the two creepy puppets on the display case.

It was going to be tense dealing with Gold as it was without Henry being there to rattle Neal even more. On the plane ride back, he and Henry talked a bit, general stuff like their favorite foods and what Bae used to do at Henry's age. Emma sensed the reality of having a child hadn't sunk into Neal's mind yet.

She and Neal charged through the curtain. Gold was hunched behind his desk, talking to someone on the phone. From the creases on his brow, it didn't look like a pleasant conversation. Further annoyance glimmered in his eyes due to their intrusion, but he was too busy carrying on his conversation to order them to leave.

"Look, Ashley, our contract required you to hand the babe over to me the minute she popped out from between your shapely legs. By the look of it, it has been more than a few months. Don't expect me to wait until the child's first birthday. She'll be celebrating it in the arms of more sufficient parents," Gold growled. He paused and Emma heard the garble of Ashley's voice on the other end. It sounded like she was screaming. "I'm not afraid of Granny. She's got a crossbow? Well...I have a cane. You'd think I would remember if you sprayed me with Mace. So, when shall I expect the child in my shop? Hello?" Gold ripped the phone from his ear, the dial tone buzzing. "Hasn't she ever heard of redial?"

Neal shot her a disappointed look. She wanted to explain that it was Mr. Gold, not his father, but she feared he didn't quite understand the distinction.

Emma strode over to the desk, snatched the phone from Gold's hand before he could continue harrassing Ashley, and slammed it down on the receiver.

"I believe I was about to make an important business call," he hissed. His hand covered Emma's atop the phone, encouraging her to let go of it. Electricity spiraled along her fingers, but she did not yield.

"I believe you were about to clear your schedule to speak with us about equally important matters," she retorted. For extra pull, she lifted the hem of her jacket and flashed her Sheriff's badge. Gold eyed it grimly. Yanking his fingers away from the phone, he tented them under his nose and settled back in his chair.

"You have a highly unflattering way of dealing with people, Sheriff. Are you always so determined to get your way?" Emma defiantly crossed her arms. "What can I possibly do for you?"

Emma waved Neal to her side. It was with reluctance that his feet shuffled over the floor. Gold examined Neal from head-to-toe, but there was no spark of recognition.

"Ah, is this the father of your children? Come to break the sad news to me of our ending affair?" Emma bristled against Gold's venemous mockery. It would be hard enough convincing Rumpel of the truth that Gold so carelessly spouted. Neal had his hands in his pockets and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Emma nudged him forward with her elbow.

"Um..." Emma grimaced. Not a good start. Neal rubbed the back of his neck. "Emma told me that you're exhibiting a false personality, that you shouldn't be held accountable for Mr. Gold's actions. To be honest, I don't even see much of a difference from the man that chose power over me."

"Are you really going to hold onto your resentment now?" Emma flared, whirling to face Neal. "We came all this way from Tallahassee. You might never see your father again. This will be all that's left-a shell of the man he used to be." Gold's hand inched toward the phone, probably to call the psyche ward, but Emma slapped it.

Neal's silence made her nervous. It was impossible to tell whether he was leaning toward forgiveness or remembering his father's darkness after becoming the Dark One. Emma hoped for the former. Pity, sadness, and fury rivaled over Neal's face.

Finally, his lips parted.

"I forgive you," he said. Gold arched his eyebrows, but neither questioned or rejected the kindness. Emma waited, but nothing happened. She suspected it was because Neal's heart wasn't in it. The words were not enough.

"No, you don't," she protested. "You haven't forgiven him and you no longer love him." Neal grew exasperated, the extent of his disdain for his father coming to light. He was only doing this for her, not for his father and not for himself.

"What do you want me to say, Emma? The man abandoned me! He never loved me enough to hold on to me when it mattered most! Forgiveness isn't something he deserves freely."

"Sounds like you two are in need of Archie's services," Gold remarked. Emma groaned in frustration.

"You think I don't know how you feel? For twenty-eight years of my life, I thought my parents left me on the side of a road. If anyone knows what being abandoned feels like, it's me. So quit feeling sorry for yourself. He's done nothing but try to find you for three hundred years. It's not like he was vacationing on a yacht in the Bahamas and sipping martinis."

From her peripheral vision, she saw Gold lick his lips. Either he was intensely enjoying this show of insanity or he had a craving for martinis. Neal's fingers raked through his hair.

"You can't understand," he roared, taking Emma aback. "Your parents are Snow White and Prince Charming. They never abandoned you. They sacrificed their life with you because you were their only hope. Because my father created a curse that ruined the lives of everyone in the Enchanted Forest. It always comes back to him. My father made a choice when I dropped into that vortex-he chose power. He craves power, Emma. As a matter of fact, if I wake him up, he'll only end up using you, using Henry, using your unborn child for power. When the time comes, he'll betray them and betray you just like he did to me."

Emma's hands flew to her stomach to protect the sensitive life growing inside. Her heart thudded painfully with every sour word Neal flung. Everything was falling apart so fast, falling through her fingers before she could even get a chance to stop it.

"That's not true. It's been centuries since you've known him. He loves Henry and he loves me. Enough to make a promise to change-"

"Promises can be broken. He broke mine," Neal interrupted. He refused to listen to her pleas. He pointed to Gold without bothering to look at him. "Mark my words. That man will never change. Maybe I'm doing you a favor. You're better off without him. You and Henry both."

He brushed past her shoulder as he walked away, his words cutting into her like shards of glass.

"I'm going to head down to the Inn and get a room," he told her over his shoulder.

"You mean you're actually staying?" It had taken so much effort to convince Neal to return with them to Storybrooke. Here she thought that if things didn't work out with his father that he would run right back to Tallahassee. Then she thought of Henry, waiting and probably eavesdropping behind that curtain.

"I'm staying for my son. I'm not about to make the same mistake my father once did." He took another step away from her and then paused. The way he cocked his head suggested he thought of something all of a sudden. "If you're really serious about restoring his memories...maybe the Blue Fairy can help you."

Then Neal vanished through the curtain. She listened as he made plans with Henry to have dinner at the diner. A short chuckle arose from behind her and she turned to gauge Gold's reaction.

"If you ask me, I'd say that one is a keeper," the pawnbroker drawled, eyes glued on the curtain where Neal had departed. Emma wordlessly fled from the back room, with Gold's stare burning into her head the entire way. _I didn't ask. _

...

Snow knew the exact moment when Emma pulled up in her Bug outside her apartment building. That was because she was curled up on the window seat, her knees bunched up against her chest, her forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window.

Staring out over the town allowed her to clear her mind. Her thoughts roamed free while she came to terms with her decision in taking Cora's life. Somewhere out there, within the town's borders, Regina was holed up like a cockroach and more vengeful than ever.

The knock rebounded through the apartment. Goldie's barks soon joined in, those tiny golden paws scuffling across the floorboards.

"I'll get it," Charming said, slapping his oven mitts down on the table. He had tried several times and several different ways to cheer her up. First it was a delicious assortment of kisses on her lips, cheeks, and neck. Then it was a gentle shoulder rub, which she had to admit felt heavenly. Now he was in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch. According to his logic, no one was unhappy when eating chocolate chip cookies.

He truly was a wonderful husband.

"Emma," Charming greeted enthusiastically. Snow turned her head to watch him sweep Emma into a massive hug, his hand cradling her head like a newborn baby. Goldie leaped up on her calves, yearning for attention. "Hello, Henry. Good news: we're not dead."

And that was her husband, forever pointing out the obvious.

Emma pulled away from Charming's hug. He instantly traded her for Henry. Their grandson didn't have as many problems with displaying his affections as Emma did.

"Yeah, we can see that. This isn't exactly _The Sixth Sense,_" she replied. She brushed her clothes free of Charming-germs. Snow liked to think she approved of the hug, but was too shaken up over the fact that she'd nearly lost her parents again.

"You didn't let me finish," Charming complained. "We're alive, but your mother insists on sulking. Henry, there's a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen if you want any." Henry didn't have to be told twice. Scooping Goldie into his arms, he ducked around Charming and raced into the kitchen. Snow smiled faintly and pulled herself to her feet to greet Emma.

"I am not sulking," she argued, poking Charming in the arm. "I'm just taking some time to digest what I did."

She checked over her shoulder to make sure Henry wasn't listening. The last thing she wanted was Henry looking at her like he did Regina. She was Snow White, after all, the symbol of goodness and hope. The fairest of them all.

Emma's touch on her arm made her jump.

"How are you holding up? I told you it wouldn't be an easy burden to carry," her daughter said, keeping her voice low. Charming mirrored Emma's concern. Snow stood up straight, her shoulders stronger than she felt on the inside.

"I am fine," she insisted. "It was a difficult decision to make. However, I will never be sorry for protecting my family." Snow thought she saw a bit of pride in Emma's eyes. She refused to let her decision haunt her, no matter how terrible it was. She wasn't about to crawl under the covers and mope, not when she fought tooth and nail to keep her family intact.

"Did you tell him what I told you over the phone?" Emma tilted her head to Charming. Snow knew what she meant. She still found it so bizzare to consider; she didn't know what Charming would say. He looked back and forth between the two, puzzled.

"Tell me what?" Neither one knew precisely how to begin. It was obvious to Snow that Emma hadn't yet gotten over the awkwardness of the situation. No doubt it was the reason she hadn't brought Neal or Bae or whoever he was along for the ride.

"They're trying to figure out how to tell you that Rumpelstiltskin's son is also my real father," Henry said. He popped up next to Charming, munching a chocolate chip cookie. Charming gawked at Henry as if he had three heads, then turned that astonishment on Emma and Snow.

"Guess that answers my question," Emma said under her breath. _And Charming's, _Snow added mentally. _Though, it certainly wasn't the one he was expecting. _Charming looked like his brain was overheating.

"The guy you slept with...the one who gave you Henry...is Rumpelstiltskin's _son? _And you...and Rumpel...and Henry..." His brow wrinkled as he thought it through. Snow swore never to ask Henry to make a family tree again. It would be much too complicated to figure out how everyone fit together on it.

She figured the plan of getting Bae to forgive his father was easier said than done. Emma wouldn't be so unhappy if Rumpel was back.

"I'm going to visit the Blue Fairy. To see if she can help me," Emma declared.

This was Emma's last straw, Snow realized forlornly. It was plain in the way she appeared ready to collapse into a coma at any given moment. If this did not work, she would most likely be saying goodbye forever. Regina definitely would not stop because Emma needed to mourn. Quite the opposite, actually.

"The Blue Fairy should be able to do something," Snow added. Or maybe that was just her hope doing the talking. She hadn't had the proper time to become a real mother. How would she handle her daughter when her heart was broken beyond repair and hellfire was raining around them? "By the way, you should know Belle is in the hospital."

Emma froze with her hand on the doorknob. Fear for her friend flashed across her face. Even if she was Rumpel's true love, Belle had become a source of support for Emma. Taken away, Emma might stumble just as if it were Henry or Rumpel.

"What happened? What did Cora and Regina do to her? Hook is still behind bars, isn't he?" Regret radiated from every muscle in Emma's body. "If I had been here-"

"Emma, you can't blame yourself," Snow interjected. _You can't save everyone, _she almost said. It wasn't what Emma would want to hear, being the savior. It was an equally hard lesson for Snow to learn.

Emma whirled to Charming for the answers. He held up a hand to calm his frantic daughter.

"Belle is in better shape than you think. She may seem delicate, but she's stronger than you give her credit for. Regina and Cora attacked her outside the clock shop, trying to find out where Rumpel's dagger was. No missing heart, no severe injuries, though it's probably not a bad idea if she talks to Archie at least once in case of any lasting trauma. Hook's nice and cozy in his jail cell, drunk as a skunk. That's the phrase, right?" Emma arched an eyebrow. Keeping Hook intoxicated was a stroke of brilliance, but Charming didn't take credit for it. "Grumpy's keeping an eye on him."

"I'll make Belle a get-well card," Henry offered. Before any of them could agree, he was already dashing for the table in search of the necessary materials. "What should the message be? _I'm So Glad You're Not Heartless? You Can't Keep a Good Belle Down?" _

Snow moved to the table to help him with the card. From the corner of her eye, she watched Emma slip out the door and thought of Regina lurking in the shadows, plotting her next move on the chessboard. She hid her worries behind a chocolate chip cookie.

Charming said no one could be unhappy when eating a chocolate chip cookie. _You were wrong, _she thought glumly as she nibbled away.

...

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm afraid I cannot help you," the Blue Fairy said from behind her desk. She was hastily shuffling papers and storing them away in one of the drawers, giving her an excuse not to look too closely at Emma. She didn't sound very regretful. Emma was starting to see why Rumpel never cared for the fairies, apart from Blue's part in his loss of Bae. The most she was good for was a walking convenience.

"Cannot? Or will not?" Blue avoided Emma's hard gaze and that was when Emma knew the truth. The Blue Fairy possessed the power to help Rumpel; she simply did not want anything to do with it.

The chair scraped across the floor and the ex-Mother Superior gracefully rose to full height. Emma took it as a challenge. The way the Blue Fairy clasped her hands together wasn't making her look any more sympathetic.

"I know you must be heartbroken, Emma, but I'm sorry. I cannot-will not-willingly bring back Rumpelstiltskin. Fairy magic and the Dark One's magic do not mix well. I refuse to unleash his evil on the world again. Not after how powerful he's become in the past and after everything he's done to my fairies. Perhaps it's better off."

Blue smiled, but received no warmth in return.

"Better off?" She was the second person to suggest that. If the desk weren't barricading the Blue Fairy, Emma would already be in her face. "My husband lost his true memories. After that, he's been nothing but resentful to me, he dared to hit me once, he kissed me and called me by the wrong name because he's pining over some imaginary barfly...Henry no longer has a father figure except for the man who betrayed me when I was eighteen and my baby is doomed to be raised without its father. What part of that sounds _better off?_"

The color drained from the Blue Fairy's face. Her smile grew colder and then shattered altogether. This time, she actually looked sorry, but Emma didn't have much hope for the Blue Fairy changing her mind.

"I'm sorry," she murmured for the third time. "But my answer is no."

The Blue Fairy's stare weighed heavily over Emma for an extra second before she rounded the corner of the desk and marched for the door. The Blue Fairy's heels clacked on the floorboards, reminding Emma of the sound Regina made when she was rage-strutting.

Her last hope was walking out the door.

"Rumpelstiltskin kept one of your fairy wands. I know where it is and I'll give it to you, so long as you bring him back," Emma negotiated. The wand had belonged to Cinderella's fairy godmother. She pictured it in her mind, that thin crystal wand displayed in Rumpel's basement. She didn't know if it was still there now that Mr. Gold inhabited her husband's body, but it was the only thing she could think of to offer the Blue Fairy. Rumpel once said the fairies were very sensitive about what was rightfully theirs.

The Blue Fairy stopped on the threshold. It was all Emma needed to know she had succeeded in hooking her. If the Blue Fairy hadn't cared for the wand, she would have kept walking. Slowly, the Blue Fairy pivoted on her heel to face Emma once more.

"Give me the wand and I'll do everything in my power to bring him back."

"Bring him back and I'll give you the wand," Emma fired back.

Surprise and outrage rippled over the Blue Fairy's pristine face. According to Snow, fairies were supposed to be the purest of heart, but Blue had been exposed to human nature through the curse. How was Emma supposed to know if the Blue Fairy would take the wand and leave her empty-handed? On the other hand, Emma was Rumpelstiltskin's wife. Rumpel may have been many things, but he always kept his word, a feature that had rubbed off on Emma.

"Fine," the Blue Fairy agreed miserably. "I'll need some time to gather everything I need. Also, I'll require a few strands of hair from the head of Rumpelstiltskin's true love. Just know I will not enjoy my part in this."

Emma rolled her eyes. Fairies were supposedly good-natured, but this one was quickly getting on her nerves.

"Yeah, I got that," she returned coolly. While the Blue Fairy returned to her desk to clear it off, Emma exited the office with plans to stop at the hospital. It was a good thing Belle was naturally inclined to help, or this might mark the first time Emma ripped Belle's hair out over Rumpelstiltskin.

...

"...long will it be? She's been sleeping for..."

Through the veil of sleep, Jefferson's voice called to her. Her eyelids were steel curtains, resisting her efforts to open them. Her throat was parched, dry as if coated with sand, and her lips refused to form words. She failed to hear Jefferson say how much time had passed; her mind kept swimming in and out of consciousness.

"...patient, sir. She's been through excessive trauma..."

Trauma. That was an understatement. It was torture, plain and simple. The faces of Cora and Regina shimmered into view through the darkness behind her heavy eyelids. She rolled her head to escape them and all at once remembered the searing agony jarring her bones, their magic sucking the life from her...

"...having a nightmare. Belle, it's me. I'm here with you. Take it easy-" _We can do this the easy way or the hard way. _Hands clamped down on her shoulders and she panicked. The ability to think logically was lost to her for the time being. Her fist flew up and smashed someone's face. _"Yaahhh!" _

The steel curtains finally parted. For an instant, she was blinded by the stark whiteness of the room. She blinked and colors swirled before her unfocused eyes, slowly coming together to form objects and figures.

She was in a hospital room. There were beeping monitors alongside the bed, which was dressed with a thin, sterile blanket. The white cotton matched the room. Grace was folded in the only armchair, her homework balanced on her lap. It might as well have been invisible since Grace's eyes were wide and she was watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and concern.

Belle shifted her head on the staunch pillow and noticed Nurse Ratched giving her a severe look. A syringe already dangled between her fingers like a cigarette. And Jefferson...

Jefferson's hand was on her shoulder. A tissue was pressed to his nose. When he pulled it away to examine it, she realized he was bleeding. All because her fist smashed his nose. And yet, he didn't look upset. He showered her with a quirky smile.

"Oh, yeah. You can go now, by the way," he told Nurse Ratched. The message was clear that he didn't want the nurse intruding on his moment with Belle. The nurse hesitated, her needle glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window, but she eventually let them be. When she was gone, Jefferson moved his eyebrows up and down to make Belle laugh.

"That woman makes me very nervous," he admitted in a dramatic whisper. Belle tried to stifle her giggles, only to lose it when Grace joined in. Jefferson folded his tissue to find a clean spot on it and pressed it under his nose again. "Lesson learned: think twice before comforting a woman that has been tormented by Regina. Welcome back."

He released her shoulder to grab a fresh tissue. She bit softly on her lip, the guilt straining her chest.

"I'm so sorry, Jefferson. All I could remember was Regina and Cora attacking me. I suppose I acted on instinct, but I should have known-" Jefferson leaned over the hospital bed and cupped her chin. His thumb stroked her jaw tenderly.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, Belle. Trust me; I've experienced far worse than a bloody nose. I'll live," he reassured her.

Belle couldn't help it. She glanced from his face to the stylish black cravat tied around his throat. Underneath it was his scar. To him, it was proof of the mistake he'd made in leaving Grace. To Belle, it was a battle scar, a sign of his willingness to do anything for his daughter. After all, the sole purpose he agreed to venture into Wonderland with Regina was to give Grace a better life afterwards. It was Regina that took advantage of his love for Grace and left him there to rot in his misery.

Jefferson's hand faltered from her chin and she could tell he was struggling not to touch that cravat. It was always one of his insecurities, that scar.

"What Regina and Cora did to you was cruel, inhumane," Jefferson continued. Admiration poured from his warm brown eyes. "Any other person might have broken after that first wave of torture, but I know you. You held on the entire time and fought back, all to save Rumpelstiltskin from a worse fate. You are the bravest person I have ever met. I'll gladly suffer ten nosebleeds for you. If that gives you any consolation."

"She's a hero," Grace chimed in, sitting up in her chair. Belle was stunned by the praise they were giving her. Jefferson bent to kiss her forehead the second his nose stopped bleeding. His fingers gently threaded through her hair and she leaned into his touch.

"Yes, she is," he agreed.

Belle took his hand from her hair and wove her fingers through his. He savored the physical contact, bringing her hand to his lips. She knew the thought of almost losing her to Regina frightened him, even if he did not vocalize his fear in front of Grace. It was there, written in his eyes.

"Does this mean that Rumpelstiltskin is safe?" From the moment her eyes sought out that clock tower while being tortured, it was her endless woe that she had signed Rumpel's death certificate. But Jefferson did not appear remorseful. She began to hope.

"He's safe in his little shop," he assured, waving his fingers blindly toward the door. Belle's head fell back on the pillow in relief. Rumpel was alive and well. Or rather, _Mr. Gold _was. "Still no memory, unfortunately." Just as she thought. Their only hope was if Emma returned...

"I might have a way to fix that. _Might _being the key word." The voice came from the doorway.

Belle sat upright in her hospital bed, nearly throwing Jefferson backwards in the process. She mouthed the word _sorry _to him, but he casually brushed it off. He touched a finger to his nose, reminding her about what he said in terms of his devotion. He was so sweet, so considerate. When Belle was discharged from the hospital, she planned to take Jefferson somewhere secluded, unravel his cravat, and kiss every inch of that scar on his neck. For now, her eyes trained on the familiar face in the doorway.

A halo of golden curls, two piercing emerald eyes, red leather jacket...it was her. Emma offered a tight half-smile and strode into the hospital room, her boots thumping on the linoleum tiles.

"Sorry I didn't stop at Clark's for a get-well card. I only learned about your encounter with Regina about an hour ago. Henry's drawing one up for you as we speak," Emma said, joining Jefferson at Belle's bedside. She didn't mind whether Emma supplied a get-well card or not. She was only happy that Emma was back in Storybrooke with her family where she belonged. "Hi, Grace."

Emma smiled more forcefully at Jefferson's daughter. Grace returned a bright smile, though it was a little on the shy side as well. It was mainly due to Paige's personality, still tucked away in that body somewhere. Grace was only regaining her confidence from spending time with Belle.

"Hi, Emma," Grace said quietly. Pink color glowed in her cheeks. Belle knew Grace had missed Henry being in Storybrooke and she wondered if Grace was thinking of the boy right now.

Jefferson gave Emma a respectful nod. He looked like he was holding back. In order to gain Emma's forgiveness for causing her miscarriage, Jefferson had taken his sworn fealty to heart and once asked Belle if he had to bow in the princess's presence.

"Did you find Baelfire?" Emma's smile broke apart at the seams. _Oh, no, _Belle thought alarmingly. _Please don't tell me something happened to Bae, too. Hasn't Rumpelstiltskin's family endured enough suffering? _

"I found him, alright," Emma said, rocking on her toes. Belle got the feeling there was more to the story and that it made Emma uncomfortable. For one thing, it seemed a challenge for her to maintain eye contact. A heavy breath escaped her nose. "Turns out...he's Henry's father."

Belle's eyebrows shot to her hairline. A pink blush rose to Emma's face. It took a moment for the idea to wrap around Belle's mind.

"If Bae is Henry's father, then that means you and he...oh..." The enormity of what Emma was dealing with hit Belle with the force of a moving train. Oh, the poor girl. She had enough stress on her shoulders as it was. Now this?

It didn't help that Jefferson was on the verge of a laughing fit.

"What the hell are you laughing at, hatter?" Emma spun on her heel and glared at him. If looks could kill, Jefferson would need a crash cart, stat.

"Nothing," he said, but the snort of laughter in his throat begged to differ. His head fell to his chest and his shoulders shook violently. "Of all the people you could get into bed with. So, how will you be breaking the news to your husband? Ooh, can I watch?"

Emma stepped close enough to him that Jefferson had to back up. He bumped into the bedside table and the box of tissues fell to the floor.

"You're lucky your daughter is in this room," Emma warned. "Otherwise, I'd punch you in the face." Belle noted the tension in the room and scrambled to diffuse it. Even Grace noticed it. Finally she paid rapt attention to the homework in her lap.

"What can I do to help Rumpelstiltskin?" Belle assumed that was partly the reason for Emma's visit. Something was required of Rumpel's true love. Emma gratefully jumped on the change of subject.

"All I need is some of your hair. A few strands. The Blue Fairy is making a potion that will hopefully stir up Rumpel's true memories," Emma explained hastily. She said _hopefully _with little enthusiasm and Belle could not blame her. She never saw someone fight so hard as Emma, but she surely couldn't fight forever.

Without hesitation, Belle reached up and yanked out a few of her hairs. She bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out. Emma took a glass vial from her pocket and stored the hairs inside it so she would not lose them.

"Thanks," she said, dropping the vial inside her pocket again. She looked physically and emotionally exhausted. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Emma?" Belle stopped her from leaving. Emma briefly turned her head around. Belle chose her words carefully. She'd been waiting to tell Emma, but never got the chance. "I'm sorry for everything that happened with Gold. I never felt right about kissing him in the hospital. I would never want to hurt you or threaten the love you share with him. Nothing else happened...except for the part where he handed me a rose while I was having lunch with Snow."

Emma's lips creased with a troubled frown.

"He gave you a rose?!" Jefferson balked.

Belle peered up at him from under her eyelashes, ashamed. She knew there was some intricate detail she had forgotten to tell him-and that was it. Knowing Jefferson, he would present her with a whole bouquet of roses to trump Gold.

"Yes, just one. When I was attacked, I think Cora and Regina destroyed it." It was a shame, because the rose had been beautiful even if Belle didn't know how to respond to the romantic gesture.

"It's okay," Emma replied calmly. "It wasn't your fault. It was his false memories at work; it was never even Rumpel. And even if it was...I've never denied that you two are true loves. I don't blame you for anything he's done."

Belle was satisfied to hear it. She sat up straighter in bed and stretched out an arm to request Emma's hand.

"Bring him back to us," she said. Emma stuffed her other hand in her pocket and Belle knew she was fingering the vial of hair.

"I intend to," she said confidently. Her hand slipped out of Belle's. She bid goodbye to everyone in the room and then hurried off to rescue her husband. Once she was gone, Jefferson dug out his cell phone and dialed a number. Belle tilted her head questioningly.

"What are you doing?" Jefferson glanced up and failed to hide the secretive smile forming on his lips. He pressed the phone to his ear as it dialed.

"Calling your father's flower shop to see if he has any good deals on roses." Belle nodded victoriously. _I knew it. _

...

Emma was breathless by the time she reached the Blue Fairy's office. She might have parked her car illegally and almost knocked down two other fairies while they were still dressed in their nun outfits. She hoped that wasn't a mark against her soul.

If this was going to work, she wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.

"Here you go. Hairs freshly plucked from Belle's head," Emma announced, practically thrusting the glass vial into the Blue Fairy's hands. The Fairy gave her a startled look. Maybe she was questioning the manner in which Emma obtained the hairs.

"You'll give me the wand after this is done?" Emma huffed loudly and tapped her boot on the floor.

"If it works? I'll put the wand in a box, gift wrap it, slap a shiny red bow on top, and leave it outside your door," she said, impatiently waving the vial in the former nun's face.

The Blue Fairy was not pleased with Emma's sarcasm, but she took the vial. Uncapping it, she dumped Belle's hairs into the bowl where she was stewing the potion. Emma half-expected a cauldron. Rumpel always berated her for being so narrow-minded when it came to magic.

"I need to pour this potion over a sacred object, one that will evoke Rumpelstiltskin's true nature," The Blue Fairy explained carefully while stirring. It only took Emma a split second to decide which object to use. She reached for her golden swan necklace, the one Gold gave her for Christmas. "You always wear that necklace," the Blue Fairy noted. She held out her hand for it.

"Always," Emma answered shortly. She unclasped it from her neck and only stalled for a moment before lowering it into the Blue Fairy's palm. The Blue Fairy quickly dipped the golden swan in the potion. Even the chain glowed magnificently as the magic potion coated it.

"You'll have to be clever in order to make this work. No offense," the Blue Fairy advised. She handed Emma the necklace and Emma returned it to its proper spot. The magic thrummed over the hollow of her throat. "He'll need to concentrate on it. It cannot be forced, so you can't just wave it around in his face."

That had been her first option. However, a plan was forming in her mind. She knew precisely how to make this work.

"Thank you," she grudgingly said. She headed for the door, counting every second that passed. "Expect your gift in 3-5 business days."

...

Emma's nerves were rattling like a caffeine addict's on withdrawal as she finally reached the pawnshop. Ever since leaving the Blue Fairy's company, her fingers had clung to the golden swan necklace dangling from her neck, the gold secretly coated in the enchantment that was meant to jog his true memories. All he had to do was focus on it long enough to make it work. There would be only one chance to pull this off. If she failed now, it would be over.

She inhaled deeply and almost forgot to release the breath when she wrenched open the pawnshop's door and stepped into the cool interior.

"You again. I thought we made a deal," Gold said briskly after acknowledging her presence in his shop. He barely offered her a second glance. "You were not to try to seduce me again. Or are you the one suffering from memory loss?"

She found herself to keep a straight face. Getting upset at this false side of Gold would do her no good. This task was critical and required every ounce of her control. No mistakes.

"I'm not here to seduce you," she replied, heading for the register that shielded his lean body. "I'm here as a customer. I want to pawn something."

The till of the register clanged loudly as it slammed shut. For a long moment, Gold scrutinized her face, as if checking for any sign of deception. Then he brought his hands together and leaned over the counter, instantly switching into his persona of businessman. Even if he wanted next to nothing to do with her, her wish to do professional business with him apparently intrigued him enough to put aside his former resentment.

"And what special object would that be?" His calculating brown eyes followed her hand as it flew back to the chain around her neck.

Hesitancy prevented her from carrying out the next step in the plan. The necklace was one of the items she held sacred, having been gifted with it from her husband. What if this plan did not work? It took great effort and internal debate to part with the necklace.

It had to be done. It was for _him. _

"This," she finally said, unclasping the necklace. He cupped his hand and she dropped the necklace into his waiting palm, the chain coiling like a thin, gold snake. She wanted to warn him to be careful with it, but feared the mockery that would come from it.

"Hmm...not bad. Pure gold, I can tell. Even the chain is priceless. Normally a piece of jewelry this exquisite would cost an arm and a leg. Whoever purchased this necklace for you obviously had fine taste in jewelry," he concluded, turning the golden charm over in his palm for examination.

Emma's stomach flopped with anticipation. Her eyes were glued to his fingers that were massaging the swan. _Come on, _she pleaded silently. He would need to continue to focus on the swan necklace if the memories had any chance of returning.

"What else? How much is it worth?" Annoyance was written all over his face on the heels of her urgency. Luckily, he went back to examining the necklace. He shrugged carelessly.

"For you? I'd say...it's worth...ah..."

His brown eyes grew glassy and he uncharacteristically stumbled over his words. It was the same blank expression a person wore when they lost their train of thought. The necklace was still caught in his fingers, but it may as well have been invisible for all the attention it earned from the dealmaker now.

As Emma watched, the necklace slipped between Gold's fingers and clinked when it fell atop the glass counter. Emma held her breath, ignoring the burning in her lungs as they demanded air. Little by little, the distant look in his eyes melted away, but she had yet to see what was left in its wake.

Gold surveyed his surroundings in one vast sweep. At last, he sought her out, though it was difficult to tell whether he recognized her. His name teased her lips, but she clamped them shut. Her tongue felt heavy and everything was numb from her neck down.

One of his hands lifted in the air, sluggishly slow. The back of it lightly stroked her cheek. She inevitably winced, remembering the false personality of her husband harshly backhanding her. Sorrow masked his face when he noticed her wince. That guilt was enough to make her hope.

"Emma?" His tone was volumes gentler than anything she heard come out of false Gold's mouth, but she did not jump. Her face remained hard, betraying nothing. He nodded weakly in understanding. "Of course. You need proof. Let's see..."

Drawing back, he took the opportunity to test out his legs and circle the counter. The cane clattered on the floor, knocked over by his hurried pace. With every step, he was making his way to her. Emma tensed, her mind blinded and hastening to figure out if the enchantment really worked.

"You are my beautiful, loving, stubborn wife," he drawled. His accent was thick with emotion. That wasn't all, not even close. "You crave Klondike bars and Oreos when you're pregnant. On our honeymoon, we ended up at a small motel in Louisiana, where we made love for the first time. And broke the bed. Twice. We finished our honeymoon at the cabin in the woods, where we proceeded to make love on the couch five more times. And-"

Whatever else he intended to say, the thought was unfinished. That was because Emma propelled herself into his arms and kissed him hard. Every drop of love, longing, and heartache that she had endured in the past week was emptied into that fiery kiss. When the kiss finally broke, she gasped for air.

"Rumpel...it's you?" She stared into his brown eyes. There was no resentment, no disgust, no indifference. Instead, there was incredible love and apology. His thumb traced her lip and she kissed that, too.

"Yes, it's me. I'm here, sweetheart, and I'm not going anywhere fast," he promised her. Emma began to cry when he returned her kiss twice as hard, his hands splaying across her back to press her close to his body. Or maybe those tears belonged to him. It was impossible to tell with the proximity of their entangled bodies. She could already feel his lip quivering and taste the salt of tears on her lips.

"I missed you," she moaned between kisses. Her hands practically ripped his silk dress shirt off his chest from the way she was clutching the fabric in her fists. All she wanted was to be as close to him as possible, as soon as possible.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed into the junction of her neck. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, it was Hook's for shooting him over the border, but the last thing she wanted to do was ruin this moment by thinking about that loathsome pirate. Her touch traveled to his suited back, where his muscles rippled with the pressure of his sobs. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you. You deserve none of it. Gods, you _winced-_"

Emma pulled back, just enough to capture his stricken face between her palms. He pressed his forehead to hers, sinking into his personal pit of despair. They could discuss the repercussions of Gold's false memories some other time. Not now.

"Shh, it doesn't matter. The only thing I care about is that we're together. Let's make our reunion count," she suggested. Before he could protest, she kissed him again. It felt like a century since she shared a bed with her husband. Warmth curled in her belly and she would be damned if she walked out of this shop without satisfying it.

She sensed it when he ultimately gave in to her wishes. His comforting, familiar embrace tightened around her waist and his kiss left her breathless. With vows of love whispered repeatedly in her ear, he picked her up in his arms, his leg steadier than ever before, and he carried her to the bed in the back of his shop.

They had no plans to leave it for a long, long time.

...

_**Consider this my Christmas gift to everyone reading this chapter. I know you've been waiting for this moment and I thank you for being patient. Some of you may even need it after that tearjerking winter finale. I wish you all happy holidays! *offers plate of Christmas cookies* **_


	72. Chapter 72

_**A/N: Here it is, at last. The first Sunshine chapter of 2014. I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays and I wish a Happy New Year to all. I also want to give shout-outs to those that reviewed: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, puxa10, Kakazu, StrangePointofView, Hummelberry94, elizebeth1994, asha74, Mona, Fairy Demon26, megumisakura, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Guest45, beverlie4055, Kerry Potter1995, orthankg1, mikafan17, isara-love, Saelia, Guest, Loki Holmes, and sbcarri. Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement. **_

__Emma flounced back on the pillows, trying to catch her breath. Every muscle in her body gradually uncoiled again, leaving her trembling with the memory of the pleasure she had just experienced. Sweat masked every inch of her body, though now her flushed skin was beginning to cool. She lost track of how many times they made love already, but somehow she knew it wouldn't be the last time, either. For that, she was glad.

A soft kiss tickled her ear. Eagerly she shifted her head, basking in his gentleness and begging for more. It was such a sweet relief from the rough way Gold had treated her over the past week. She bent her head and kissed his bare shoulder in return. He carefully rolled off of her, but Emma greedily pursued him across the bed, laying her head atop his chest. When she shivered, he draped the blanket over her back.

She wished she could stay this way forever.

"I've missed this," she admitted, running her mouth over his neck. She felt it when his heartbeat began to settle, fluttering as delicately as the wings of a butterfly beneath her lips. His hand massaged her hip and she bit fiercely on her lip to keep from starting up again.

"As have I," he agreed. He kissed the crown of her head, burying his mouth in her golden hair. She rested her arm flat across his chest and balanced her chin on it so that she may gaze up at him steadily. It pleased her immensely to detect traces of his lust and love for her in his brown eyes.

"Just so you're forewarned, if you ever turn back into false Gold...I'll kill you." A brief chuckle rose from his throat. Only part of her was kidding about it, but he seemed to accept the challenge. He played with a strand of her hair, twirling it away from her damp forehead.

"Duly noted," he drawled. Taking her chin in his hand, he stole a quick kiss. She leaned up and kissed him back, longer and harder. "I still want to apologize for everything he's done to you. As a matter of fact, there's something I've been meaning to show you for some time."

"Are you sure I haven't already seen it?" He rolled his eyes at her dark quip, but that sly smile told another story. Already she sensed him stirring again and knew it was only a matter of time before the next round.

" If you'd be so kind, darling." He patted her thigh, instructing her to let him sit up. Stubbornly, she remained curled over his body for an extra minute. Then she relented and rolled to the other side of the bed.

Shedding the blanket, he gracefully rose to his feet and crossed to the black wardrobe next to the bed, where he often kept special objects no one was allowed to find. Emma leaned on her elbow and watched him curiously, all the while enjoying the view. Flinging the doors of the wardrobe open, he momentarily blocked her view of whatever it was he retrieved from inside. A rolled piece of parchment paper was caught between his elegant fingers when he returned to her side, his body slithering smoothly under the blanket.

"What is that? Your New Year's resolution?"

Reprovingly, he tapped the roll of parchment on her head. His tongue clucked at her, but it only served to remind her of all the fantastic things that tongue had done a few minutes ago. Removing the silk ribbon, he unwound the parchment and held it out to her to see.

Emma took the roll of parchment and used both hands to stretch it out. For a moment, she thought it would never stop unraveling. Her eyes widened when she read what was written there. Technically, it only consisted of one word. _Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. _Over and over, dipping and curving in exquisite squiggles and swirls, was her name.

It left her speechless. The only thing she could do was peer over the top of the scroll at her husband questioningly. He shrugged sheepishly.

"Back in the Enchanted Forest, I was imprisoned for being too powerful and therefore unpredictable. Your parents came to me when they learned of Regina's curse, seeking answers. In exchange, they told me your name. It was the key I needed to recover my true memories in this world. As for the scroll...I just wanted to make sure it'd stick."

Emma glanced at him and then the scroll. Back and forth, her head moved, trying to make sense of it. Her eyebrows practically shot to her hairline.

"Looks like you loved me before you even met me," she commented flatly. In her mind, she attempted to form a picture of her husband in a damp, dark cell, lying on the dusty floor with a roll of parchment and a quill, scribbling her name over and over. It was strange to say the least, especially the part where he gleefully kicked his legs in the air while doing it. _Emma, Emma, Emma. _

"There's a fine line between love and obsession," he said. His hand caressed her cheek and this time she did not wince. Ever since they first stumbled into the back room of the shop, he could not stop touching her. A caress here, a tender squeeze there. It appeared he was trying to convince himself that this was not a passing daydream, when it should have been Emma doing the prodding and poking. "Back then, you were only my savior. Now, you mean so much more. Count how many times I've written your name."

"Why?" His finger dropped from her jaw long enough to tap the top of the scroll urgently.

"I plan to apologize that many times, if not more." She began to silently count how many times her name was written. Before she even reached the halfway point, she was up to fifty. "Of course, if you wish to scratch out a few, I would not hold it against you."

Emma's concentration shattered and she lost count. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Are you saying you're not that regretful?"

She rather enjoyed the way he grew so flustered in a heartbeat. Panic crossed his face and he sprung up under the blankets, his arms wrapping around her waist to urge her to scoot closer. She held the scroll with one hand, the bottom rolling up to cover the multitude of _Emma_s and she pressed him down against the bed, straddling his hips. He smiled blissfully, like a drug addict finally indulging in a long-awaited hit.

"Oh, I am regretful," he hurried to correct himself. "Twice as much as your name is inscribed on that scroll. But you must realize: there are times when my tongue gets tired." It was Emma's turn to smile slyly. She teased him a little, her thighs embracing his hips.

"Could have fooled me." She tossed the scroll away, letting it fall to the floor.

Just like that, the next round commenced. Emma could hardly hear anything past her pounding heartbeat, but she swore Rumpel moaned her name as many times as it was written on the scroll. When they were finished with that round, they were both breathless, more than the last time. Emma swung away from his hips and Rumpel's arms cradled her.

Without pushing her away, he let his arm dangle over the edge of the bed and he retrieved the scroll from the floor.

"Shall I begin? Apologizing, I mean," he asked, examining the scroll. For every apology, he placed a kiss somewhere on her body. "I'm sorry." He kissed her on the mouth, sucking the breath from her lungs. "I'm sorry." His lips trailed to her ear, where he tauntingly nibbled on her earlobe. "I'm so, so sorry." His lips roamed to her neck, her bare shoulder, between the valley of her breasts to her swollen belly where their child continued to grow.

Ultimately, Emma reclined against the pillows and pressed her hand to his chest. He stopped and stared down at her, confused.

"Stop. You don't have to apologize that many times. I prefer quality over quantity." He nodded and licked his lips, deep in thought. Then his face hardened with determination.

"I am sorry," he declared again, but this time there was more to come. "I am sorry for everything my false counterpart did to you and Henry in my absence. I know he hurt you physically and emotionally, and I long so much to ease your pain. I want to be a better man than he ever was, by one hundred times if I can manage it. It won't be easy, but I will try. I plan to do whatever it takes to gain your forgiveness. I promised once to protect our family and I will uphold that promise. I love you dearly and my greatest fear is that I'll lose you."

He bent his head and kissed her passionately, conveying every ounce of love he felt for her. Her hand cupped his cheek and she savored the warmth radiating from it.

"Don't be afraid," she said. "I've worked too hard to bring you back and I'm not going anywhere. That apology was a good start, though." The light in Rumpel's eyes dimmed a bit in disappointment. He frowned.

"A good start?" She turned over, her back gliding over his chest. His arm slid over her hips, holding her close. She smiled mischievously into her pillow, enjoying the power she held over him.

"Mhm. You said it yourself. Gold caused me a lot of emotional pain. You'll have to grovel a bit." His body dropped onto the mattress beside her, snuggling comfortably against her. His mouth resumed its alluring work, nipping and tasting her skin here and there.

When he reached her neck again, his lips nuzzled it. The overabundance of kisses were enticing, but Emma couldn't help noting that he was much too quiet back there. For Rumpel, being too quiet often meant he was thinking hard about something. Somehow, she doubted he was scavenging for the appropriate methods of groveling.

"And...what of Hook?"

Emma's fingers tightened over the sheets, bunching them in her fingers. She knew it. The wheels in his head never stopped, even when she was lounging in his arms. She understood the reason for his concern. Returning to her was pleasant, of course, but he would enjoy the pleasure of their reunion more if there was nothing in the world to threaten it.

"He's locked up. Safely behind bars." And, thanks to Grumpy, most likely drunk off his ass. Hook was much easier to contain than Cora. Rumpel did not share her confidence. With his face close to her jaw, he snorted derisively.

"Right. It's impossible for men to escape bars when they have the proper motivation," he scoffed. Emma tossed him a glare over her shoulder, but she only earned a doubtful look in return. Something else in his eyes made her stomach churn uneasily. The deception and calculation were there, if only for an instant.

"Rumpel, I know you. Right now, you're thinking of doing something stupid. Don't. My parents and I are taking care of this in our own way," she insisted. _The right way, _the words hung in the narrow space between their bodies, unspoken but coming across loudly all the same.

"No offense, sweetheart, but your way is flawed."

Emma leveled a serious look his way. Once more, she cursed Hook's name to the bowels of hell. Just as he had severed her happiness with a single bullet, so he disrupted her happiness now. She hated him like she hated no other person before and was almost inclined to let Rumpel have his murderous way with Hook. But in the end she decided against it because she knew that Rumpel's methods were rarely good ones. It might do more harm than good to let him run amok.

"Please," she pleaded. For added measure, she placed her hand above his heart. He glanced down at it, but his controlled expression did not change. "I just got you back. Don't ruin it. I'd hate to have to lock up my husband because he decided to repaint the walls of the station with Hook's blood."

Rumpel exhaled deeply. For a brief moment, Emma hoped he was giving up the fight. He covered her hand with his own, holding it against his heart.

"I won't kill him. You have my word." She had been with him too long to be fooled by his silvery tongue. He had a way of playing with words, capable of veiling his true intentions as cleverly as any other imp.

She was about to ask whether she should be more concerned of Rumpel _not _killing Hook, but he stole another kiss, making her train of thought break into pieces. She wanted more than anything to trust him, especially after being forced to keep him at a distance while in the form of Gold.

"And what about Bae?" Emma descended into an uncomfortable silence as he abruptly changed the subject. That topic was even more unwelcome than Hook. Even after turning it over in her head one thousand times, she still struggled to accept that Henry's father was the same man as her husband's long-lost son.

"I don't want to talk about Ne...Bae," she said coolly. Rumpel's brows cinched when she nearly slipped up with Neal's name, but she buried her head into the pillow again, refusing to toss him a bone on the matter. Of course he would want to know about his son. It was just too sore for her to handle.

"You found him," he stated. She clenched her eyes shut, wishing he would drop it. "I know he doesn't forgive me. A side effect of having false memories is that I remember everything Gold experienced in my body. I even remember you telling me why you love me. You claimed I was the home you were searching for."

"I meant it," she assured him. Every kiss he gave her burned across her skin. She feared one of those kisses would be the last. _Maybe I'm selfish, but it's too soon, _she thought. "I'm not ready to talk about him yet." He swept the hair from her neck and she felt his breath linger there.

"Here I thought you two would get along rather well." _Not even close. _

She chewed her lip to keep that admission from escaping. All the hurt Neal had caused her resurfaced shortly after he spilled his coffee on her shirt. Old wounds ripped open again and festered quickly. She had hopes of having a good relationship with Bae, but that was before she realized who he was.

Her chest felt as though it had a boulder lodged inside it. It was difficult to keep the truth hidden when her husband longed so much for news of his son. His longtime desire was to reunite with Bae; she felt guilty for denying him that now. _Children come first, _she recited in her mind.

"There's something you need to know about your son and I'd prefer it if you heard it from me first," she said, shifting around to face him fully. Nervousness and curioisty warred over his face. She had no easy way of saying this, so she figured she would blurt it out. "When I found Bae in Tallahassee, I didn't know what to expect. So many possibilities came to me on the plane, but it turned out to be one of the worst outcomes. Bae...is Henry's biological father."

She wanted to drop her gaze, but it proved to be impossible. The curiosity boiled down to confusion, then alarm as his brain registered what she was implying. His lips parted, but no sound passed through. His hands slowly withdrew from her body and he lifted away, out of reach, perching on the edge of the bed where she could not witness his crumbling expression.

It was falling apart. Already she could sense the wedge driving between them, their distance increasing with every heartbeat. Moisture pricked her eyelids and she cursed Neal's name for the thousandth time. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't he have told her the truth all those years ago? Why hadn't she _known?_

"Rumpel-" She slid over the mattress and her fingertips touched his back. He tensed.

"You two know each other?" He flung the accusation over his shoulder. At least it sounded like an accusation more than an inquiry to her ears. The disgust and bemusement in his voice was enough to make her recoil. "You and he...then that means...you and I..."

"I didn't know he was your son," she reasoned with him, begging silently with him to understand. "We met when I was eighteen. That was also the last time I saw him. It took me a lot of time to wrap my head around it-and I'm not even sure I still believe it-but I realized it didn't change my feelings for you. I considered you my husband when I left Storybrooke and I consider you my husband now. I love you. I choose you, if you would ever have me."

A rough gasp pierced the air and his head tossed back. He turned around and brought her hand to his lips. She felt his mouth quivering against her skin and for the first time in a while he looked genuinely afraid. The result of reuniting with Bae was something he could not predict despite all the magic he embodied.

"I love you, too. How could you think I would ever be able to stop? But this isn't simply Henry's father we're talking about here. This is my _son, _Emma. I...I need to talk to him first." She took back her hand and tossed aside the blanket. Even with the weight of this information on her shoulders, his eyes could not resist scrolling over her bare body for a few seconds.

"I'll come with you," she said. He would probably benefit from the support. It surprised her when he held out a hand, telling her to stop.

"No. This is a delicate situation and it's something I have to do alone. It won't look good if I reunite with Bae with you hanging on my arm. Gods, just think of the family therapy we'll need to attend. No, I must speak with Bae alone." He stood and began to dress. Emma sullenly observed him. Part of her wanted to fight him on this, but she respected his wishes, settling back on the pillow. _Delicate _had been an understatement for this situation.

"Fine. Then I'll head back to the station and relieve Grumpy of his keg party with Hook."

After he was done with his suit, she gathered up her fallen scraps of clothing and slipped into them. Her mind was elsewhere as she did it, working on autopilot to don her jeans, shirt, boots. She didn't meet his eyes as she shrugged on her jacket and combed her fingers through her tangled hair. It was unnerving enough to have the truth of Bae echoing in the space between them.

"Emma?" She held back as her husband called after her.

"Yeah?" Without warning, he conquered the distance between their bodies and reeled her in for one last kiss. She couldn't decide whether it tasted like a goodbye or a promise to stay. Afterwards, his mouth hovered an inch above her own and his fingertips traced her cheek.

"See you soon." One corner of her mouth lifted briefly. She would hold him to that.

...

Rumpel stopped at the Charmings' apartment first. There were a few personal things he needed to get off his chest, such as his gratitude for how they handled Cora while his cursed self controlled his body. His relationship with the Charming family was a long, complicated one, dating back to when Charming was a tiny tot with a twin brother joined at his hip. It was because of their history that Rumpel felt shameful for what Mr. Gold had put them through. He was more fond of the Charmings than he cared to admit, aside from Emma and Henry.

He knocked on their door without hesitation. At least this was bound to be less nerve-wracking than his inevitable reunion with his son.

He brushed invisible dust from his impeccable charcoal suit and listened to the activity behind the green door. There was a clatter, some kind of kitchen utensil if Rumpel was willing to bet on it. There was also the sound of yipping. Rumpel's heart skipped a beat as he recognized it. Goldie! Oh, the poor pup must have missed her papa.

Finally, the door opened with Charming attempting to shush Goldie. The minute those ocean blue eyes addressed Rumpel, any warm greeting he may have given soured on his lips. All Rumpel earned was a hard frown and Charming's whole body blocked the doorway, refusing him access. There was no politeness or patience to be gained from the prince.

"Get out," Charming bellowed. It was more ludicrous than threatening given the fact that Rumpel hadn't even stepped foot inside the apartment yet. Clearly Charming assumed it was Mr. Gold standing in front of him, oblivious to the magical transformation that had taken place.

Charming would have slammed the door in Rumpel's face, but Goldie dashed past his feet, a golden whirlwind headed straight for Rumpel. He bent down and scooped the furball into his arms, his fingers stroking her glorious fur. As Charming looked on in astonishment, Goldie's pink tongue attacked Rumpel's face, unleashing a boatload of sloppy kisses. It gave Rumpel a warm feeling in his chest to be showered with so much affection.

"I would claim Goldie knows her papa, but she also humped Mr. Gold's leg. Needless to say, he didn't appreciate the gesture," Rumpel told Charming, rearing his head around Goldie's kisses. Charming's jaw dropped. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

"You mean...you're not Gold? You're...Rumpelstiltskin?"

Beyond Charming's shoulder, Rumpel saw a flash of movement. Snow was curled up on the window seat and she had turned her head to listen intently to their conversation. Rumpel set Goldie down and patted her bottom to urge her back inside. He spread his arms wide, allowing Charming to take a long look at his true self.

"The one and only," he replied gleefully. A finger lifted to tap his chin. "Unless of course some poor woman named her child after me. What are the chances of that, do you suppose?"

Charming's answer was a bear hug. One minute he was standing inside the apartment with the threshold between them; the next minute he practically swallowed Rumpel with those toned arms. The way Charming pounded on his back made Rumpel wonder if the prince seriously intended to make him choke up a lung. Snow left her window seat to join them, but all she did was smile.

The two idiotic, lovesick fools. Choking everyone with their sugary, sunshine kindness.

"Good to have you back," Snow said. She rested a hand on Charming's shoulder, coaxing him away from Rumpel. The ability to breathe normally was slow in returning to Rumpel and he stumbled against the doorframe. _Perhaps I should have gone ahead and confronted Bae first, _he thought, eyeing the stairs. _As sad as it is to admit, I foresee no father-son hugging in our near future. _

"Gods, now I smell just like _you,_" Rumpel complained, sniffing his sleeve. Charming grinned happily, exposing his perfect white teeth. "That wasn't a compliment." The smile dimmed. Rumpel didn't mean to be so rude, but there was only so much Charming stimuli he could handle at any given time. The alarms in his head blared _overload. _

"Sorry," Rumpel grudgingly apologized. "It's been more than a little overwhelming, reverting back to my cursed persona. You were fortunate enough to only endure it the one time." Charming and Snow shared sympathetic looks.

"Would you like to come in? I made Snow a chocolate creme pie, but I'm sure she'll sacrifice a piece for you," Charming said, winking at Snow. He waved Rumpel inside. _So I was right. Those were kitchen utensils I heard._ Where was Leroy when there was a good bet to be made? Drowning in Grumpy somewhere.

"Are you taking up the role of the housewife while Snow recovers from her dark deed?" Rumpel teased Charming lightly. Charming only made it worse for himself by tying a white apron around his waist that read _Kiss the Cook. _

"Charming's been cooking for me ever since Cora's death. It's his way of cheering me up," Snow explained. She took a seat at the table and began dividing the creme pie into several frothy shards. Charming brought over three plates and Snow plopped the first thick wedge of pie down. "Please, sit down and take a piece."

The tip of Snow's knife tapped the plate closest to him. He was suddenly glad that he was no longer Mr. Gold because he knew from past experience that Snow White had more uses for that knife than cutting a pie. Her fierce attitude had passed onto Emma and it was a quality he admired in both women.

"Thank you, but no thank you, Snow. One aspect that Mr. Gold and I share is that we are both busy men. I'm only here for a short visit. You know, things to do, people to see." And exterminate, if all went well. He decided he would deal with Hook before seeking out Bae. It would give him peace of mind to know that the threat to his family was eliminated.

"Are you sure you're not still struggling with Mr. Gold for control of your body? Because the Rumpelstiltskin I knew before had an unbeatable sweet tooth," Charming challenged him. He planted his palms atop the counter and stared Rumpel down. A slice of creme pie did sound marvelous, so long as it didn't end up in his face by some terrible joke.

"One piece," Rumpel relented, accepting the chair beside Snow.

He rubbed his thigh, massaging out the knots. His bad leg was stronger than how Mr. Gold often strung it along, but he did not use magic to relieve its stress. If he was to prove to Bae that he could change for the better, he would bear the ache of his gnarled leg. It was a sign of the man he used to be, but also the man he aspired to be again.

Snow handed him the plate with the biggest piece. He could tell the two lovebirds were more approving of his nature than Mr. Gold's. Goldie scratched his leg, begging for a drop of the yummy delicacy. He scooped up a cloud of the whipped cream topping and held it out for her. She lapped it up like it was the last morsel of food she'd ever eat. Snow laughed softly at the sight of Goldie being pampered.

"So, what's this visit about? Not the rent, I hope," Charming broached the subject without further preamble. Both Snow and Charming watched him in concern as he scraped up a mound of the pie with his fork. Rumpel knew Mr. Gold had pestered them for the rent, what with his false memories telling him it was required of the townsfolk.

That reminded him: he would have to give Cinderella sincere apologies as well for hassling her for her child a second time.

"No, that was Mr. Gold's interest. I'd rather everyone in town leave me be." He quietly set his fork down on the plate for a moment. "I came here to apologize for Mr. Gold's behavior. He may not have valued the goodbye you gave him when Cora attacked, Charming, but know that I do. And I don't think your deaths would have gone unnoticed, least of all by me. I would also like to thank you, Snow, for having the strength to stop Cora. You were probably more concerned for Emma, Henry, and your husband, but I am grateful for the benefit of your protection nonetheless. It is a debt I cannot repay easily. So, name your price."

Snow and Charming must have been awed by Rumpel's display of gratitude since they were completely wordless for a minute or two. Rumpel nibbled at his pie, savoring the explosion of chocolate on his tongue. His fork screeched on his plate when Snow reached a hand across the table and touched his elbow.

"All we want is for you to keep Emma happy and safe. The same goes for Henry. We're family. Does that have to mean we resort to messy business deals?" He wiped his mouth gingerly with a napkin, using the gesture as an excuse to slip his arm away from Snow. Personal contact remained a delicate subject for him.

"Decidedly not," he stated. Snow was so pleased to hear it that she finally dug into her slice of creme pie. Charming mirrored his wife's behavior, although the fresh cooking tray on the counter dominated half his attention. Rumpel practically vacuumed up the rest of his pie."The pie was excellent, dearie. Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to this evening. Before you ask, no, your daughter is not one of them."

Charming's mouth snapped shut.

Rumpel rose from his chair and licked a last drop of chocolate from his fork. He had a rendezvous with Hook, one that he could not afford to miss. Preparations would have to be made for it immediately. Luckily for him, he already had a name in mind for much-needed assistance.

"I'll walk you to the door," Snow abruptly offered, leaping up from her seat. Rumpel was perplexed by her courtesy. It wasn't difficult to find the door; it was in his line of sight. Royals. The lot of them were probably spoon-fed this stuff the minute they stopped drinking their mother's milk.

When they reached the door, Snow followed him into the hallway. His curiosity spiked.

"I just want you to know that Emma told me about your son," Snow said in hushed tones. "She told me everything, including the...complications. Charming is still in shock from it. I only wished to say...I hope everything works out for you and your son. Losing a child is one of the cruelest fates."

He didn't know if Snow said that last part to make him feel guilty, but it stung all the same. Worse than if she had rubbed salt into an open wound. If he had not created the curse or chosen Emma as his savior, Snow and Charming would not have missed out on their daughter's life. Of course, it meant he and Emma would never have fallen in love the way they did. She would have been a beautiful, golden princess in a luxurious castle, wanting for nothing, destined to discover _twoo wuv _ in its purest form. He would have been a manipulative, grisly, scaly, unsettling monster who would not think twice about using her as a pawn on the chessboard.

He only forced himself to smile because Snow was smiling, waiting for an answer. Whereas her smile oozed warmth and happiness, his was cold at best.

"Thank you, Snow. By the way, when do you plan on telling Charming that you're steadily recovering from killing Cora?" Snow had enjoyed that creme pie like a child at a birthday party. Some of her conflicted emotions were still there under the surface, but she was not sulking or chewing herself out for what she did. Snow shrugged.

"I feel guilty about it," she cried out defensively. The good always took it hard when they needed to do what was necessary. He folded his hands atop his cane and tossed her a stony look. It was the same imploring look that people in town claimed he used to peer into a person's soul. She cracked under the pressure of his gaze, as he predicted she would. "Maybe when the food stops tasting so good. It's nice having someone cook for me instead of the other way around."

"Are you certain Cora's death has not changed you? You seem cleverer than before I reverted to Mr. Gold," Rumpel said and threw in a sly wink to shake her up. Snow was much too used to his rogue aura to be taken aback by it. He turned toward the staircase, but then he remembered something vital. "Oh, and I want my dagger back. There are only a few individuals I trust with my life. I have no desire to be Charming's personal butler."

Snow quickly strode back into the apartment and fetched the miserable dagger. Mr. Gold had foolishly cast it away as an unnatural artifact, but Rumpel would not make the mistake of leaving it in Charming's hands. He was grateful for the way Charming protected him against Cora, but that didn't mean he was about to sign away his free will to the idiot. If anything, he'd probably lose it to someone worse.

"Charming would never-" He snatched up the dagger from Snow's hand and tucked it in the folds of his suit. It was safest there until he could hide it again.

"You say that now. I've been around for quite some time, and I've learned a thing or two about how the world works. Men with power seek to use that power. Given time, it'll be me slaving over a hot stove while you two bask in each other's love over a candelit dinner."

Without another word on the subject, Rumpel descended the stairs, leaving a pitying Snow White in his wake. He patted his chest, comforted by the weight of the dagger resting over his heart. Bae's broken promise from ages ago rebounded through his head and he swore that he would make good on the promise one day. If he was successful, he would be the last Dark One the people of the Enchanted Forest ever knew.

...

After putting up with the stuffy environment of Storybrooke's hospital, Belle found the comfort of Granny's hospitality heavenly. Ever since being discharged, she and Jefferson were practically inseperable. Jefferson was still worried about Regina being at large, so he appointed himself her personal guardian. Belle preferred to keep her chin held high, with hope for good prevailing over Regina's evil, but even she checked over her shoulder once or twice.

On the bright side, spending time with Jefferson meant spending extra time with Grace as well. It was clear that the girl did not look at Belle as a motherly figure yet, but she was not as hesitant to accept Belle's friendship as she had once been. In time, perhaps their relationship would improve. Belle welcomed it with an open mind.

So many thoughts whirled through her mind while she gazed out the window of her room. The town appeared peaceful on the surface, but it was a pretty deception. People traveled in pairs and groups, too fearful of Regina's animosity to be caught on the streets alone. Every few hours, Emma or Charming scoured the streets in their cars, staying alert for any sign of the evil queen. Shops closed earlier than before, the shopkeepers dreading the nighttime shadows, and parents never let their children out of their sight. Granny was making a small fortune by offering babysitting services in her diner.

Every time she dared to glance at the clock tower, Belle flashed back to Regina and Cora's method of torture. She lingered over how close Rumpel had come to being killed for the sake of his power. Maybe the suggestion of talking with Archie wasn't a bad idea.

Belle longed for a distraction from the troubled workings of her mind.

A knock at the door broke her concentration. It made her jump an inch or two on the windowsill. Cautiously, she peered through the peephole on the door before opening it. If it had been Regina, she wouldn't bother knocking. Chances were it was Granny or Red or Jefferson, but Belle needed to be sure.

She smiled widely when she saw the cravat first.

"Come to check on me already? It's been a half hour," she teased when she opened the door to Jefferson. He lowered his head in a respectful bow. Ever since she met him, he was nothing but a gentleman. The rumors about the madman on the hill were turning out to be just rumors.

"If I could devote myself to being your full-time guardian instead of part-time, I would," he said boldly. The only reason he hadn't was because of his care of Grace and Belle's own insistence.

Gliding within an inch of her body, he cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She turned her head and captured his mouth. Jefferson was becoming an addiction for her. Clutching fistfuls of his dark vest, she led him inside. He kicked the door closed with his foot.

"I don't mean to make you paranoid, but here's a tip for the next time someone knocks on your door: ask something only they would know. Regina has a nasty habit of using glamors to shield her true face. The fact that I'm sticking my tongue down your throat already proves I'm who I say I am, a.k.a. not Regina."

His hand moved to the back of her neck and he kissed her heavily for emphasis. By the time their kiss broke, Belle's cheeks were as red as her lips. She laid her head on Jefferson's shoulder to catch her breath.

"If it makes you feel better, you can always check under the bed for hidden threats," Belle implored him. She played with his cravat, slowly unwinding it from his neck to reveal his scar. Jefferson swallowed hard, his nervousness over having his scar exposed coming through all at once. She bent her head and kissed his scar, right where his neck joined with his shoulder. She asked for a distraction-this was it.

"You're just using that as an excuse to get me on my hands and knees," he remarked. His voice was husky, a side effect of Belle's kisses. He teetered on the precipice of staying in control of the situation and submitting to the feelings Belle was stirring inside him. "Who knows? You might enjoy the view more than the one that window offers you."

Belle gasped in light of Jefferson's boldness and playfully swatted him on the chest. Secretly, she enjoyed Jefferson's daring attitude. It wasn't too straightforward to be rude or superficial, nowhere near the level of Gaston's self-importance. It was surprisingly entertaining. Belle needed a little laughter to survive the tension that was gnawing away at Storybrooke.

She could easily picture herself in Jefferson's arms for a month more, even years more. Whether he was her true love or not, she valued the renewed sense of love she shared with Jefferson. She wouldn't mind spending a little more of her time with him, if the opportunity arose.

"I've been thinking about something lately," she said, encouraging him to sit down with her on the edge of the bed. It creaked under their weight, a sign of its age. She took his hand into her lap, meaning to soothe him but only instilling more anxiety. She had no idea how he would take this request. "I want you to meet my father."

A deer would not have been so panicked in headlights as Jefferson was at the thought of meeting her father. It would mean taking a serious step in their relationship. His hand fell limp in her lap and his faze froze in shock. She stealthily placed her thumb over his inner wrist to check if he had a pulse. He was still breathing, in any case.

When he finally broke out of his horrified stupor, he only sputtered a few unintelligible noises. Leaping to his feet, he paced the floor, back and forth in rapid strokes.

"Are you sure? Does it have to be face to face? You'd be surprised what this world has accomplished with a phone."

Belle bit down on her lip. Butterflies swarmed inside her stomach at the prospect of bringing Jefferson home to meet her father. She just happened to do a better job of hiding it. On the outside, she was calm as ever, but on the inside she may as well be pacing as frantically as he was.

"I've been meaning to see him. I don't like the idea of him being alone to sort out the misfortunes of the curse. After all, he has no one in this town except me. And after Regina's attack, I don't want to risk not reuniting with him if something terrible should happen. It's one of my deepest fears. Since I treasure what you and I have, I want to show him how happy I am despite all the curse has done and how there can be love without true love involved. Aren't you happy?"

Jefferson had slowed in pacing while she spoke. The passion in her voice seemed to have impressed him. Now his face softened and he hastened to her side once more. Taking her by the elbows, he gently lifted her into his arms, promising her comfort and security in the form of kisses instead of words.

"When I woke up in that miserable house atop that hill and I was forced to watch my daughter live a lie with false memories and a false father, I never thought for a second that I would regain any happiness. All the chocolate in my candy closet could not cheer me up-and trust me when I say I've tried. But I am happy. I've gotten my daughter back. I was so afraid that she would hate me for leaving her, and I know that there will always be a piece of Paige somewhere in her head, but I have my daughter. Then I found you. Belle, I had little hope for finding love again after my wife passed, but I was wrong on that count, too. You and Grace...what more do I need?"

Belle cooed approvingly and nestled her head into Jefferson's neck. She savored his warmth and placed a kiss under his ear. It may not have been true love, but she still felt tingles of excitement worm their way into her belly, especially when she inhaled Jefferson's scent.

"Does this mean you'll come with me to meet my father?" Jefferson's lips brushed the dark hair of Belle's crown. His quietness warned her that he was mulling it over carefully.

"I was sort of hoping that little sentimental speech would distract you from that idea until sometime tomorrow," he admitted. Belle stepped back and tilted her head, giving him what she deemed her serious look. He tapped her nose. "You're so adorable when you're trying to be serious."

Of course, her urge to smile won out. It was far too difficult to stay resolute in the face of someone as eccentric as Jefferson.

"Yes, I'll go with you," he agreed. A dramatic gasp escaped his mouth, making Belle jump a second time. He pressed a hand to his chest. "But what will I wear?"

"Wear anything that makes you comfortable. Even if you wear nothing but a bathrobe, I'm sure my father will consider you a better candidate for boyfriend material than Rumpelstiltskin."

It still struck a nerve to acknowledge her father's disapproval of Rumpel. Not many people thought the Dark One was worthy of any such love, which saddened her more than she could express with words. Everyone deserved to be loved at least once in their lifetime.

Jefferson intended to steal a kiss, but a knock at the door interrupted the moment. Belle stared at the door quizzically, wondering who was waiting on the other side. She wasn't expecting any visitors.

"Does Granny have radar? She never interrupted when Regina fooled around with the old Sheriff," Jefferson muttered. Belle scrunched her nose. She didn't want to know how much experience Jefferson had on that particular topic. He gradually squirmed from her arms and went to the door. He checked through the peephole. "Speak of the devil. Well, one of them, anyway. Wait...have to ask a question. Mmm...a-ha! What sort of sheets does Mr. Gold have on his bed?"

Jefferson pressed his back against the door and yelled through it. It answered Belle's unspoken question about her visitor. Of course, she didn't want to indulge in the reason why _Jefferson _knew Gold's choice of bed material.

"If you must know, black silk sheets," came the velvet reply. Jefferson nodded and swung open the door, allowing Belle a good glimpse of the pawnbroker just behind it. _Rumpelstiltskin, s_he opened her mouth to greet him, but corrected herself. _No, that's not right. It's Mr. Gold. _She only hoped Mr. Gold's false personality was not bold enough in his pursuit of her to ask her out in front of Jefferson. The hatter's hand was rattling the doorknob at that very moment, his anger rising.

"You answered correctly. Now get out," he roared.

He made to slam the door, but Gold's reflexes were exquisite. Half his body slid into the room, blocking the door before it slammed closed. The knob thrust into his stomach and he let out an agonzied groan. Even if he wasn't really Rumpel, Belle rushed over to make sure he was alright. It only seemed to heighten Jefferson's jealousy.

"You know, that's the second time I heard that demand today," Gold wheezed, rubbing his stomach. Jefferson offered no sympathy.

"Maybe you should take the hint, then," he shot back, waving his hand toward the hallway.

He knew plenty of other people in town wanted to tell Gold the same thing, but they were too afraid to say it out loud. Jefferson was one of the few that had the nerve to deny Gold what he wanted. Having known Rumpel for years, he was used to the imp's manipulative ways, but the false persona of Gold dug under his skin with a worse itch. He had no doubt this was how Regina truly depicted Rumpelstiltskin, with the worst of his habits and traits magnified to the extreme. A monster, through and through.

If he called Belle by the wrong name one more time...the doorknob would be the least of his worries.

"Would you agree to indulge me if I claimed to be Rumpelstiltskin?" Belle gasped and studied him up and down. Jefferson wasn't so easily convinced. Mr. Gold's world had clashed brutally with theirs, thanks to Cora and Regina attempting to kill him. What if Cora used Rumpel's true name? What if somehow Gold had learned enough to crave the power their world offered in the form of magic? It might be Jefferson's paranoia acting up, but this might easily be a trick. The only concern on his mind was protecting Belle and Grace.

"If you're really Rumpelstiltskin, then you'll remember the years I spent working for you," Jefferson said. As far as he knew, he never worked in Gold's pawnshop or did any of his dirty work. It was a good thing, too. "In that case, what object did you ask me to retrieve the day I first met Regina?"

Gold-or Rumpel-grimaced. He glanced down at the carpet, avoiding all eye contact. That was his embarrassed expression.

"If you're determined to test me, do you have to pick the most uncomfortable memory?" Jefferson waited. He tapped his foot impatiently, unnerving Gold all the more. "You were sent to the world of Oz to retrieve a pair...of ruby slippers so that I may travel to a land without magic to find my son. You failed."

Despite the accusation, Jefferson remained smug. He would never tire of the entertainment provided by the mental image of Rumpel in a pair of ruby slippers and clicking his heels together. _There's no place like home, _he remembered that one girl with the checkered blue dress chanting. A flurry of giggles almost erupted from his throat as Belle eyed Rumpel's classy shoes in wide-eyed astonishment.

Then she collided into Rumpel and wrapped him up in her arms.

"I'm so happy you're back," she exclaimed. Rumpel was excrutiatingly aware of Jefferson's fiery glare and hesitantly patted Belle on the back. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted them to find your dagger. You almost died..."

Belle's shoulders shook. Rumpel and Jefferson wore alarmed looks, realizing at the same time that she was weeping on Rumpel's shoulder. Jefferson rubbed his exposed scar and pretended not to be bothered.

"It's alright, Belle," Rumpel soothed her. He encouraged her to part with his shoulder. The fabric was damp. She sniffled and wiped the diamonds from her cheeks. In a stroke of gentlemanly behavior, Rumpel removed the handkerchief from his inner suit pocket and handed it to her. Jefferson stewed like a vegetable. All he had available were tissues. Kleenex wasn't as romantic. "Listen, dearie. Regina and Cora are responsible for their actions, gruesome as they are. Not you. You will always be a hero in my eyes. Now I'm going to direct you toward your boyfriend before he issues me a complaint in the form of eggs on my house."

Jefferson tried not to crack a smile at the suggestion.

"I was thinking more along the lines of rotten tomatoes," he mumbled under his breath. Rumpel's eyelids lowered a fraction of an inch, suggesting he heard the snide comment.

"May I have a word with you?" Rumpel leaned the golden tip of his cane to Jefferson. Suspicion crawled along the crevices of Jefferson's brain, sending warning signals straight down his spine. If Rumpelstiltskin wanted to speak to him, _alone _being the unspoken key word, it couldn't be anything good.

Jefferson's own curiosity was the difference between going quietly and slamming the door in Rumpel's face. He made a show of kissing Belle before following the dealmaker out the door. If he was to be subjected to whatever suffering Rumpel had in store for him, at least he would do it with the sweet taste of Belle on his lips.

As they descended the stairs into the foyer, the only sounds were the pattern of their footsteps, just one beat off from being perfectly matched in pace, and the rhythmic _tap, tap, tap_ of Rumpel's cane. Jefferson stuffed his hands into his pockets and fabricated several scenarios that fit Rumpel's reasoning for talking to him alone: an invitation to a party celebrating Rumpel's return to life, a drink to toast the death of Gold and Cora, a meeting for Grace and Henry now that the kid was back in Storybrooke. But none of those worked out logically.

Why speak to him alone, excluding Belle from their conversation? Was it about her? Was Rumpel going to scold him or beat him over the head with his cane for not protecting Belle from Cora and Regina? Jefferson gulped and once more noticed the exposure of his scar. That cane might be strong enough to crush someone's head and there was practically a dotted line circling Jefferson's throat to indicate where to hit. He couldn't go through with that a second time.

"That was quick, even for you," Granny said, towering behind the foyer's desk. A stack of dusty, mildew-smelling tomes were propped open in front of her. She inclined her head, peering at the two men over the rims of her spectacles. Rumpel earned most of her attention, her steely gray eyes smoldering. Jefferson took a step away from Rumpel. He didn't want to have any association with the imp if Granny's wrath was evoked.

_What exactly happened between those two? _His gaze flickered from Granny to Rumpel and back. _Scratch that. I don't really want to know. _

"Always a pleasure to see you, Granny. Be sure to give Little Red and her cricket my love," Rumpel said, sweeping past the desk with only a weak wave in acknowledgement.

Granny made a small _hmm_ in the back of her throat and studied Rumpel even more closely. If she told Red that Rumpelstiltskin was back, the news would be all over town by sunrise. With any luck, it would also reach Regina in whatever hole she had dug for herself. Rumpel was back and he was willing to fight her war. _Clever imp, _Jefferson silently mused. _Rumpelstiltskin is more difficult to kill than Mr. Gold. Let Regina be warned. _

"Sorry," Jefferson said when they burst outside and rounded the bushes that decorated the front path. Rumpel was not taking chances. He was leading him to a secluded spot in the shadows, paranoid about eavesdroppers.

"For what? Your jealousy or flaunting your right to kiss Belle in my face? Neither behavior is necessary. So long as you don't harm Belle, I will not intervene. She is yours, to have and to hold." The imp covered his heart with his hand while swearing the oath. Jefferson traced the ridge of his scar.

"I'm not apologizing for that," Jefferson replied haughtily. It made Rumpel frown disapprovingly. "I'm only apologizing for the remark I made about using tomatoes instead of eggs on your house."

Rumpel pivoted his body away from Jefferson, most likely out of mistrust.

"With the implication that you would still use eggs?"

"I meant it with the implication that I wouldn't do it _at all,_" Jefferson said, shaking his head wildly. Rumpel made a silent O with his mouth. Something warned him that Rumpel didn't quite believe him. The next time he visted the imp's house, he wondered what sort of anti-Jefferson security systems would be waiting. A man-eating lion? A pair of ruby slippers coated with super-glue?

"Thank you for the assurance that my house will remain yolkless," Rumpel said, "but that's not why I asked for a word alone." Jefferson felt dread take over his senses, numbing his nerves and raining rocks into his stomach.

"I knew it couldn't be that easy," he sighed. He may not have known the reason for this private meeting, but he expected a deal to come out of it at some point. It was what Rumpelstiltskin was infamous for. "What do you want?" He moaned childishly, kicking his shoe through the dirt.

"Your enthusiasm is remarkable, Jefferson. Have you ever considered a profession as an inspirational speaker?" The sarcasm dripped from Rumpel's softspoken words, layers upon layers of bitter honey. "This is strictly buisness-related. I need a partner for a complex mission. You are the only one who can achieve what I need to do."

Jefferson pictured his magical hat, the key to his portal-jumping. Regina had kept his original, favorite hat after she abandoned him in Wonderland, but there was the one that Emma made the night he held her hostage in his house atop the hill. His skill in portal-jumping was the one redeeming feature that separated him from everyone else in Storybrooke. _I should have stayed with Belle._

"What sort of mission?" Not that he was agreeing with it. Curiosity was often too ravenous an appetite to satisfy, and yet people succumbed to it. Jefferson was no different. Rumpel looked troubled, as if he were having second thoughts.

"I need your hat," he admitted, confirming Jefferson's fears in four simple syllables. "Hear me out. Emma and the Charmings have locked away Hook in a cozy jail cell, but as long as he's here in Storybrooke, he remains a threat to my family. To my wife and children. From one devoted father to another, surely you can relate to my need to keep my family out of harm's way."

Jefferson's fatherly instincts betrayed him. He did relate to Rumpel's dilemma, which only served to chip his defenses. If it were Grace or Belle, he'd do everything in his power to permanently subdue Hook or any other threats lurking in town. Bars might make a worthy obstacle for the pirate, but what if the fates were cruel and he ever broke out? What if something ever happened to Emma while she was alone with him at the station? What if she was goaded by Hook into getting too close to the bars?

It was improbable, but not impossible. And Rumpelstiltskin, on the verge of being paranoid of such things, was consistently self-preserving in nature.

"What does Emma think of you taking this matter into your own hands?" Rumpel's guilt was obnoxiously clear as he averted his gaze to his expensive Italian-styled shoes. The end of his cane burrowed deeper into the soil. "You haven't told her yet. It's either that or she already expressed her disdain for your sense of justice and you're choosing to go ahead with this, anyway."

That was typical of the imp. Once his mind was made up, no one in the world could hope to change it, not even someone as close as Emma. He wasn't above lying by omission.

"I haven't decided what I'm going to do about Emma," he nearly whispered. His expression darkened.

"Gee, I have an idea. Why not be honest with her for once? You think she won't agree with you? You think she'll recoil?"

Jefferson suddenly saw with startling clarity that it was the exact reason for Rumpel's hesitance to come clean to his wife. Rumpel viewed himself as a black-hearted monster incapable of being loved. He was afraid to propose his plan to Emma because he was sure she would be awakened to his "true face." Someone cursed to make mistakes forevermore, never changing. To Rumpelstiltskin, he and Emma were on opposite sides of the spectrum. It was more than a little sad to behold.

"So what are you asking me to do? Ship him to the Enchanted Forest with a red bow on his head? Should I wrap him up in shiny paper and stamp _do not open until Christmas?_"

Rumpel must have been preoccupied by his depressing, self-loathing thoughts. His head rose after a moment and he blinked as though having missed every word Jefferson said. Jefferson debated slapping him to knock him out of his sullen state, but he didn't like what would come out of it. He didn't really want to be stuck on the bottom of Rumpel's shoe like an old wad of gum.

"Emma made me promise not to kill Hook. She thinks she's handling him the right way, but her way does not satisfy me. The Enchanted Forest will not work if Emma succeeds in bringing everyone home. He'll just be waiting. However, I'd like for him to land somewhere equally unpopulated, so that he may be punished with ceaseless solitude."

Jefferson exhaled heavily. What Rumpel was demanding was difficult to carry out. Only one world came to mind.

"The Infinite Forest," Jefferson proposed. A glint of excitement sparked to life in Rumpel's eyes. "It can only be accessed or escaped by magic. It turns out that I can reach the Infinite Forest since it's literally been founded with magic, just as I can reach any other magical realm. We drop Hook in there and he'll spend the rest of his days running in circles. Alone."

Rumpel mulled it over. A tilt of the head, a subtle curve of the lips, a broadening of the shoulders to make him appear taller and more imposing. He liked it. _Hooked, _Jefferson thought, enjoying his own pun.

"It'll suit him. He'll be a rat in a maze, sniffing out a piece of cheese that will never be found. What's the phrase you know so well? Ah, yes. Make it work," Rumpel commanded. He started to lead the hatter away down the path, expecting him to follow as a loyal hound might obey its owner. Jefferson's hand shoved his chest, sending him back a few steps.

"We're not finished," Jefferson spat. There was no way he was being screwed over again. "I have Grace and Belle to think about. What if something goes wrong while the portal is open? What if I-" _Fall in, _Jefferson couldn't bear to say. If he did, such spoken fears might come true. It was fortunate Rumpel was perceptive in the minds of others.

"You will not fall in. If it will ease your worries, I can always loop a rope around your waist and secure you to Emma's desk. Just say the word and we'll pay Sneezy a visit." It wouldn't be the first time Rumpel purchased suspicious items at the dwarf's convenience store.

Jefferson did not chuckle at Rumpel's quip. Conflicted thoughts surged through his head. Should he or should he not? He understood the fatherly instinct to keep his child safe and Hook would remain a threat to the safety of the 'Stiltskin family for as long as he lived. Hook wouldn't stop until his thirst for revenge was quenched. There was something else that gave Jefferson pause. If he refused Rumpel's offer, it was a possibility that Rumpel would discard his oath to Emma and kill Hook then and there. Jefferson didn't want Hook's blood or the consequences of that broken oath on his hands, all because he had said no.

He was wavering.

"Alright, I send Hook to the Infinite Forest where he will never threaten your family or anyone else. What will you give me in return? I'm not asking for a favor," he added when Rumpel opened his mouth to answer. _I owe you a favor _was dancing on that sharp tongue. As much fun as it sounded to hold the power of a favor over the dealmaker's head, Jefferson was aiming for something a little more specific.

Finally Rumpel extended his hand, a new offer ready to be laid out on the table.

"If you do this for me, I shall restore your mansion to its former glory. Not only will I repair it, but I will cast the strongest wards I can to ensure that Regina-or anyone else with intent to harm you-does not pass. You, Grace, and Belle will be free to return there with the comforting knowledge that you are protected by my power."

Jefferson weighed every word carefully, but detected no loopholes. It would be nice to leave Granny's Inn and return to his house on the hill. After living there for twenty-eight years, he had gotten used to its isolation apart from being without Grace. He would never confess that to Granny, though.

"Deal," Jefferson agreed and shook on it. They made plans to meet at the station after Jefferson retrieved his hat. He also wanted to confide in Belle about what was going on instead of hiding it like Rumpel seemed inclined to do. One thing was for sure: Belle would take the news far better than Emma.

_Good luck with that, Rumpel, _Jefferson thought with a touch of amusement. _Something tells me you'll need it. _

...

"Grumpy, you're free to go," Emma announced when she strolled into the station. There was probably a bed and a wicked hangover with his name on it.

The dwarf did not respond, but that was because he was slumped against the deputy's desk with an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor by his feet. She hoped he realized that whiskey had been sitting in that desk for twenty-eight years. At the moment, his head was tossed back and he was snoring. Loudly.

Emma grabbed up the vase of flowers that decorated the deputy's desk. She had decided to try to brighten up the station and she was grateful for it. The flowers were placed delicately on the desk, leaving the vase half-full with leaves and water.

"Ooh, this I'd like to see. I've been trying to launch spitballs to wake him up for the past half hour. My mouth's gone terribly dry," Hook protested, rolling off his poor excuse of a bed. He winced against the pain brought on by his recent injuries. It amazed Emma that he was still conscious, but she reminded herself that the man was first and foremost a pirate. He was most likely trained to hold his liquor since the age of thirteen.

Emma observed Grumpy for one more moment, hoping he would stir on his own. No such luck. She even nudged his leg with her foot, but his only reaction was a quick jerk of his leg and a deep grunt. _Time for desperate measures, _she thought and upended the water over his head.

"_Heigh ho! Off to work we go!_" Grumpy half-yelled, half-sang as he he was abruptly startled from a sound sleep. His eyes roved over the station, unfocused and confused. Water dribbled down over his bald head and soaked his shoulders. It was enough to make him grumble, especially when he saw Emma holding the empty vase. "Oh, it's just you, sister. Did I really smell that bad that you had to give me a shower?"

"Yes," she and Hook answered simultaneously. She spun on her heel and stared coldly at the pirate. He didn't exactly smell like peaches and cream, either. If she had another vase of flowers, she'd drench him, too. _Mental note: get air freshener for the station, _she thought.

"You can go. I'll handle Hook," Emma repeated, setting the vase down on the desk. She'd have to remember to put more water in it for the flowers. The last thing she needed was Rumpel waltzing in and assuming his dark presence killed the flowers.

"I like the sound of that, love," Hook remarked from his cell. The pain from his injuries couldn't stop the smarmy grin from sliding over his face. How many women in the Enchanted Forest actually fell for that so-called charm?

"You wouldn't be so cheerful if I told Granny to babysit you," Emma countered. Hook must not have met Granny since he remained perfectly calm on the outside. Beside her, Grumpy wiped the water from his forehead and whistled low. Hook lifted his shoulders and let them drop loosely.

"How dangerous can a little old woman be?" Emma and Grumpy exchanged knowing looks. She could only imagine how offended Granny would be by Hook's description of "little, old woman."

"For starters, she has a crossbow." Emma smirked when the glee rapidly drained from Hook's face. In its place was sheer horror. Not another word popped out of his mouth. _That's more like it. _

Grumpy stumbled to his feet. Emma reached out a hand to steady him when he swayed and banged his hip on the corner of the desk. The vase rattled, rocking back and forth, in danger of toppling over. She led Grumpy to the door, her fingers pinching her nose all the while to block the odor of alcohol coming off his breath. For safety precautions, she called Sneezy to let him know Grumpy was headed his way.

She was going to have a word with Charming about the sort of people he allowed to run the station when she was gone. From now on, he would be her permanent deputy and she would trust him to handle the station in her absence. She didn't care how many...tacos he and Snow wanted to make; she had to know that the town and its people were protected. A drunken dwarf wasn't going to cut it, unless he brought the other six with him. Though, she secretly had to give Grumpy credit for exploiting Hook's fondness of alcohol. She would simply prefer it if he didn't get drunk as well.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Hook said, moving his eyebrows up and down. Emma tried not to gag. The memories of being held hostage on Hook's ship were disturbing enough. "Well, it's you, me, and the bun baking away in your oven. Did I tell you how sorry I am for the wrong I've done to Rumpelstiltskin?"

Emma's guard went up immediately. The only "wrong" he would likely admit to was not killing Rumpel sooner. If he was looking for an easy way out of that jail cell, he could forget it.

"No, you're not. You're thoroughly pleased with yourself for what you did to him. Hope you're happy. You'll be living the rest of your life in a cell savoring your victory." Just to taunt him further, she removed the hook from the top drawer of the desk. Hook's eyes widened when he saw it. She turned it this way and that, making it gleam. "By the way, you'll be thrilled to hear I restored Rumpelstiltskin's memory. He's no longer stuck in the form of a cruel pawnbroker, my children won't have to be raised without their father, and the meaning of your existence is once again unfulfilled."

In other words, Hook would rot in that jail cell and be tormented by the thought that his crocodile still walked the earth. It looked like he might throw up. Not that there was really anything in his stomach.

"I couldn't have said it better myself..._dearie_."

Her husband emerged from the doorway, his eyes gleaming dangerously and glued on the battered lump of flesh that was Hook. The pirate stared back, radiating both hatred and fear. Emma knew that Rumpel's presence could not be good, so she quickly moved to block Hook from his line of sight.

"What are you doing here?" It was not a happy inquiry. Truthfully, Emma did not like seeing her husband there because it meant he was ready to finish his business with Hook once and for all. He reluctantly swiveled his gaze to Emma, but she already sensed he was choosing his words carefully. Telling her only the basic facts, nothing more.

"I'd like to speak to Hook, if you don't mind," he requested. His gentlemanly manner was an act to lower her defenses, but it wasn't working. Emma's grip tightened around the hook. _You're damn right I mind, _she thought, her anger flaring. _I know you. You promised. _

"Why?" His face remained impassive and controlled, a blank slate that hid the dark secrets she was not allowed to know. It irked her endlessly to the point where she drove the hook into the wood of the desk, splintering it. Rumpel hardly paid it any mind.

"Just a friendly chat," he claimed. He attempted to sidestep her, but she swiftly interrupted his movements. A rough exhale of air brushed her nose. He was frustrated.

"I hope you understand why I can't believe that," she said quietly, apologizing with her eyes. Her arms folded over her chest and she waited for him to make his decision. His lips twisted in a severe pout and he burned holes into the linoleum floor. He wasn't going to tell her anything. It hurt her that he did not trust her with his schemes. _Must you hold me at arm's length? Even now? _"Sorry. Hook isn't allowed any visitors. Feel free to try again tomorrow, but I doubt my answer will change."

She started to turn away, her dismissal painfully clear, but he caught her elbow. Slowly, she faced him. If he would only offer her the choice...and then she noticed the glimmer of acceptance in Rumpel's eyes. He dipped his head approvingly, respectfully.

"I promised I would not kill him," he reminded her. Words were always his choice of weapon and he understood better than anyone that there were fates worse than death. He glanced at Hook searingly and his lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl. "I plan to send him to another land, where he will spend the rest of his days alone. He will have to take after himself once there, of course, but he will not be able to endanger another living soul."

Emma considered his proposal, turning it over in her mind. She turned to Hook as well and thought of the benefits that could come from this. No more being a threat to the people of Storybrooke, including her family. If what Rumpel said was true, he would not die by their hand, but it would not be the worst suffering Hook could endure in her husband's name.

It might work.

"How exactly are you going to do this? Wave one of your magic wands and make him go _poof_?" Rumpel snickered. Hook shimmied across the floor, retreating to the corner of his cell. He resembled a wild animal that knew it was about to be put to sleep for good.

"You can come in now," Rumpel called over his shoulder. Emma was about to ask who he was signaling, but her question was answered as the set of footsteps echoing in the hall reached the doorway. Jefferson's head popped around the doorframe, magic hat and all. When he spotted Emma, he froze in place.

"Hi...Emma," he nervously stammered. He whipped the hat off his head and hid it behind his back. As if she could have missed it, what with its size and eccentricity. The hatter looked to Rumpel for assistance, but he was intent on ignoring Jefferson.

"He told me your secret plan," Emma said, tilting her head to Rumpel. Jefferson's skin paled by a few shades until it was the same color as milk. He barely had the will to shuffle his feet and join their side, or perhaps he was afraid to confront Emma.

"Oh...uh...in that case...please don't punch me," Jefferson said. He held up his hat to the side of his head, shielding his view of Rumpel and vice versa. "_It was all his idea,_" Jefferson mouthed, pointing through the hat to Rumpel. Rumpel's ears must have burned, for he snatched the hat from Jefferson.

"I'm not going to punch you. I agree with you. Let's do it," she stated. Hook let out a frightened squeak from his corner. Rumpel and Jefferson looked at each other incredulously.

"Let's? You mean, you're good with this?" Jefferson's index finger bobbed between Emma and his magic hat. He took a step closer to Rumpel, his head dipping low. "I told you we should be honest with her! I told Belle and _she _didn't punch me in the face. She told me to do what I felt was right."

"Emma continues to surprise me at every turn," Rumpel commented with a small smile meant solely for her. She shrugged.

"If it means he no longer hurts anyone, and as long as we don't kill him, I agree with it. So...do your thing, Jefferson."

"If you insist, Princess Emma," Jefferson said with a half-bow. He seemed amused with himself, until Rumpel thrust the hat at Jefferson's face harder than necessary. Jefferson's use of _Princess Emma _left a bad taste in her mouth. Looking back on her past, the last thing Emma felt like was a princess. Royalty was not her style.

"Why don't you just cut off my other hand while you're at it?" Hook complained from his cell. His only human hand was tucked under the other arm, as if he was afraid they would do exactly that. Rumpel could not resist the opportunity when it was presented on a silver platter.

"Since you begged for it-"

All he did was take a step toward the cell. If it were not for his injuries, Hook might have been smaller than a child, pressed to the gray wall. Jefferson motioned for them to step back and he set the hat on the floor. However, he did not spin it.

"My magic in this world is practically depleted. Rumpel will have to do the honors." He hastily waved Rumpel forward while Emma retrieved the pirate.

The key clicked in the lock of the cell. Hook moaned _no, no, no, _and then there was the sound of flesh beng struck. Rumpel and Jefferson spun around to see Hook unmoving in Emma's arms. Jefferson helped her drag Hook across the floor so that she wouldn't put stress on the baby.

The men could not deny that her way was easiest-this way, Hook would not struggle. He would wake in a new kind of prison.

"If you can open a portal with your hat, can it bring everyone home?" The best news Emma could ever offer to the people of Storybrooke was that she'd found a way back to the Enchanted Forest. Most of them were homesick and fearful of dying in Storybrooke.

But Emma's hopes dampened when Jefferson glanced uneasily at Rumpel. The message was clear enough: _do you want to tell her or should I?_

"Unfortunately, no," Rumpel answered. "Or, more specifically, not yet. It takes incredible power, time, and strength to keep a portal open. Even I will only be able to make it work for minutes at a time. Quite frankly, the only person with the power to bring everyone home is you, Emma," he explained. She curled her fingers into her palm and concentrated on the power running through her veins. The buzz of magic was barely noticeable. What if she wasn't strong enough to save everyone yet? _I will, _she vowed. _One day. _

"Are we going to hold off until Thanksgiving? Or are we ready to do this?" Jefferson made a twirling gesture over the hat. Emma knelt on the floor, next to Hook's body. With the aid of the desk, Rumpel did the same. His brown eyes lit up with the spawning of an idea and Emma shifted uncomfortably under his firm gaze.

Finally, it became too bothersome to ignore.

"What?" She didn't mean to snap. Must be the pregnancy hormones.

"Change of plans. Emma and I will fuel the portal." Emma almost fell back on her butt, shocked to the core by Rumpel's unexpected idea. He rushed ahead before any of the protests on her tongue could be voiced. "You have power, Emma, whether you like it or not. You'll need to use it if you want to save the people of this town. I'm afraid guns and swords will be no match for Regina, nor will they trigger a magial portal. It's time you started practicing."

"Let's hope you don't mold her into Regina 2.0," Jefferson muttered under his breath. Rumpel caught it and sent the hatter a scathing glare.

Emma shook her head weakly. All she saw in her field of vision was the hat on the floor. It was more than just thread, silk, and ribbon; it was capable of opening a gateway to another world. Magic wasn't her area of expertise. _All I did was make flowers grow on Graham's grave. How am I supposed to accomplish this? _

"I don't think I'm the person to do this," she murmured, scooting away from the hat. Rumpel lunged forward and clamped a hand over her ankle, holding her still. His eyes pleaded with her, but she turned her face away. Magic was dangerous. It was the reason Cora set out to slaughter her entire family. It was the reason so many people had been hurt in the past and why those that belonged in the Enchanted Forest inhabited this cursed town.

"Emma, you _can _do this. You have the power. All you need to do is learn how to harness it. I will help you." His hand moved away from her ankle, sliding up along her thigh before lifting away completely. When she turned around, she found his hand hovering in the air, palm-up and waiting for her hand. "I believe in you. I always have, always will."

Those words stirred something deep inside Emma. Before arriving in Storybrooke, no one had ever given her more than a passing glance. She never had a permanent source of support in her life, no one to unload her personal problems to and no one to tell her that they believed in her. If Emma agreed to this show of magic, it would mean taking a leap of faith. At the same time, she understood that Rumpel would be there to catch her or die trying.

She slipped her hand in Rumpel's palm. His fingers soothingly rubbed the back of her hand. Gently, he guided her hand to the brim of the hat and instructed her to hold it. His hand grasped part of the brim as well. They would do this together.

"In order to make this work, you must have faith in yourself. Believe that you can harness that power instead of letting the power consume you. Concentrate, but do not think of anything except what the use of this magic will mean for you." Rumpel's words wrapped around her brain like the richest caramel.

Emma closed her eyes. One by one, she erased her worries from her mind. Bae, Neal, Cora, Regina, her parents...all of it vanished, lifting from her shoulders like a heavy cloak she did not realize she was wearing. All that mattered now was the portal that would allow them to be rid of Hook forever. No one in Storybrooke would be in danger of him anymore. She would be protecting the town from his villainy. Her children and her family would be safe and free of one more dire threat. It was her job as the savior to ensure the well-being of everyone.

The magic was there. She could do this.

A light breeze kissed her cheek. She was about to ask if someone snuck off to open a window, but the breeze grew stronger and stronger. It was too forceful for an open window. Someone yanked her to her feet by the arm. Her eyes flew open wide and she found herself in her husband's arms. Words were lost to her as she feasted her eyes on the most magnificent sight.

The portal was open. The hat was working, spinning across the floor. The lights sizzled, the shades on the windows slapped the glass, and papers flew off the desks. Purple fog swirled over the brim and filled the room, a mighty tornado that threatened to swallow them whole.

"You did it, sweetheart," Rumpel exclaimed in her ear. He was forced to yell over the roar of the wind. He kissed her hard on the lips, as though attempting to suck up the remaining traces of magic before it slumbered once more.

"Yes, yes, congratulations are in order. Yay, Emma. Now, _andale_, _andale_," Jefferson shouted, snapping his fingers. Rumpel shot him an infuriated look through the purple vortex. Emma sincerely hoped Jefferson had ten fingers and toes when he returned to Belle.

"Where are we sending him? To the Enchanted Forest to be by his lonesome?" She realized after she asked that neither man mentioned Hook's intended destination. She had been aiming to distract Rumpel from the notion of teaching Jefferson the art of Five Finger Fillet. Rumpel's grin snapped back into place, as if it never left. His gold tooth shined in the surreal light of the purple mist.

"Oh, no. The Enchanted Forest won't do, I'm afraid. Where we're sending him will be entirely unpleasant." Emma frowned, annoyed that he didn't answer her question. Any place was bound to be unpleasant for Hook if he spent his time alone. Unless, of course, he was sitting on a beach and enjoying the sunset with a drink in hand.

"Rumpel, this portal won't stay open all day," Jefferson spoke up. Rumpel whirled around in fury. His cane tapped the ground, a sign of his mounting irritation.

"I'm gloating," he cried out.

"Gloat faster!" Rumpel took in the enormity of the portal and sighed. There was no telling how much longer it would last. Emma feared the price of this extreme use of magic already; she didn't really want to have to repeat the experience a second time.

"We're sending him to the Infinite Forest. The name explains it all. My reveal would have been much more dramatic if Jefferson didn't ruin it!" When Rumpel's back was turned, Jefferson stuck out his tongue. It was a smart move because Rumpel surely would have taken that.

Jefferson and Rumpel combined their strength long enough to lift Hook's limp body from the floor. With a giant swing, they shoved the pirate headfirst into the portal. He was gone in the blink of an eye. Emma was courteous enough to drop the hook in as well. _Good riddance, _she thought.

The portal lasted a few more seconds before the fog thinned out. It closed with a swift sucking sound, leaving behind the hat. Jefferson collected it in his hands and flipped it onto his head. It sat crookedly, but somehow that made Jefferson look even more handsome.

"That's that," he declared. No turning back. Emma did not have any regrets now that she was reassured the people of Storybrooke were safe from the pirate. Her parents, on the other hand, would require an explanation for the empty cell. "If you'll excuse me, I have a very attractive librarian that could use a dose of being swept off her feet." Jefferson checked his breath and straightened his cravat. _Now who's gloating? _

"Always pleasurable doing business with you, dearie. Your mansion will be repaired by tomorrow morning. As promised, it will be heavily shielded with magic from now on. A battalion of evil queens won't make it farther than the bottom of the hill," Rumpel said. Jefferson thanked him with a nod and could not have escaped the station faster than if it were burning down around him. "Ah, young love."

"Reminds me of how we were in the cabin in the woods," Emma said as she watched the door swing closed behind Jefferson. Nothing was sweeter than those early stages of love. It was often a madness all its own. Rumpel tilted his head at her.

"Were? Did we ever truly stop?" His arm slid around her waist, encouraging her to slip into his embrace. The head of his cane traced her spine.

"Besides how you were reduced to your cursed form? There was also the time I learned you spiked my drink with a lust potion and convinced me to marry you that same night. I moved back in with Mary Margaret and you had to serenade me, remember?" Emma tried not to remember it herself. The serenading had been nice, but the reason for it remained bitter.

"Oh, yes. I must have blocked it out. Singing has never been a talent of mine," he said. She found it a bit cute how Rumpel was too shy to sing in public. He had a better voice than he gave himself credit for. "Other than that, I don't think we ever left our thirst for each other in that cabin. Do you?" In answer, Emma's head rose and her mouth latched onto his. It was a subtle kiss, not like the intense hunger after their reunion, but it was enough to satisfy him. His fingers wove through her hair, his cane pressing her against him as he returned the kiss. "That's what I thought."

"Thank you for telling me what you planned to do," she said. She hoped he understood how much she meant that. In the past, he had often withheld his schemes from her, believing that she would never trust him or would distance herself from him as a result of such schemes. He kissed her once more on the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you for not condemning me for it," he replied. It was one of his biggest fears that he would eventually do something to break apart his most personal connections, that the monster he supposedly was would drive them away. "All I want is to keep you and our family safe."

"I appreciate everything you do for our family," she reassured him. "And even if they don't admit it out loud, deep down I know my parents do, too. You kept your promise, like you always do. You didn't lose control and you didn't kill Hook. That's something, isn't it?"

From the way he described his darker nature in the Enchanted Forest, he would not have hesitated to gut Hook like a fish via magic. The fact that he was willing to trust Emma and choose a less painful route for Hook must have meant he was separating himself from the dark being thriving within his body.

"So, what's the price for sending Hook through the hat?" Emma knew there had to be one. All magic came with a price according to her husband and this was an impressive display of magic. It would not pass freely. Rumpel's face was lined with exhaustion.

"I've learned many things in the ways of magic over the centuries. The most redundant lesson is that all magic comes with a price. For me, family will always be my price. It was because of my new power as the Dark One that I clung to that cursed blade instead of my boy's hand and I let him fall into a land without magic, alone and fatherless. It was because of that quest to find him and my reliance on magic that I turned Belle away from my castle. My price for bringing magic to Storybrooke was the border, separating me further from Bae. Now, I fear that Bae will not want to have anything to do with me if he learns of this. Love is my eternal price."

Emma gripped his arm, but he would not meet her eyes fully. A throb of sympathy squeezed her heart, mixed with the onslaught of dread. If that was his price for magic, what would be her price? Perhaps the universe was still deciding.

"At last Hook is gone," he said, gazing victoriously at the empty cell. "Cora is dead. Regina is still on the loose, but she is not so much a threat without allies. Now what?"

Rumpel held Emma in his arms and gazed into her eyes thoughtfully, searching for an answer. The problems she had erased from her mind while opening the portal returned twicefold. A dull headache started at her temples. She felt the stress pushing against the walls of her skull, her shoulders hunching with the weight of each burden. It felt like she was navigating a minefield.

"Now...you have to make things right with Bae. This is what you've been striving toward for three centuries. I think I should stay at my parents' apartment until that happens. So Bae doesn't feel threatened by our relationship," she hurried to explain when his face fell. She wasn't leaving him. She simply did not want to make things more awkward with Bae than they had to be. "I'll try to talk to him, too. Plus there's Regina to consider. She'll never stop, not after we killed her mother. We only have so much time before she strikes again and I don't want her to have the first move."

"We'll find a way," Rumpel said and tapped her chin, instructing her to keep it raised high. "Of course, the last time I said that, my son was about to be thrown into the Ogre War, I became the Dark One, and then I let him drop into an emerald vortex."

The sadness and regret in his eyes was enough to tear the breath from her lungs. She didn't know if he would be able to ever make amends with Bae, especially since she was married to Bae's father, but she admired Rumpel for wanting to use every last effort to try to correct his mistake. He planted one last kiss on her cheek before turning to leave. Her hand almost refused to let him go and she watched the door swing long after he was gone with a horrible lump in her throat.

She hoped it wasn't Taco Night.

Emma retrieved the empty vase on the desk and filled it up in the station's bathroom. Afterwards, she scooped up the bouquet of flowers and dropped them in the vase. She scowled when they began to wilt, their heads drooping as though in prayer. _You have that power. It's time you started practicing. I believe in you. _

Impulsively, she stretched her palm to the bouquet of flowers. Just like she had with Graham's grave, she willed the flowers to burst into life, the stems straightening and the petals bright with an array of colors. Only this time, the magic was a little easier to wield.

_I will save everyone, _she repeated the vow in her head. _In time. _

_..._

Rumpel was nervous by the time he stopped in front of Granny's Diner, so much that the butterflies in his stomach turned into winged demons, stabbing his stomach and scorching his organs with hellfire. Only family could ever make him feel so emotional and self-conscious. He didn't care what anyone else in Storybrooke thought of him, but Bae was in that diner.

His boy.

What if Bae chose not to forgive him at all? A cold sweat beaded on his brow. He pictured his pawnshop, his sanctuary, and even took a step backward on the sidewalk. It would be so easy to walk away, to never confront the horror that haunted him for centuries. Then a new thought gave him pause. There was a good chance Bae would never forgive him, but what if he did? He would never know until he tried. And after succumbing to his false personality again and almost losing everything and everyone he loved, he was quite tired of running.

The mindless chatter that filled Granny's Diner ceased the minute he walked through the door. Some people snuck him infuriated looks over their menus while others had their mouths agape in dread. They patted their pockets as though he held the power to reach across the room and pluck the quarters from their wallets.

Rumpel disregarded the pointed looks. He didn't care to waste his energy on the citizens of Storybrooke. All he cared about was his family.

He spotted Henry first. The boy was sitting in a window booth near the back of the diner. Rumpel could see his face, torn between suspicion and hope as he stared. There was a man sitting across from him. Even just by observing that head of brown hair, even without the curls he remembered, Bae's name wound tightly around his heart.

Rumpel strove with each step to reach Bae and Henry. He leaned heavier on his cane, his strength diminshing rapidly and his limbs trembling with uncertainty. He concentrated on Henry first-that part was easiest to mend. His boy, just as much as Bae.

"Henry," he called out when he was within earshot of the boy. Taking after his mother, the boy watched Rumpel with curiosity, detecting signs of the personality that governed his body. Most likely, he wanted nothing to do with Mr. Gold and Rumpel could not blame him. He smiled and reached out a hand to his stepson. "Henry, it's me. Your dad's here."

Henry scooted to the end of the booth. His precocious eyes were wider than tea saucers.

"Dad?" Henry took ahold of his hand. An instant later, Henry tackled him with one of his massive hugs, almost knocking him to the ground. He welcomed it more than Charming's. His cane clattered on the tiled floor and he held onto Henry with both arms. Rumpel stroked Henry's head at the same time that Henry's arms squeezed his waist. "I knew you'd come back. Emma saved you."

"Yes, she did," Rumpel confirmed. It melted his heart to be able to earn Henry's affection again. "Your mother is a wonderful woman. I don't know what I'd do without her."

That last part was meant more for Bae than for Henry. He tried to catch his son's eye and failed. Bae was more interested in his coffee. Was he reminiscing about all the ways his father hurt him? Was he coming up with ways to convince Emma and Henry to leave him?

_Please, don't take them from me, _he wanted to beg Bae. On the heels of that thought, a part of him was confident that he would surrender Emma and Henry if Bae asked for it. Provided that Emma and Henry would still be happy. Of course he had sworn to fight for Emma, but he knew he had to put his child first. Convincing Bae to let him be with Emma would be a grueling challenge.

"Henry, I need to have a word with my son. How about you visit with Red for a minute?" Rumpel reluctantly pried the boy from his body. Henry was smart enough to respect his father's wishes and hurried off in Red's direction. More than likely, he would overwhelm her with questions about being a werewolf.

"You have five minutes," Bae said harshly. Rumpel wished his son would take a second to really look at him and see that he was not the unnatural, scaly imp he had become in the Enchanted Forest. He lowered himself into the booth, directly across from Bae. "Well? Time's ticking away."

Where to begin? He had anticipated and feared this moment for centuries.

"Three centuries," Rumpel said aloud. It caught Bae off-guard and he finally met his father's eyes.

Instantly there was longing as Bae studied his father's human brown eyes, hardened face, and the cane propped against the seat. But Rumpel did not fool himself: underneath that longing was hurt and anger. Maybe even hatred. To ease Bae's pain, he was prepared to bare his soul. Starting now.

"Three centuries, Bae. That's how long I've been without you and that's how long I've been working to find you again. Day and night; I never stopped. Not a day went by that I wished I had done it all differently and fallen into that portal with you. I know that my mistake caused you great pain. I don't expect forgiveness from you here and now. You were right, Bae. I was a coward clinging to power. I still am a coward. I brought magic to this world because it was my crutch. I thought I needed it and I was wrong. I'm trying to change, I am. I don't want to hurt Emma, Henry, the baby..."

"Right. I'm the only one you hurt. No use repeating your mistake. You built yourself a nice little family...with my ex-girlfriend and my son," Bae sharply interrupted. His voice was laced with venom. Every syllable was a shot of deadly poison to Rumpel's heart. He hid his hands under the table so Bae wouldn't see how badly they were shaking.

"If I knew her connection to you, I would have kept my distance. I wouldn't have touched her. You must understand, Bae-"

"Four minutes," Bae said flatly. Rumpel leaned forward, urging his son to hear him. Whereas time held no great importance to him before, it was suddenly slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I fell in love with her. At first, I needed her to break the curse so I could find you, but then I grew close to her. Closer than I have with anyone for nearly thirty years. Whatever happened between you and her, it hardened her. It's terribly difficult for her to trust others, but she began to trust me. And I returned the kindness. I chose her over my true love. I even trusted Emma with my dagger. Slowly but surely, I am trying to change from that dark being I was. Please..."

Bae appeared torn between yielding to his father's pleas and keeping his wall intact. His finger methodically circled the rim of his mug, the coffee inside quickly cooling and forgotten. In the end, he shook his head and continued to stare past Rumpel, treating him more like a piece of the booth or a phantom than his father.

"You know how humiliating it is to run into my ex-girlfriend and, on top of the fact that I have a son, learn that she's married to my father? That she's expecting another child _with my father?_ The worst part is that she still chooses you. She would die for you if you asked her. In my opinion, you haven't changed that much. How many people did you hurt to find me? How many words have you twisted in your favor? You still depend on magic and I don't think you have any intention of giving it up." Bae checked the clock on the wall. "Two minutes."

"I will," Rumpel vehemently insisted. "I admit I need magic to protect my family while Regina is on the loose. When she's taken care of and everyone returns home, I will surrender my magic once and for all. I swear it."

Bae slammed his fist into the table. A stream of coffee flew out of his cup and splattered on the table. Both men disregarded it. Heads turned in their direction and silence permeated the diner, but Bae and Rumpel were trapped in their own bubble.

"Words, words, words," he berated. He pressed his back against his seat, as though hoping to get as far as he could from Rumpel. "Words mean nothing. If you want to prove to me you've changed, you need to show me, not tell me. Otherwise, I remain unconvinced. Emma may love you with or without magic, but you are not the man I used to call 'Papa.'"

That accusation sliced deeper than any of the others. Rumpel squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the warmth from escaping through his eyelids. Did his son hate him so much that he preferred to think of his father dead?

"Tell me what I need to do, Bae, and I will," he said. He would pay any price to earn Bae's forgiveness. Bae leaned back and crossed his arms. His lips shifted as he pondered.

"My request remains the same as when I was fourteen. Give up your magic. Do it now and prove to me you don't need it. Prove to me that I'm enough or at the very least that Emma and Henry are enough for you."

Rumpel mentally swore and felt himself being prodded into a corner. A corner that had thorns sprouting from it. It was a difficult decision to make. He didn't want to risk his family's safety by using magic, but he refused to give up his greatest power while Regina was determined to take her revenge. If she learned Rumpel was powerless, she would not hesitate to take action and destroy everyone he loved.

Everyone except Henry. The boy would be her golden trophy.

"I can't, Bae. Not today. Regina is out there and she has declared vengeance on Emma and her parents. If I lose my magic, she'll string them up like pinatas, take a sword to their heads, and I won't be able to stop it. Please, not that, not now. I'm sorry."

Bae huffed in annoyance.

"You're not sorry. Regina provides you an excuse to keep using your magic. You won't change, not for me and not for Emma. We're done here." Bae's gaze turned to the window and the town beyond it. There was nothing Rumpel could do to change his mind. Bae had put an ultimatum on the table and he had refused it.

It was with a heavy heart that he eased his body from the booth and collected his cane. Without stopping to even say goodbye to Henry, he fled from the diner. If anyone asked, he would blame the water in his eyes on Granny's onions.

...


	73. Chapter 73

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Emma plunged into a deep, velvet dream. It was hazy and seductive, making her fingers clench the sheets and her muscles spasm with unimaginable pleasure. It felt so real, as dreams often did. A nibble on her ear, a gentle squeeze of her inner thigh, a silky whisper of wind through her hair. Butterflies soared through her belly. Even in the throes of deep sleep, a smile dominated her lips.

_Oh...that feels...incredible...Rumpel...Rumpel...why...are you licking my ear? _

The dream shattered, the shards ebbing away beyond her reach. The licking sensation persisted, trailing from the shell of her ear to her parted lips. Her husband was surprisingly daring in bed, but he never kissed her that way before. Slowly she pried open her eyelids and struggled to make out anything past the foggy veil of sleep. She screeched when she saw a golden face hovering above her.

"_Gah!_ Goldie!"

Emma suddenly noticed the weight of the pup as it sat squarely on her chest. Its tail thumped her belly, thoroughly pleased it had succeeded in waking her up. The coils of pleasure diminished, but the last traces of it in her abdomen reminded her of the sweet dream she'd been having a few moments ago. She scooped up the dog and lumbered out of the room, all too aware of the dream's effects on her body. "Talk about a rude awakening. Remind me to start closing my door when I go to bed," Emma complained to her much-too-cheerful parents. How could they be so bright so early in the morning?

Emma deposited the dog on the floor. Immediately, Goldie bounded upstairs to give Henry the same wake-up treatment. Luckily for her, the kid would appreciate it far more than Emma. Snow emitted a silvery laugh over the top of her newspaper. Charming grinned and offered her a morning beverage.

"It's about time you got up. I was afraid I was going to have to explain why you were moaning," Snow teased. Charming and Emma both looked horrified. Too much information.

"I...I was _not_...there was no way you heard..." Emma gaped openly at her parents. Charming nearly spilled the orange juice he was pouring for her. Snow gave her one of those motherly _I-know-what-you're-going-through_ looks.

"Charming may be in denial, but I heard," Snow insisted. Emma threw her hands in the air and seriously contemplated locking herself in her bedroom for a good hour to practice blocking out the memory of their conversation. It was great that her parents were trying their hardest to make up for those years of being without her, but did that mean they had to recreate the embarrassing memories, too? "I'm sorry. It's a delicate situation. It's okay if you miss your husband and...the things you do behind closed doors. I don't blame you."

The glass of juice toppled. The orange liquid rained over the kitchen floor. Charming rushed to dab up the mess with paper towels, but his efforts were not necessary. Goldie would love to lap it up when she returned from waking Henry.

A knock at the door interrupted their awkward conversation. Emma hurried to answer it, grateful for the distraction. Unless, of course, it happened to be Regina with a poisoned apple. Or Neal, ready to recite a lecture about her inappropriate attraction to his father.

Emma's heart quickened-with excitement, not dread-and she eagerly fell into the arms of her husband. His hands splayed over the small of her back and he placed a warm kiss on the ear Goldie's tongue had innocently invaded. She debated telling him about the strange occurence, but that only made her imagine what it would be like if his tongue really did that.

"Good morning to you, too, sweetheart. I trust you slept better than I did," he greeted. It was then that Emma pulled back to examine his worn face.

The exhaustion was evident in his voice, but it was written on his face as well. It seemed a challenge for him to keep his eyelids from drooping, his brown eyes dazed. When she rested her hands on his shoulders, she felt the tension underneath his suit. Already she detected more than one thick knot that desperately needed to be rubbed out. It must not have been easy to sleep without her or Henry nearby. The poor man probably put off sleep as long as he could, instead sitting at his wheel well into the night to spin away his loneliness, doubts, and fears.

Emma didn't like to see him suffer that way. The way she saw it, he'd endured enough suffering for a lifetime.

"Once we settle this situation with Ne-um, Bae...then we'll come home," she promised. It would be a blessing to let Rumpel take her home then and there, but it would hurt his relationship with his son. He needed to make things right with Bae first.

"I've been thinking about how best to grovel at your feet. I know it's not as romantic as breakfast in bed with eggs and bacon to form smiley faces, but would you and Henry and care to join me for breakfast at the diner?" Emma opened her mouth to accept his offer, but a set of rapid footsteps pevented it.

"We're going out for breakfast?" Emma turned to see Henry grinning from ear to ear. The dog was tucked under his arm. He was still clad in his pajamas and his hair was sticking up at all angles from sleep, but joy radiated from him in overwhelming waves. "Does this mean I can order a large stack of Granny's chocolate chip pancakes?"

Gold chuckled. His heart was in his eyes as he studied his stepson.

"Hello, Henry. Tell you what: if you wish to order the largest stack of pancakes Granny will offer, I will have no issue with paying for it. Consider it my treat," Rumpel said. Emma exchanged worried looks with her parents, all three wondering how powerful Henry's sugar high would be after such a breakfast.

"I'll go get ready," the kid exclaimed, dashing back up the stairs. The dog's furry behind rocked from side to side, still stuck under Henry's arm. The room seemed dimmer once the kid was gone. It didn't take much to make him happy. There were only a few people Rumpel deemed worthy of such devotion and generosity. If the population of Storybrooke ever heard about this, they'd probably assume Rumpel had a good twin.

"Emma, surely you intend to wear more than...that?" Rumpel gestured to her old tank top and shorts. She defiantly planted her hands on her hips. It took a long time for his eyes to return to her face.

"Of course I will," she cried defensively. Once more, his gaze dropped, offering her an extended once-over.

"Your choice of attire when answering the door never ceases to amaze me," he commented. His attention honed in on her swollen belly and he lifted a finger in the air, signaling a new thought. "Ah, yes. Before I forget...there is something else I've been meaning to do."

To Emma's surprise, Rumpel gradually knelt on the floor and set his cane down by his legs. He rolled up Emma's tank top, stopping underneath her breasts, and caressed her belly with both hands. Then he kissed it chastely.

"Good morning, my little one," he whispered to their unborn child. Emma smiled affectionately. "It's your daddy here...waiting for you..." He kissed her belly again. Behind them, Charming tried not to giggle. It was a match he was on the verge of losing. Snow picked up a dish towel and whipped his chest.

"What are you giggling about? You did the same thing!"

...

Emma had never seen Rumpel so uncomfortable at Granny's Diner before. He stalled outside the entrance, just came to a complete halt, peering through the newly-washed windows in search of something. Or someone. It was true he never particularly liked being involved with the other people of Storybrooke, but he had never been like this. So hesitant, so panicky, so afraid. She tried dragging him forward by the arm, but he refused to budge an inch.

It wasn't until Henry reported that Bae wasn't there that he even crossed the threshold. Not a good sign.

"I'll have Granny's Breakfast Delight," Rumpel ordered, flicking his menu at Red. That breakfast special had a bit of everything-toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, a choice of pancakes or waffles, and extra syrup and butter. "Make that one with waffles, if you please, dearie."

Rumpel dared to wink at Red. While it pleased the scandalous personality of Ruby to gain affection from men-except for maybe Mr. Gold-Red looked to be inches from biting him and cursing him with a nasty monthly dilemma.

"I'll have the same with pancakes. And a side of French fries," Emma was next to order.

"Emma, French fries aren't really a breakfast food," Rumpel pointed out. Her glare silenced him on the subject. Hadn't he heard of the concept of brunch? It was still a little early, but Emma hardly cared.

"I'm pregnant. I can eat whatever I want," she snapped. Rumpel bowed his head while Red snickered behind her scarlet lips. She leaned toward Emma's side of the table and gave Rumpel a double dose of the evil eye.

"Why are _you _complaining? You're not the one carrying the bundle of joy, are you? You should be dishing out banquets to satisfy her cravings and rubbing her feet every evening," Red scolded. Rumpel was befuddled by the waitress' defense of Emma's pregnant privileges. Emma wondered how much of that lecture her husband was going to abide by.

"I'll have an extra large stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Somewhere between five and fifteen," Henry said gleefully. Red's eyebrows rose in wonder. She looked dubiously at Rumpel, drumming her nails on the tabletop. It was easy to read the expression on her face. _Is this kid for real? _

"Don't worry. I'm paying for every pancake. I doubt I can outrun you." He held up his cane for emphasis.

Emma sucked in her lip to keep from laughing. If Rumpel or anyone else ever tried running out of the diner without paying, they wouldn't even make it through the door. Granny was a formidable threat before when provoked, but now her granddaughter's wolf abilities were back in business. All Granny would have to do was command Red to fetch and the game would be over.

Once Red left to fill the order, Emma focused on Rumpel. It was time he offered some answers. For one thing, he couldn't stop glancing back at the diner's entrance, as if something terrible were about to charge through it.

"Alright, fess up. What exactly happened between you and Bae? You talked to him, right?"

Rumpel's eyes scoured everything except her face. The tabletop, the shiny napkin dispenser, unwrapping his utensils on his folded napkin, everything that served to preoccupy his attention. Emma turned her head this way and that, refusing to let him escape the question.

At last, he met her hard gaze. It only lasted for a second, but she glimpsed enough sorrow to know the confrontation with Bae hadn't gone over smoothly.

"Yes, I talked to my son," he said morosely. His fingers rolled his cane back and forth on the seat. Silence stretched on, much to Emma's annoyance.

"And?" Rumpel stared at the luminous clock over the bar, refusing to elaborate. Was it that bad?

"He left the diner crying," Henry interceded. Rumpel's mind snapped back to earth, landing on his stepson. Emma gawked at her husband in disbelief. In touch with his emotions as he may be, it took a lot to make Rumpel break down to the point of tears. A heartwrenching reunion with his son would do that.

"It was the onions!" He insisted. Behind the bar, Granny rotated to face their table. The wolf senses she had as a girl had all but faded, except for the advanced hearing.

"What about my onions?" She hollered across the diner to Rumpel. The spatula in her merciless grasp slapped the top of the bar, a warning to all those that dared cross her. Everyone in the diner shifted around to look at Rumpel. He did his best to ignore the countless eyes, never appreciating being pushed into the spotlight against his will.

"Never a more delicious onion to be found than those served here," he remarked, tapping the tabletop with his finger. Granny clearly didn't buy his silky words, but she drew back from the bar with the spatula swinging by her hip. No doubt she would be keeping a close eye on Rumpel for the rest of his meal. Once the spectators returned to their own plates, he trained on Emma and Henry with a guarded expression. "My son does not forgive me. Nothing more to be said." He threaded his fingers together over the tabletop. "So, what's the plan for today, Henry?"

Emma didn't blame him for desiring a change of subject. Unfortunately, this was not one that would grant him peace of mind.

"I'm spending the day with Bae," Henry answered. He smiled apologetically. Rumpel's hands fell into his lap and his back was erect against the seat. He nodded numbly.

"Of course. Nothing wrong with a little father-son bonding," he said softly. There was simply no chance that the same would happen for him. Surprisingly, he turned to Emma with a spark in his eye. He reached over and took her hand, his thumb tracing the lifeline of her palm. "In that case, perhaps you and I could do something together." She darted her eyes toward the kid, silently commanding him to choose his words carefully. He carried on as if he hadn't noticed. "Charming offered me a refund for your disastrous date with Mr. Gold, but I have another surprise planned for you."

Henry _ooh_ed. Emma groaned.

"Can't you just tell me what it is? I promise I'll be excited." She hated having to wait to know what her husband had planned. The smug smile on his face told her that he knew it, too. Sometimes she thought he got a kick out of seeing her squirm.

"Afraid not. If I showed you now, it would ruin the surprise completely. You'll have to wait and see." He laughed as she blew a strand of hair off her forehead.

"Can I at least guess?" He turned her hand over to expose her wrist. Peeling back the cuff of her jacket, his finger swirled over the flower tattoo printed on her skin. She wondered if that was a clue or if he was aiming to distract her from the mystery of his surprise.

"Feel free to guess. I highly doubt you'll guess correctly, though." Was that so? Emma always enjoyed a good challenge. She leaned down to Henry's ear.

"Help me out here, Henry," she asked. The kid perked up in his seat. Only for a moment was he lost in thought, licking his lips rapidly while stringing together a series of questions. Then the slew of questions were unloaded on Rumpel in almost a single breath.

"Is it a celebration? Will there be cake? Is it a new car? Is it something inside your house? Is it flowers? Is it a singing card? Is it expensive jewelry? Did you name a star after Emma? Is it a wagon of Apollo bars to stop her cravings?" Rumpel waited until Henry was finished bombarding him with questions.

"No. To all questions," he replied, waving his hand aside. Henry looked to Emma and shrugged.

"That's all I've got." Emma lowered her head to the table. If Henry was unable to guess what it was after that lightning round of questions, then what chance did she have of hitting the bulls-eye? When she picked her head up, Rumpel had let go of her hand and was fixing his tie with that sly little smile on his lips. He was relishing this.

"Is it even in Storybrooke?"

"Yes," he answered flatly. _Think like Rumpel, _she chided herself. _What kind of surprise would Rumpel have for me? _She was familiar with the way his mind worked, even if his schemes were difficult to predict.

"Is it something no one but me is allowed to see?" If he understood her implication, nothing on his face betrayed it.

"Yes."

"Something to do with your...cane?" Underneath the table, she wedged her foot between his legs to indicate what she meant. This wasn't something they should be discussing in front of Henry, if that was his big surprise. One of his hands dropped into his lap to rub her foot.

"No. Whatever I do with my cane is an added bonus." Emma dropped her foot. She thought she was onto him for a moment, but he proved to be as elusive as ever.

"I give up," she muttered.

"I hate to say I told you so, dear, but I told you there was no chance you'd guess it."

It was a good thing Red brought over the food right then, because Rumpel was spared the heat of Emma's sour gaze. She didn't like being told _I told you so. _Red placed Emma's plate down and did the same with Rumpel's. The glorious smell of melted butter and hot pancakes wafted through Emma's nose. It was making her mouth water. Henry's plate was nowhere to be found.

"Sorry, Henry. Yours will take a few more minutes. We never received an order for so many pancakes at once," Red apologized. Henry nodded and went back to flipping through his storybook. No matter how many times the kid read those pages, he never tired of those fairy-tales.

Emma dug into her pancakes like a starving vagrant, drowning the entire plate in sticky amber syrup. She popped a couple of French fries in her mouth, dripping with ketchup. That hit the spot.

"Hey, uh..." Henry spoke up, his eyes centered on Rumpel across the table. Emma heard his shoe scuff on the floor and she peeked under the table to see Henry nudging Rumpel's shoe to gain his attention. "I've wanted to ask you something."

Oh, right. She wondered when Henry was going to ask Rumpel.

"You can ask me anything, Henry. Free of charge," Rumpel declared. Henry eagerly obliged, resting his elbows on the table to get as close to Rumpel as possible.

"Even though Bae is here in Storybrooke, would it be alright if I still called you my dad?"

Rumpel had been directing a forkful of egg toward his mouth. The fork clattered onto the plate. Emma was sure Rumpel paled by several degrees and she smiled behind her napkin. It was his turn to be taken by surprise. For a few minutes, he was wordless, frantically dabbing at his lips with his napkin.

"Henry...Bae is your real father. Not me. You should be happy he's here," he blurted out.

"I am," Henry said lowly. "I want to get to know him, but you were the person I wanted to be my dad first. Technically, you're my stepdad no matter what since you married my mom, right?" Rumpel visibly gulped. He was having a hard time processing the miracle that Henry was presenting on a silver platter. Emma gave Henry a subtle nod. She was proud of him for wanting to continue loving Rumpel so fiercely.

"Yes, I am," Rumpel agreed. His fingers tightened over the edge of the table. A mixture of confusion and elation passed over his face. Emma knew he wanted this more than anything. "Henry, if you wish to continue calling me that, then I will treasure every minute of it. Thank you."

Henry gave Rumpel a wide, warm smile in return. Rumpel seemed to relax in his seat now that he was assured that Henry wasn't about to forget him and run off with Bae as his one true father instead. It was obvious to Emma that it was one of his greatest fears once she informed him that Bae was Henry's father. So many people had abandoned him in the past, but she and Henry weren't going to do that.

Finally, Henry's pancakes arrived. It was amazing that one round plate could hold the stack of pancakes. Melted chocolate drizzled the stack of pancakes while a scattering of chocolate chips decorated the plate. Red brought over another small plate so that Henry could eat one pancake at a time. It was every child's most delicious dream come true.

Something clicked in Emma's mind. She tapped her boot over Rumpel's shoe, earning his undivided attention.

"One last guess: does it have anything to do with desserts? You know...chocolate, cherries...whipped cream?" At first, Emma was afraid he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of answering. He stared at her for a long time, contemplating his response. The corners of his lips curled.

"Maybe." Emma wanted to pump her fist in victory.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

...

"Aw, come on, Belle...do we really have to do this?"

Jefferson slouched in his seat and surveyed the cozy Victorian house belonging to her father. He had seen it once or twice through his telescope, but he never imagined he would personally get to know the florist because he was dating his daughter. Not until yesterday, anyway.

Belle's answer was not spoken in words. Instead, she opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"You said you would do this," she reminded him in sing-song fashion. He groaned and let his head hit the steering wheel. The horn beeped and he shot up in his seat, having scared himself. Yanking the keys from the ignition, he joined Belle on the sidewalk.

"I know I promised. It doesn't stop the tornado of butterflies in my stomach," he grumbled. It seemed to take all his energy just to conquer one step. No woman had ever brought him home to meet her father. Even his wife's father had died of illness before they wed. This was unfamiliar territory for him and he never liked wandering into unfamiliar territory. "There's no need for this household visit since I'll end up meeting him face-to-face when I pick up that order of flowers for you."

Jefferson started to back away, but Belle looped her arm through his and dragged him up the walkway. Her determination triumphed over his reluctance.

"Yes, I'm sure you'll mention that you're dating me as you dash out the door with a face full of roses," she replied briskly. Jefferson didn't deny it. How fast could Belle's father be? Jefferson pictured the florist chasing him down the street with a pair of extra-sharp shears. It wasn't comforting.

They were halfway up the walkway now. With every step they took, the confrontation with Belle's father became more inevitable. The blue sky felt like it was descending over Jefferson's head, the walls of this world tumbling down to trap him.

"Do I at least look good?" When they stopped a mere foot from the door, Jefferson slowly rotated in place for Belle.

It took him almost an hour that morning to decide on his outfit. He ultimately selected his best black vest and pair of black jeans for the occasion. He was even wearing a tie. The cravats clashed too much with it, so Belle helped him cover his neck scar with makeup. It was amazing what the luxuries of this world could do.

Belle straightened his tie and looked him over carefully.

"You always look good," she reassured him and kissed his cheek to give him an extra boost of confidence. He exhaled softly through the nose, his breath brushing her skin.

Ever since early that morning, Jefferson had been a nervous wreck. He had tried thinking positive, taking deep breaths, _in through the nose and out through the mouth, _but nothing worked. Here Belle thought it was the female population whose emotions often ran wild or took their time in the bathroom, but Jefferson was the exception.

"Do you still think I could pull off wearing a bathrobe and get in your father's good graces?" Belle's eyes scrolled over his excellent figure, replacing his vest and jeans with a fuzzy bathrobe. Compared to Rumpelstiltskin, Jefferson would be a heavenly gift in her father's eyes. Or her father would have a heart attack.

"You never know until you try," she said. She only hoped both men consumed several alcoholic drinks before that scenario came to fruition. Belle knocked firmly on the front door. She let her mind wander when there was no immediate response.

She had never stepped foot inside her father's house in Storybrooke. Only Lacey existed there in his mind due to the false memories Regina fabricated for him. The entire layout of the house was a mystery that would only be uncovered once her father answered the door.

Which room belonged to Lacey? One of those windows on the top floor overlooking the street? What sort of dwelling was she accustomed to while living in her father's care? Belle tried to picture what Lacey's bedroom might have looked like. A lock on the door to reinforce her privacy, posters of rock bands splattered on the wall, the sheets of her bed rumpled. Midnight blue sheets, to match the eyeshadow. Vodka stashed in a water bottle in her sock drawer, an envelope of extra cash in her underwear drawer.

Her thoughts turned to her father and what his false counterpart was accustomed to doing on an ordinary afternoon. Was he feasting on a sandwich slathered with condiments, leftovers from the previous day? Fixing a steaming cup of coffee to make it go down? Would he even abide by his counterpart's routine? Belle doubted it.

The time ticked by, so much that Jefferson began to whistle. It occurred to her that her father might not even be home. Could he be at his flower shop? Or did he prefer to spend the afternoon at home, away from the heavy incense of roses? She raised her fist to knock again, but the door swung back, opening to reveal the familiar figure of her father.

He was weary; she noticed automatically. The way he carried his body was nothing short of tiresome, as though it were a chore to crank his muscles and use his limbs properly. Circles darkened the lids under his eyes. When was the last time he got a decent night's sleep? Before the curse broke?

It was probably too much of an effort on his part to search the streets for her after the curse ended. With age and suffering taking a toll on him, he waited for the day when she turned up on his doorstep. Belle regretted not seeking him out earlier.

"Papa?" When he saw her standing there on his porch, the stress seeped from his body. The spell of weariness broke. A relieved smile brightened his lined face.

"Belle," he gasped and hurried across the porch to embrace her. She readily returned the gesture, only then realizing how much she had missed her father. _Has it really been thirty years? _"Belle, you're alive. The gods are good."

Her father kissed her forehead. Then he studied her up and down, preserving every detail in his memory. For now, he didn't even notice Jefferson standing beside his daughter, preoccupied as he was by their reunion. It was only a matter of time.

"Yes, I am," she told her father, squirming out of his arms. There were questions and concerns hanging on his lips. Belle was determined to staunch the flood before it had a chance to drown her. "You don't have to worry. Rumpelstiltskin never hurt me. It was Regina that caused me the most suffering. She locked me up in her castle before the curse struck and I was a prisoner in her asylum in this world."

Her father's grief returned, faster than when it left. A shaky hand rose to rub his jaw and he cursed into his palm. If a father's fury was ever the key to defeating Regina, her father would be a candidate for battle. _Never underestimate a person acting for their child, as Rumpel says, _she thought.

"That despicable woman," he roared spitefully. "Nearly as despicable as the Dark One himself." Belle resisted the urge to argue with her father about Rumpel's reputation. Knowing her father's stubborness, which she had inherited, he wouldn't heed a word of her defense.

"Papa-" She began to protest, but her father finally noticed the third wheel to their happy bandwagon. Maybe that was because Jefferson was taking baby steps backwards, heading for the porch steps. Belle dragged him back to her side, directly under her father's surveillance.

"Who's he? One of Lacey's?" The contempt tainting his voice suggested there was no love lost between Moe French and his promiscuous, nonexistent daughter. However Lacey might have retorted, there were no false memories lurking in the back of Belle's mind. Jefferson looked appalled by her father's implication, his head spinning back and forth between Belle and her father.

"Papa, this is Jefferson. He's my boyfriend. He's also the man that helped me escape Regina's asylum," she quickly added when her father became startled by the word _boyfriend. _Jefferson clasped her hand, silently conveying his gratitude for the title.

Both she and Jefferson held their breath when her father moved out of the doorway to stand toe-to-toe with Jefferson. He surveyed Jefferson closer than was necessary. Jefferson kept his eyes down, as though in the presence of a majestic royal. As a matter of fact, he was, but Belle didn't think it would help the situation to confirm that fact.

"Is he a magician?" Belle's father questioned. She scrunched her nose. From her father's choice of word, Jefferson was a ridiculous street performer, pulling rabbits out of a hat for a coin or two. The only possible word worse than that was _wizard_ according to this world's standards. The kind that waved a wand. Neither one fit Jefferson.

Jefferson fumbled with the tie that was knotted around his throat. That meant he was mentally sweating.

"If you want, I can pull a quarter out of your ear," he quipped. It was his nature to try to ease an uncomfortable situation with a witty remark. Unfortunately, Jefferson forced a laugh, but her father did not join in. Belle cradled her head in her hand and felt their bandwagon splinter into pieces. Jefferson turned the laugh into a short cough. "I have next to no magic in this world. I used to be a portal jumper. You know, jumping from world to world for small, personal jobs. I hung up my hat a long time ago. The last thing I want to do is hurt my daughter or yours."

Belle stealthily glanced from Jefferson to her father. His expression was unreadable. Was he convinced of Jefferson's sincerity? Or was his loathing of magic so strong that he would lump Jefferson in the same forbidden category as Rumpelstiltskin?

If she still adhered by her father's choice of suitor, she would be wedding someone like Archie by now. That is, if he wasn't already taken by Red.

Finally, her father gave Jefferson some much-needed space, retreating to his original spot in the doorway. Belle took that as a good sign. If her father was disgusted with Jefferson, he'd demand the hatter in a very loud voice to get off his porch by now.

"Well, he can't be as bad as Rumpelstiltskin," her father concluded. Belle's jaw dropped while Jefferson mouthed the word _wow. _

"So, that's your criteria for the men I bring home? You approve so long as he _isn't _Rumpelstiltskin?" What he didn't seem to realize and would never admit in a century was that there were worse men out there than Rumpelstiltskin. Much worse. Her father shrugged.

"Yes."

Part of Belle understood that this was her father's indirect way of saying he accepted Jefferson, but it still hurt to hear him slander Rumpel's name. Those two would never see eye to eye and Belle would forever be caught in the middle. Jefferson's thumb massaged her palm, reminding her that he was the one standing there, not Rumpelstiltskin.

"Thank you," Jefferson said, dipping his head respectfully. "But I would prefer to be accepted because I love your daughter, not because I'm a substitute for Rumpelstiltskin."

The admission took Belle by surprise. The breath froze in her lungs and her fingers tingled with excitement. If words had physical prowess, she would be knocked off her feet and staring up at the clouds with a dreamy smile plastered to her lips. She slipped her hand from Jefferson's and spun around to face him.

"What did you say?" Jefferson almost blushed. His hands brushed her elbows, leading her ever closer into his personal bubble.

"I take it you don't mean the _substitute for Rumpelstiltskin _part," he said. No, he had said something more miraculous. "I meant what I said. I've been trying to figure out how to say it for a while now, but maybe I should just say it. Why wait for the next opportune moment?"

His fingers danced from her elbows to her jaw. Belle leaned into his hand, anticipating the words she sensed were coming. There was so much love reflected in his eyes that Belle imagined he might explode from the pressure of that euphoric emotion.

"I love you, Belle," he whispered. At last, she could breathe again. Now it was her turn. She found the promise was already there, waiting to be released. How long had it been there? For some time, she knew.

"I love you, too." Nothing else in Storybrooke existed. The world could end abruptly and neither one would pay it any mind. All that mattered was the love that was rapidly unfolding within the circle of their arms. Even her father was exempt from it, standing on the outside and looking in.

"I'll give you two a minute alone," he sighed and disappeared inside the house to make three fresh cups of coffee.

...

It was only their second day of bonding and already Henry was growing on him. The kid was sneaky about it, too. Bae couldn't help smiling along with Henry or hanging onto every word of his stories. Before he even realized it, Henry had filled a hole inside his heart. They had a long way to go in terms of a father-son relationship, but every second he spent with Henry he found it harder to imagine walking away.

Was this how Emma felt in the first few days of being reunited with the son she'd given up? There was no walking away for her, either. From the looks of it, she would gladly choose death over a life without her son, unless he was happy. Bae respected her for it.

"This is where my castle used to be," Henry broke through his thoughts as they trudged through the sand. There was little else to see besides the water. It was hard to picture a castle on the water like the illustration in Henry's book.

"Your...castle?"

"It was a wooden playset," Henry admitted. "I called it my castle until Regina tore it down. It was where me and Emma spent time together."

Bae was surprised Henry was willing to share such a scared place, if it originally belonged to him and Emma. Was that why Henry wanted to come here? If his castle hadn't been destroyed, would he have welcomed Bae to it as he had with Emma?

"You said Emma had the power to bring everyone home. If that happens, you'll have plenty of castles to explore," Bae replied. It cheered Henry up considerably, especially when he opened his book to a picture of Snow White and Prince Charming's castle. Did his father own a castle, too? Bae seriously doubted his father spent three centuries living in that hut in their old village where he would always be reminded of everything he lost. In that case, Henry would have two castles at his disposal. What more could a kid his age ask for?

Henry climbed atop a gigantic boulder despite Bae's warnings to be careful. Once he was sitting on top of it, he opened his book again and began telling Bae the stories of the fairy-tale folk that were once trapped under the curse. Snow White, Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood...Bae listened patiently to each one and examined the bright illustrations in the pages of Henry's book.

What he noticed, however, was that his father appeared in most of the stories. Snow and Charming went to a mischievous, all-knowing imp for help with the impending curse. Since the last pages were ripped out, Henry supplied the missing portion, telling him that they offered his father Emma's name in exchange for the knowledge he possessed. Cinderella made a deal to give up her firstborn to escape the wretched life of a servant. Red's story was missing the imp, though Henry hinted that he and Granny had a long, complicated history. _Did he marry her, too? _

Centuries of deception and suffering by his father's hands. He had started this winding story and everything always turned back to him in the end.

When Henry reached the page that wove his own story, Bae had enough. He took the book from Henry's hands and closed it before dropping it in Henry's lap. The kid traced a finger over the golden letters _Once Upon a Time_ and looked hurt, but Bae did not wish to hear that particular story again.

"You don't want to talk about it," Henry stated. It wasn't a question and Bae didn't answer it. His silence was answer enough. "Hey...um, Bae?" The kid was leagues away from calling him _dad. _He didn't yet earn that title. In his mind, he heard Henry crying out for his dad, except it was Rumpelstiltskin that Henry turned to, not his biological father. It stung worse than if someone rubbed all his skin off with sandpaper.

"Yeah, buddy?" He tousled Henry's hair. The kid patted his hair down afterward. Even that was too much too soon.

"Are you mad at my mom?" No matter how deeply immersed Henry was in his fairy-tale world, he had the capacity to tell when things were not okay.

"No, I'm not mad at your mom. If anyone has the right to be mad, it's her. Turns out I have a lot of making up to do." He didn't even know if Emma would ever be able to forgive him for the hurt he caused her in the past, but he was willing to make things better for Henry's sake. The kid deserved more than being thrown into the middle of their problems.

"Do you hate your dad?" Bae sighed.

"You don't ask simple questions, do you, kid?" Henry didn't let up. He had a way of demanding answers without necessary vocalizing it. It was hard to ignore those wondering eyes. "I feel a lot of things when I think of my dad. I think of the good man he used to be...and then I get angry because he's not that man anymore, from what I've seen. Hatred might be a strong word, though."

Henry's eyebrows furrowed.

"Maybe you're only seeing what you want to see. You expected him not to change, so you still see the guy that abandoned you. You should at least give him a chance to prove he's changed."

Bae blinked down at his son in amazement. The kid knew the ways of the world better than any child should and he was cleverer than anyone gave him credit for. It was almost heartbreaking to hear him talk so seriously of such trivial matters when his head should have been filled with school, sports, crushes, anything on the spectrum of normalcy.

"It's not that easy, kid," Bae said solemnly. Mostly, he was afraid to give his father that second chance because he would be proven wrong. He was afraid of finding out that his father truly hadn't changed, after all. Henry bumped his shoulder against Bae's arm.

"Will you ever forgive him?" Question after question. Bae was finding each one harder to answer than the last.

"I don't know," he said harsher than he meant. Henry winced and immediately he felt guilty about not guarding his emotions better in front of his son. "Sorry. It might be the anger talking, but part of me thinks my father doesn't deserve a second chance."

Henry grew sullen, his shoulders slumping. Bae knew he was disappointed about his family being at odds, but there was little to be done about it. He was desperate to change the subject before it could continue doing more harm than good.

"Let's not talk about that anymore." Bae encouraged Henry to open his book once more. "How about I make you a deal? You tell me some more of your stories and I'll tell you mine."

Some days, he was more like his father than he ever wished to be.

...

"Keep your eyes closed," he warned for the second time.

"I _am _keeping my eyes closed! See?" She turned her head and squeezed her eyelids shut extra tight. The weight of his gaze trailed across her skin. "The only possible way I could shut my eyes to your satisfaction is if I glue them shut."

"That's not true. I happen to think your eyes are lovely to look upon." Another bump made the car jerk. Emma's butt lifted an inch off her seat. With every bump and every careful curve, their location unraveled in her mind. She knew precisely where they were, where he was taking her oh-so-secretly. If she let one eyelid drift open, she would likely be submersed in a world of fresh greens and earthy browns. Maybe if she tried her right one...

"No peeking," he scolded and lightly slapped the back of her hand, as if she was a naughty child. She hissed in return, daring him to do it again.

"I am not peeking," she lied and clenched her eyelid closed once more. Okay, maybe she had glimpsed the dusty trail for a split second. But did her husband really have to be that observant? "It doesn't matter, anyway. I know where we're going. The cabin in the woods."

She crossed her arms and tossed him a blind, smug look.

"You don't know that," he hastily returned. His anxious denial all but confirmed Emma's guess about their destination. The car took another winding turn and she could almost smell the old wood of the cabin and the rainwater through the trees. "We could be driving past the harbor or crossing the town line to enjoy a road-trip to the nearest McDonald's."

The mention of fast food made Emma's stomach growl, but she did not let the onset of hunger distract her for a second. Plus, ever since growing accustomed to the sheltered ways of Storybrooke, she learned that she wouldn't trade Granny's cooking for sloppy fast food ever again.

"There's no reason for us to go down to the harbor unless Grumpy is aiming to sell you that boat. Or unless you plan to go skinny-dipping, though I think you value you reputation too much to be caught nude by the people who fear you. Besides, you can smell the fish from the harbor a mile away and all I smell is pine and rain." She reached over to fumble around his neck. It was bare. "You're not wearing your charmed scarf, which means you're not crossing the border. That would be a new form of suicide. You said my surprise was in Storybrooke-"

"Perhaps I lied," he retorted.

"You never lie," she shot back. There were many things Rumpelstiltskin did, but lying was not one of them. He danced around the rules with wordplay. "And I can feel it when we cross now."

The sensation of magic in Emma's veins was growing stronger every day, especially now that she was practicing on the flowers in the station. How long before she could heal people or send everyone home to the Enchanted Forest? That power was harder to ignore than before. She felt magic hit her like a long-awaited supply of oxygen when she returned to Storybrooke with Neal and Henry. It served to reason that she would feel the change if she crossed the border a second time.

Rumpel was too quiet in the driver's seat. If the car wasn't running, she might have assumed he wasn't there at all. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he hesitant to broach the subject of what happened in the station? Was he fearful of the toll that improper use of magic would have on her? Or was he staring at her and comparing her to Regina, dreading that magic would corrupt his wife in the same irreversible way?

No. She would never be like Regina in one thousand years. Magic would never become an addiction for her, nor would it substitute the love she earned from her family. Emma vowed it with every cell of her being. If there was such a thing as black magic, surely there had to be white magic as well. If hatred and bloodlust were conduits of magic, then love would be twice as powerful...wouldn't it?

"Remember what I told you, Emma," he finally spoke, his voice grave. "All magic-"

"-comes with a price," she finished, mimicking his Scottish accent and wild gestures. It was quiet on his side of the car again, but this time the silence was not so tense. He must be amused. It wasn't every day someone had the nerve to mimick him, even behind his back. Those caught doing so probably didn't live to tell the tale. Or had no tongue and arms with which to tell it.

"You're lucky we're nearly there. Otherwise, I might turn this car around and you'd have to resort to other means of entertainment in my shop." Emma smirked. What a pity. She doubted the activities in his pawnshop and those performed in the cabin differed beyond location. The solace surrounding the cabin was a nice touch, though. Only the little woodland creatures would be around to hear their cries.

"You wouldn't turn around," she said boldly, thrusting her chin his way. "You enjoy the cabin as much as I do." She didn't even need to open her eyes to sense that grin crossing his lips. Oh, yes, the cabin was very much enjoyable for both of them.

Finally the car came to a stop. She longed to open her eyes and witness the cabin in all its secluded glory, but Rumpel warned her again of the consequences of spoiling the surprise. She hated surprises as much as he did.

There was a sharp _click_ as he undid the seatbelt, followed by the familiar crinkling of the plastic bags from Clark's general store. The seat groaned as Rumpel leaned over to scoop up the bag and a whiff of his cologne teased Emma's nose. She wasn't aware he packed for this trip. With his past purchases from the dwarf's store-most being suspicious items-her desire to know the contents of that bag spiked.

His door opened, closed. His footsteps trodded along the trail outside. Emma gripped her seat with both hands, unable to contain her anticipation and impatience much longer. Her door opened and he touched her knee to let her know his hand was there, waiting.

"Ready?" Stubbornly, she rejected his hand and crawled out of the car on her own. Just because she was pregnant didn't mean she required special care when it came to walking. She was fully capable of handling herself. Or was this an excuse for him to be close enough to be reassured she wasn't peeking?

This was the cabin. She knew it was there as confidently as she knew the sky was above and the ground was below. Hell, she could navigate the path to the door with both eyes closed. Just to prove it, she took a daring step forward, then another, then-

Her foot snagged on a twisted root and her body leaped into the air. Both eyes shot open, but all she saw was the earth rushing up to meet her. Frantically her arms flapped, working to regain her balance. If it weren't for her husband's swift reflexes, she would have fallen flat on her face. There was no telling what would happen to the baby, either. Instead, she fell into his arms, his breath warm on her neck.

"That's my golden wife-stubborn to a fault. This time, I suggest you take my hand." His touch fluttered on her wrist and she relented enough to accept his support. He led her along the path, guiding her to the left and right to avoid other obstacles.

There was no doubt now that they were in the woods. That uplifted root was proof.

"Can I open my eyes _now?_"

"No," he barked, even while their shoes thudded on the wooden porch. The sound of a key turning in a lock pierced her ears and then he ushered her into the cabin. Immediately, she kicked off her boots and savored the feel of the rug under her toes. This was like coming home again. It was a secret sanctuary that only belonged to her and Rumpel.

The bag crinkled again, reminding her of its existence and mysterious contents. She imagined Rumpel taking out the items and preparing for their evening together. Her foot padded up and down on the carpet.

"Now you may open your eyes," he granted. Emma's eyelids split apart. Rumpel was kneeling next to the fireplace and getting ready to start a roaring fire. Next to him were several items: two silver skewers, a bag of jumbo-sized marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and two packs of milk chocolate candy bars. Conveniently, all the ingredients necessary to make...

"S'mores?" She tilted her head quizzically. Somehow, this had been the last thing she was expecting. It was the most reasonable purchase he ever made at Clark's store. The flames burst to life under his hands, and the shadows cast throughout the cabin shrouded Rumpel's sheepish smile.

"Do you remember when you told me you never tried s'mores before?"

"Yes," she answered. She was surprised he remembered it after taking a trip down False Memory Lane. "You were trying to wrangle information out of me about the surprise party I was planning for you in combination with Henry's. You were playing a game of quid pro quo-you tell me a secret if I tell you mine."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"It didn't work out as well as I hoped. It seems you're the only person I can never fully predict." He ripped open the packages of food. Hooking his finger, he requested her presence on the floor beside him, channeling a look that was saturated in _come hither. _She obeyed, but only because the sight of those delicious ingredients made her stomach growl again. "I know I have only begun groveling, but I figured it would be a shame if you left this world without tasting one of its finest delicacies."

He picked up the two skewers and handed one to her. They both shoved a puffy marshmallow on the end before angling them over the fire to toast.

"Thank you," she said as she rotated her marshmallow over the crackling flames. Already the marshmallow was expanding, a fluffy white cloud over the lake of flames. One side turned cinnamon brown. Rumpel leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he murmured over the line of her jaw.

She gazed into the depths of those earth brown orbs and recognized the sincerity shining within. She had a feeling he would have done this for her even if she didn't demand groveling for the sake of his false counterpart. It wasn't about apologizing or redeeming himself in her eyes or kissing her boot in fealty. It was about earning an honest smile or a kiss. Making her happy. Whereas a mightier price would hang over the heads of others for such kindness, he would do it for her just for the simple benefit of her happiness.

His lips still hovered over her jaw. She was intensely aware of his proximity. As though in slow motion, his lips moved to brush her mouth. His kiss was timid and not demanding in the least, reminding her of a sweeter man than the cruel soul that was Mr. Gold. This one she would gladly devour faster than any piece of chocolate or marshmallow. And he would surrender to her will.

It was a good thing she checked on her marshmallow. It was on fire, caught in a wisp of red flame and almost black on the surface.

"Whoa!"

She quickly whipped it out of the fire and blew on it. The fire sizzled out, but the damage was done. That marshmallow was toastier than she intended it to be. There were still curdles of smoke rising from the charred surface when she held it up for Rumpel to see.

"That happens sometimes," he said remorsefully. He pulled his marshmallow out of the fire to see that it was a twin to Emma's. His expression suggested he was internally blaming himself for the mistake. That alone convinced Emma to stick the burnt marshmallow between two pieces of graham cracker. She pressed a square of chocolate into the marshmallow, sucked off the drop of chocolate melting on her finger, and took an enormous bite out of the s'more without even giving it a chance to cool.

Her tongue was scalded at first, but the flavor made up for it. The graham cracker crumbled and the chocolate melted in her mouth. Both blended richly with the sweet, sticky marshmallow. She swallowed the first bite and popped the rest of the s'more in her mouth. By the end of it, she was licking her fingers, not letting a stray drop or crumb go to waste.

"That was...the best thing I ever tasted," she moaned happily. She glanced over at Rumpel and saw that he had finished his s'more as well. Now he was voraciously licking his lips while puncturing a second marshmallow with the tip of his skewer.

"Care for another?" He threw a marshmallow her way and she caught it, poking her skewer into the white middle instantly. They ate that one-with Emma's turning out better than the last-and then they consumed another. She was pretty sure Rumpel even snuck a piece of chocolate in between s'mores.

With their bellies full to the bursting point, they laid back on the floor and basked in each other's comfort.

The s'mores were a delicious distraction, but this time the enchantment the cabin naturally wove was weaker. Ordinarily, Emma's troubles were left at the door, banging on the windows and denied entrance, and she would only be preoccupied with her husband. But as she digested the s'mores, her thoughts flashed back to the issues waiting outside the cabin. Fighting Regina, protecting Henry, dealing with Neal and convincing him to let her go.

It was starting to give her a headache. Just knowing that those issues were lurking outside the cabin's door made the troublesome thoughts pulse harder behind her forehead. Being alone with her husband was comforting, but it only served as an escape.

Running was not her preferred means of escape.

"Rumpel?"

"Mm?" He scooted closer to her on the floor. His face loomed above her, an inch away, and she smelled the melted chocolate on his breath. He frowned when he realized she had something on her mind. Her expression was too serious, carved from stone.

"What are we going to do about Neal? I mean, Bae," she asked. He let out a tired sigh and his head dropped to her shoulder. The burdens he had willingly shed when entering the cabin returned twicefold. She rubbed one of his shoulders with the heel of her hand, but it was almost impossible to coax out the knots.

"Must we discuss this now? In our sanctuary?" She understood his reluctance, but at the same time negated it. The problems needed to be solved; there was no point pretending they didn't exist. He peered up at her and groaned when nothing changed in her face.

"We have to discuss this sometime. Why not now? You have a plan already. You wouldn't be the real Rumpelstiltskin if you didn't." He pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor and she did the same, using the old couch for support. Those elegant, skillful fingers wrung together.

"I do have a plan. A desperate one," he admitted. His hair shielded his face, preventing her from glimpsing his pain. "Bae is resentful, more than you or I expected. He wants me to surrender my magic or else he will deny me his forgiveness. Emma, I _can't_."

His shoulders trembled and his words were blanketed in a moist cry of despair.

"You can't because of Regina," she filled in what he neglected to say. "You made a promise to protect our family and you're afraid that if you surrender your magic, we'll be sitting ducks while Regina shoots us down one by one." Dread spread through her chest. Without Rumpel's protection, Regina could strike at any time and they would have minimal means of defense. More than likely, she would rip out their hearts, two by two, crush them, and crown herself queen of the land once more. Rumpel had to have explained it to Bae. "He didn't understand the consequences?"

Or did Bae not believe his father?

"He understood what I was telling him. However, he is convinced I am using the threat of Regina as an excuse to continue relying on magic. According to him, I am not a changed man. He's right," Rumpel said.

Annoyance flooded through Emma like a tsunami. How could Bae make such a demand of his father when his family was at stake? Did he really think so little of him? Resentful or not, he should give Rumpel a chance to prove himself, not condemn him for past crimes right off the bat. Emma could attest to his intentions being pure.

"He's not right," she argued. What would Bae do when his father obeyed his request, sacrificing his magic to earn his forgiveness, and Regina stuck their heads on the limbs of her apple tree?

"He _is _right," Rumpel repeated forcefully, shifting around to stare at her. He looked like he needed a nap spanning 1000 years. "If the family therapy does no good, I want to make him a deal. I will handle Regina and then I will do whatever is necessary to sacrifice my magic. What I'm afraid of is being too weak or too selfish to fulfill my end of the bargain. What if Regina is gone and I still need my magic? It's an addiction for me, a crutch. I might refuse to surrender it when the time comes. It'll control me instead of the other way around."

Emma gazed into the searing pit of fire. This was a thorny situation with Bae. One misstep could mean Rumpel losing any chance of his forgiveness. She knew magic served Rumpelstiltskin for centuries and it would not be easy for him to revert to the powerless, human man he had been. She also recognized that he was stronger than even he realized.

"Talk to Bae again. Offer him that deal. Tell him...if you never hold your end of the bargain, he can do what he feels is necessary to help you. Maybe this way you two can reach some form of agreement," she suggested, massaging his shoulders. Those knots were so rigid, but she felt them begin to loosen under her touch.

"I will," he whispered. She stole a kiss over his shoulder. It brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. "You taste like s'mores. I like it." She kissed him again. As she worked out the knots in his back, she could tell he was thinking hard about something else. No matter how many times she pressed her palms to his shoulders to encourage him to relax, they would tense within moments. "You lied to me."

Her fingers paused over one of the bigger knots.

"Excuse me?" It wasn't very accusatory; he said it like a well-known fact of life. It also confused her since she couldn't recall lying to him lately. At least not about anything important.

"When we were on our honeymoon, you told me a different story about Henry's father." A lump rose in her throat. Oh, right...that. It had been so long ago that Emma had forgotten the incident completely. All she remembered of Arizona during their honeymoon was his story of the beast and the beautiful princess that turned out to be Belle.

"It was still early in our relationship. I didn't trust you fully yet. You know how hard it is for me to open up to others about my past without some level of trust. I guess I didn't care to hear what you thought of me if you knew what my past was really like."

"It can't be worse than mine," he replied. Her hands finished with the most recent knot and they fell along his back, tracing his spine. He captured one of her hands and brought it to his lips. "What really happened all those years ago?"

Emma trusted her husband more than anyone else in town. So she finally told him the truth while she rested her head on his back. She told him about the origins of her yellow Bug, about Henry's inheritance of popping up in the backseat. She recounted her days as a thief alongside Neal, the ways in which he taught her how to survive on the streets. She explained the importance of Tallahassee and her failed plan to end up there with Neal, with no troubles chasing them. He listened aptly to every detail, even when she confessed about stealing the watches and being set up by Neal for an eleven-month sentence in jail. He caught every tear that fell when she reminisced over her reasoning for giving up Henry, not even willing to hold him as a baby lest she changed her mind.

She talked until the night crept up outside the cabin, until the fire waned to sparks in the fireplace, until there was nothing left to say.

...

Henry gave him a personal tour of the town. From the beach where Henry's castle once stood, they ventured to the harbor where they met one of Snow White's dwarves. He only came up to Bae's shoulder in height and he was accompanied by a young woman dressed as a nun. She was clumsy on her feet, but the dwarf never failed to catch her.

For a dwarf named Grumpy, he was certainly friendly.

"If that woman is a nun, shouldn't she be...undatable?" Bae couldn't stop staring back at the dwarf and the nun as they walked along the dock. He watched as Grumpy swept the nun into his arms and struggled to carry her aboard his tiny ship. How romantic.

"In the Enchanted Forest, she was a fairy named Nova. Grumpy's her true love. All the fairies are nuns. They're okay with it. So's Dr. Whale."

"Dr. Whale? Let me guess: the whale from Pinocchio?" If a cricket could be transformed into a human, it wasn't that much of a stretch for a whale to suffer the same fate. Better to be human than caught in someone's net.

"No, he's Frankenstein," Henry corrected. Bae scratched his head. How did Frankenstein translate to a whale? Henry caught his confusion and tapped the spine of his book. "All I know comes from this book. Regina named him, not me."

"Okay, then."

After the harbor, Henry led him down Storybrooke's main street. They hopped from one store to another. At first Henry introduced him as Rumpelstiltskin's son, but the title scared most people off. The dwarf that owned the convenience store told Bae to take whatever he wanted so as not to risk the Dark One's wrath. The store was so general that Bae found it difficult to choose between the Chips and the Cookies for a snack.

Was Regina that lacking in creativity? According to Henry, she even named Charming after his real name David. Of course, everyone in town thought it was a false name since they were so used to calling him Charming or James, the name of his dead twin brother.

This town was strange.

Their family was strange.

Bae felt like a circular peg being shoved repeatedly through a triangular hole. He didn't fit.

"So, Cinderella's baby...could have been Emma's childhood friend if not for the curse?"

"Yep," Henry answered patiently.

"And Regina is not only your adoptive mother, but your step-great-grandmother?"

"Yep."

"And Little Red Riding Hood, apart from being this town's version of Miley Cyrus, is the werewolf?" It was Henry's turn to stop and give Bae a confused look.

"Who's Miley Cyrus?" Bae forgot Henry was just as disconnected from the outside world as the rest of Storybrooke. It was a side effect of living in a bubble for his entire life. Bae rubbed a hand across his forehead. Behind it, his mind was spinning faster than the teacups at DisneyWorld. Henry had unloaded a great deal of information on him and it was a lot to sort through.

"Next you're going to tell me there was an eighth dwarf," he scoffed. Half the stuff Henry told him defied everything he ever learned from Disney movies. The kid most likely didn't know what those were, either. Had he ever seen _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Beauty and the Beast, _or _The Little Mermaid?_

"His name was Stealthy," Henry said. The Enchanted Forest wasn't filled with the fairy-tales the people of this world were familiar with. The Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson definitely got their facts wrong.

In return for Henry's stories, Bae told him about his short time in the Enchanted Forest, about Morraine and how he would often play alone with that old leather ball his father crafted by hand because the parents in their village refused to let their children play with the Dark One's son. When Henry informed him that his ball was stored in the back of his father's shop, he couldn't quite believe it. It was logical enough that his father would hold onto items that reminded him of the son he lost, like that shabby cloak, but an old ball? It was scuffed and shredded from being kicked around so much and that was when he was fourteen.

As they retraced their steps along the street with the night coloring the skies purple, Bae told Henry other stories. None of them were very happy, except the early memories he created with Emma. He remembered his time in Neverland when he'd spent three centuries in a fourteen-year-old body. He told Henry about the day he met Emma, when he'd been taking a nap in the backseat of the Bug the moment she decided to steal it. How he had scared her by popping up.

Apparently Henry did that, too. Like father, like son.

He explained to Henry about his purpose of living in Tallahassee, that it was always a dream he shared with Emma. It felt like a winter wonderland in Maine compared to the warm weather in Florida. By the time he finished talking, they had reached Snow White and Prince Charming's apartment building. It was time for Henry to return home.

"Come on. They're looking forward to meeting you." Bae was uncertain. The phrase _looking forward to _implied optimism. Since these were Emma's parents, he found it hard to believe they would be optimistic to meet the man who broke their daughter's heart.

But Bae had no choice but to follow.

Henry was already halfway up the third flight of stairs by the time Bae's foot landed on the first step. That sugar high from the kid's morning pancakes sure took a long time to wear off. Or was he just this energetic all the time? _I wish I was eleven years old again, _Bae thought as he conquered the first flight of stairs. His energy level wasn't even in the same universe as Henry's.

"Slow down, kid," he huffed. One of his legs started cramping up and his sides hurt. "I may have been fourteen for three hundred years or so, but I grew up." It was a sad truth, indeed. Some mornings he half-expected to wake up and see that young curly-haired boy in the mirror before he remembered he wasn't in Neverland. Pretty soon he'd be finding gray hairs around his temples, just like his father.

A disconcerting thought.

"Hurry up," Henry called down to him. Bae clung to the railing to catch his breath. Craning his head, he witnessed Henry poking his head out over one of the railings above. "Or you'll never beat me to the top!"

Hadn't the people in this town heard of elevators? Did none of these children experience the satisfaction of making a Christmas tree by pressing all the buttons in the elevator? _This is what I get for taking the technology of the outside world for granted. _

"Slow and steady...wins the race," he wheezed, pumping his legs to mount the third flight of stairs. Whoever came up with that idea must be laughing their ass off right about now. They never took into consideration eleven-year-old boys who may or may not be on a never-ending sugar high.

Bae was dragging his body along when he finally reached the top floor of the apartment building. It wouldn't have been that bad of a climb if he hadn't tried to keep up with Henry. Sweat masked his forehead and his lungs were tight in his chest. His legs wobbled and he had to sit down on the step or pass out on the floor. Henry leaned against the green door, playing a handheld video game. Not even a single pant or bead of sweat out of him.

"That's...the last time...I race you up the stairs." Bae hung his head between his knees and sucked in gales of fresh air. The world wasn't supposed to be spinning so fast.

"It's okay. Your dad can't keep up with me, either," Henry said as he pocketed the video game. _Gee, I wonder why? _Bae thought cynically. It hadn't escaped his notice that his father still suffered from a lame leg. If he was trying to make him feel guilty or remind him of the man he used to be, it wasn't working very well.

Henry waited until Bae's heartbeat returned to normal pace. Then he raised his fist and knocked on the door. Bae's worries about meeting Emma's parents came rushing back as if they'd never left. Would it be worse if she was here to endure it? Maybe. Would her parents dislike him for breaking her heart? Probably. _This isn't going to end well, _his gut feeling cried out loud and clear.

"You know, Henry, maybe it would be better if I said goodbye to you here instead of-"

But the apartment door swung open, cutting off the rest of his words. A young picturesque couple filled the doorway. Instantly, he knew they must be Snow White and Prince Charming. The woman was fair, pale as porcelain, with hair that no raven's feathers could match in hue. A polite smile painted her pink lips. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. Ocean blue eyes, though honest and reflective as the glass of a mirror, assessed Bae critically. Bae could easily picture the man in royal garb, astride a mighty white horse with sword in hand just like the picture in Henry's book.

He wasn't smiling so politely. In fact, he wasn't smiling _at all. _Bae glanced down to see the prince's fist curl and he understood that he was dangling on the precipice of getting punched in the face.

An awkward silence hung between the four of them, each one waiting for someone else to speak. Snow White was obviously the controlling one in the relationship, taking it upon herself to set an example for her husband. She nudged his arm, but the prince stayed monumentally still.

"You must be Bae," Snow White said at last. She sounded neither happy nor upset about it.

A hand stretched forward in offering and Bae accepted it. Her hands were small and cold. _Cold hands, warm heart, _he thought positively. He remembered then that Snow White was a princess, a figure of royalty thrust into a world that was not her own. He wondered if they were accustomed to a kiss on the hand as a show of respect, but Bae decided against it. Charming was shooting invisible daggers into Bae's head already.

"And you must be Snow White and Prince Charming. Emma's parents," he replied stiffly. He rocked on his heels, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. For a brief second, he thought he saw Charming's eyelids narrow slightly.

"I've started calling them Gram and Gramps," Henry chimed in. It was meant to be innocent, but the implication curled around their bodies like barbed wire. Their family was beyond complicated. "I'm going to say hi to Goldie." Henry slipped past his grandparents and darted into the apartment. He must have sensed the tension.

"Um...Goldie?" Bae heard a pattern of clicking on the hardwood floor of the apartment.

"It's his dog," Charming grunted. Even that piece of information did not sound inviting. A flash of gold whipped behind his legs and a small creature jumped into Henry's arms. Bae observed the kid over Snow's shoulder. Henry set the dog down and made a swirling gesture with his index finger. The dog obediently rolled over, its tail thumping the floor.

"I take it he named his dog after my father?" It must have been before his father fell over the border and reverted to his cursed, supposedly monstrous personality. Snow's lips tightened together.

"Actually, Henry named her after Goldilocks. You may have noticed he likes fairy-tales." That made a little more sense. Bae's shoulders relaxed, only to hunch up again when Charming sent a distrustful look his way. "Would you like to come in? We could...talk. Get to know one another."

Bae let his mouth fall open, but no reply tumbled out. He scrambled for a good excuse that would save him from being torn apart by the head lions of the family.

"Well..."

"We're perfectly capable of talking out here," Charming barked, crossing his arms boldly over his chest. The message was painfully clear: there was no way Bae was gaining entrance into their apartment unless he was determined to go through Charming. Bae wondered whether his bark was worse than his bite. On second thought, he didn't want to find out. Snow swatted her husband's arm.

"Charming-"

"Snow," Charming countered without missing a beat. His protective side was showing. "He broke our daughter's heart. He doesn't deserve an open invitation." Bae stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided to deeply consider staying silent on the matter.

"We haven't heard his side of the story. You should know that things aren't always what they seem. Not in our world, this world, or the next. As if you never did anything you regret." Snow hitched her chin high and dared Charming to deny it. He looked torn between staying firm in his rejection of Bae and falling to his knees in front of his wife.

"I understand your reasoning, Snow, but is this part of your latest regret talking? You're being too lenient on him." Snow pursed her lips and gave her husband the cold shoulder. The ice in those blue eyes miraculously melted. _So that's where the puppy eyes come from. _"Oh, Snow, not the cold shoulder. Anything but that. Dear?"

Amusing as it was to see Emma's parents go at it, it eventually spelled bad news for Bae. Without his wife distracting him, Charming's focus quickly switched back to Bae. The ice had reformed as well. He had to think fast.

"So...where's Emma? With my father?" The way Emma's parents simultaneously dropped their gazes confirmed it.

"They went out," Charming said. The information lashed Bae worse than a fiery whip. His mind betrayed him, supplying images of Emma dining with his father over a candlelit dinner and him taking her back to his home afterwards. There was only one surefire way she ended up with a baby in her belly. Bae shivered.

"Out...bowling," Snow added.

Bae skeptically perked an eyebrow. He couldn't picture his father doing _that _with his bad leg. Did Storybrooke even have a bowling alley? Oh, he sincerely hoped that wasn't some outrageous metaphor they used for the activities that should not be named in front of eleven-year-olds.

"Don't tell me you two approve of Emma being married to...my father?"

A ripple of discomfort severed the stern look on Charming's face. Snow's face was placid, revealing nothing of her inner thoughts. Surely they couldn't hate him more than his father? Emma was married to the Dark One, after all. People like Snow and Charming might not cower at his feet, but they would never admit that the Dark One was a suitable husband for their daughter.

Would they?

"We've had a long history with your father. He's not as terrible as Mr. Gold," Snow offered quietly. It was what she didn't say that rang in his ears. Even Charming did not fire off an objection.

"Oh, my God," Bae exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Emma's parents exchanged concerned looks, the kind they would give a madman. "You _like _him! How? Why?"

He knocked his knuckles on the doorframe as he tried to reign in his frustration. Was everyone in this town blind to the kind of man his father was? If not everyone, then everyone personally close to him.

A flicker of sympathy glowed in Snow's emerald eyes.

"No one blames you for being angry at your father. You have every right to be. But there is something you should understand. Emma is happy. Happiness isn't something she ever easily acquired in her life. You may have hurt Emma worse than anyone else, but I don't believe she hates you. If you want to make Emma hate you, then ripping Rumpel or Henry out of her arms is the way to do it. There's no one she trusts in this town except for him and Henry."

"There's no one else she trusts?" Not even her own parents? Snow shook her head sadly. Yet it was Charming that supplied the explanation.

"Emma doesn't trust easily. I don't know if she was always that way, but what happened with you in the past only made it worse." Bae accepted the accusation with a weak nod. "She's beginning to form a friendship with Belle and we are making progress with her...but we're not there yet. Those walls of hers are nearly impossible to chip, but your father did it. If you destroy the connection she has with him..."

Charming paused and looked to Snow for aid.

"We're afraid she may never trust anyone again," she finished. Bae chewed on the inside of his cheek, their words sinking in. He never wanted to hurt Emma again, but what did they expect him to do? Bury the hatchet? It was a big hatchet-all of Storybrooke would not be enough to conceal it. Snow must have latched on to his distress. "We're not asking you to forgive your father. That is something only you can do when the time is right. All we're asking is that you don't take it out on her."

Easier said than done. The fact that Emma was married to his father was half the problem he was dealing with. Didn't they realize that sooner or later Rumpelstiltskin might do something to hurt Emma-however indirectly-worse than he did? It was integrated into his father's nature since the day he ceased being his father and returned home as the Dark One.

Snow's green eyes pleaded with him. Suddenly, he couldn't take another minute of standing there. Gripping the doorframe, he leaned over Snow's shoulder to catch sight of Henry. He was instructing the dog to stand on its hind legs for a treat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, kid," he called out to his son. Henry tossed back a distracted _bye. _Neither of Emma's parents were smiling as he flew down the stairs, escaping into the cold night air. Then he turned and made the journey to the local inn.

_As far as meeting the parents go, _Bae mused, _it could have been worse. _

...

In his old age, Maurice did not welcome change. The way he figured, it caused more trouble than good.

As he did the previous night and all the nights of that dreadful curse, he went about his evening routine. Technically, it was Moe French's routine, but there were times when those false memories were too powerful to ignore. He ordered a steak from Granny's Diner-charred and with a side of vegetables so he wouldn't feel too guilty about wolfing down that slab of steak. He double-checked his schedule for the following day, sorting out in his head all the work he needed to do in the flower shop. Afterwards, he would settle down on the couch and watch the game before retiring to bed.

The sources of entertainment in this world were almost as violent as the ones in their world. The difference was that, instead of taking lances to each other on horseback, these men tackled each other left and right for a ball. It was little more than a game of oversized boys playing in the yard. Yet, the shred of Moe inside him constantly had the urge to bellow out whenever his team made a...what was the phrase?

"_Touchdown!_" The sportscaster boomed from the television. Yes, that was it.

This night was different, though. The house was too big and empty, even if it was a pebble compared to Rumpelstiltskin's estate. The steak didn't fill him up as much, but he did not blame it on Granny's cooking. His mind wandered restlessly; he couldn't even keep up with the game. Eventually, his finger punched the red button on the remote and the picture on the television vanished in a void of black.

It was no use. The only thing he could think about was Belle.

It wasn't with disappointment or discomfort. He was happy to have had the chance to reunite with his daughter. It had been thirty years, if one counted the curse. Now that she was gone, though, it reminded him how lonely it was, living alone. Moe had done it for years since Lacey emancipated herself at sixteen and succumbed to a hopeless spiral of promiscuity at the Rabbit Hole. There was no real love lost between them, every memory tarnished by hateful words and past regrets. But Belle was not Lacey and Maurice was thankful for it.

She had brought a man along that afternoon. Her boyfriend, she called him. What was his name again? Jimmy? Jenson? Jefferson. Ah, he was getting so feeble-minded. To add to the trouble, he felt like he was coming down with something. A nasty cold lodging in his sinuses and ready to wreak havoc.

Either way, this Jefferson fellow was a preferable substitute to Rumpelstiltskin. Sure, he was a bit strange, living up on that hill on the outskirts of town. Eccentric was putting it nicely, but he had to be a better choice for his daughter than the Dark One, right?

Belle insisted that the beast was not so much a beast on the inside, but tell that to the countless weeping mothers whose babies were ripped from their arms on account of some desperate deal. Tell that to the pyre of lifeless bodies in his wake and hungry bellies that gained no sympathy while he dined on a feast fit for a king. Tell that to the grieving father whose young, beautiful daughter was taken prisoner in his castle, doomed to be desecrated.

Nothing Belle said in Rumpelstiltskin's defense would change his mind. Not even on his deathbed. He would have tried to convince her to marry Gaston still, if only he knew where the lad had disappeared.

Jefferson appeared to make her happy and so Maurice let it be. But if that hatter ever followed in the imp's footsteps and hurt Belle...well, he certainly wouldn't stand aside and watch it happen. Not again.

A sudden knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts. It clashed with the chiming of the clock in the hallway, signaling the eleventh hour. Maurice struggled to lift his body from the couch. So many aches and pains in his limbs. Another knock came as he used the arm of the couch to steady himself. His coordination wasn't what it used to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Hold your horses," he hollered. Didn't his visitor realize an old man lived here? Someone needed to transcribe that on one of those cheap tourist signs and tack it on the front door. He sneezed while shuffling into the front hall. Damn bug. It would be the death of him.

He wrenched open the door, both hoping and worrying that it was Belle. It was too dark to see much of anything on the porch, so he flicked on the light. What he saw sent shivers down his spine. The visitor was not his daughter, but it wasn't a call for relief, either.

"Good evening, Mr. French," Regina greeted, her voice crusted in ice. His weak heart raced in his chest. No one had seen the Queen since the curse broke, yet here she was, calm and casually standing a foot outside his door. _Why me? _"Where are my manners? It's King Maurice, isn't it? Surely there's no need for me to re-introduce myself?"

A feral Cheshire grin shined beneath the milky porch light. If Regina was here, it meant she was searching for something. The Evil Queen was forever unpredictable, but she never did anything without an underlying reason. Much like Rumpelstiltskin. Whatever it was-_Belle_-he would not give in to her demands. He would be strong, just like his daughter.

There was an image of his gravestone floating in his mind.

"Regina," he choked out. His voice was hoarse and he slipped easily into a coughing fit. He wished he didn't have to show weakness in front of the Evil Queen. She clapped her hands together once. That simple gesture made his bones rattle with fear. The woman was dripping in dark magic.

"So you do remember. Perfect," she purred. She stepped closer to the door and he clutched the doorknob, ready to slam the door if she attempted to get in. She must have registered his anxiousness, for her mask crumbled, her black rage leaking through the cracks. Those cruel, red lips-redder than any rose in his shop and twice as poisonous as ivy-twisted in a disapproving scowl. "Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

A vampire, that was precisely what she was. A vicious vampire sucking the lives of everyone she passed. Maurice's hand curled over the golden knob.

"No," he declared, regaining his confidence. One of Regina's flawless eyebrows rose in astonishment of his defiance, but he pushed on. "Your evil is not welcome here. Go terrorize someone else. I have nothing you want. Right about now, I'm ready to call the Sheriff."

"Oh, are you?" Regina sneered, but Maurice had already let go of the knob. The front door launched forward, slamming hard in her face. The thunderous sound echoed in all corners of the empty house. Maurice stumbled to the old black telephone in the hall and dialed Emma's number. Or should he call Belle first in case Regina decided to seek her out next? He dropped the phone in its cradle and picked it up again to call Belle.

He never had a chance to dial the number.

The door exploded off its hinges. Smoke and shards of wood rained over Maurice's head. He almost dropped the phone and he whirled around to see Regina invade the security of his home. She deliberately kicked a wedge of door over. The phone in his hand ceased to buzz, giving way to his daughter's voice.

"_Hello? Papa?_" A shudder passed through his body and a sob hitched in his throat. He pressed the phone to his ear, never taking his gaze off Regina for an instant.

"Belle, honey-"

It was all he had time to say. Regina's hand snaked out and a wicked pulse of energy thickened the air. The phone crackled, Belle's voice faded, and then the phone died completely. Maurice wrestled with the buttons, but nothing happened. He'd have better luck playing with a child's toy.

"No one ignores the Evil Queen," Regina hissed.

She pounced, shoving Maurice against the wall. The phone clattered on the floor. He raised his arm to shield his face, but she smacked his arm away like it was a bothersome fly. Her hand mercilessly grasped his throat, cutting off his air supply. His muscles spasmed, his knees threatened to give out, his lungs burned for air. He pleaded with his eyes, but Regina only squeezed harder. When he tried to throw her off, she clamped the other hand on his shoulder and a shot of electricity coursed through his body, rendering his muscles numb and useless.

"You claim you have nothing I want," she said, her marble face looming an inch before his own. He could smell the apple cider clinging to her deceitful words. "You're wrong. The only thing I require from you...is your death."

He felt it when Regina plunged her hand in his chest. It was colder than the cruelest winter and it sent tendrils of agony thrumming along every nerve. Even his teeth ached when Regina tore his heart free. There it was, red and beating in her palm. He couldn't remember if he screamed, what with Regina's hand around his throat. Maybe the screaming was in his head.

_Please, no. Belle needs me. Please..._

His vision blurred with hot moisture, but not before he witnessed Regina's fingers worming their way into his heart. Black spots fizzled before his eyes and the pain intensified threefold. It felt like every nerve was scraped raw with steel tines. He couldn't breathe...his chest strained for air...he was quite literally having a heart attack...

"Why?" He thought he might have croaked. Or was that in his head as well? Mentally spoken or not, it proved to be his last word. The heart in Regina's palm split open, a stream of dust pouring through her spidery fingers.

She released Maurice and his limp body slumped to the floor. Those bleary eyes were open and centered on the broken phone amidst the dust, but they were forever unseeing.

Regina wiped her palms clean. That felt good. _Why? _Maurice's final word rang in her head. She strode to the mirror hanging in the hall and combed her fingers through her short, ink-black hair. She smiled admiringly at her reflection.

"Nothing personal, Your Highness. I'm just sending a message."

...

Sometime close to midnight, Emma was brutally woken up by a series of knocks at her bedroom door. She had closed it so that Goldie would not be tempted to lick her face while she was in the middle of a dream. She loved the dog, though probably not as much as Henry, but some things were sacred. Emma buried her head in her pillow and ignored the insistent knocking. It was bound to go away soon.

Whatever crisis was taking place out there, it could wait another half hour.

The knocking paused for a moment and Emma smiled. The mysterious visitor must have given up. Now if only she could slip back into her dream...

That was when the knocking started up again, but it sounded different than before. If she was being honest, it sounded like a hammer waas being taken to it. Emma bolted up in bed just in time to see her door burst inward. Her mother's bare foot was still hanging in the air.

"What the hell?" Emma motioned to her door, which was banging against the wall. Snow strode in and the fearful look on her face silenced Emma's complaints. There was no sleep for a savior. Shadows still shrouded the window, which meant it was the dead of the night. "Is Regina lobbing apples at our door? This isn't exactly the escape plan we discussed."

"Glad you're awake," Snow ignored Emma's sarcasm. Something dreadfully wrong had happened. Emma could tell by the way her mother's stance was guarded, ready for war. "Belle called a few moments ago and she's distraught. Her father was attacked. She just found him in his house..." Snow closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose. Emma caught the gist of Snow's meaning. "Her father is dead. His heart was ripped out and crushed, just like Graham's."

"It must have been Regina," Emma mumbled. The Queen had finally emerged from her hole and they hadn't been there to snatch her up by the throat. Snow tented her fingers in front of her lips.

"Regina is the usual suspect. Unless Rumpel-" The color drained from Emma's cheeks. She leaped out of bed to confront her mother, not even caring for the chill in the night air.

"Are you serious? You're accusing him?" Goosebumps pricked her skin and she hastily tugged on a sweater. The shorts were exchanged for a pair of jeans on the floor. The same ones she wore to the cabin that day, though that felt like a lifetime ago now.

"I'm not accusing him, Emma," Snow said, holding up her palms in surrender. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. You haven't been living with him recently, so you can't vouch for him. And you have to admit that there has been bad history between those two. Remember Valentine's Day?"

Emma refused to believe her husband had anything to do with it. Not while he was working toward gaining her forgiveness and Bae's. Ever since Valentine's Day, Rumpel had kept his distance from Moe French completely.

"Why would he do this now? Moe French has done nothing to provoke him after Valentine's Day. He has no reason for it. It wasn't Rumpel, it was Regina."

Emma turned away to gauge her swarm of emotions. She was confused over Regina's choice of target. She was sad for Belle, for losing her father in a world where everyone had already lost so much. She was angry, for her mother's accusation of Rumpel, but also Regina for having the nerve to strike right under their noses. At the core of those emotions, she was angry at herself for not being able to prevent it.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. She would tell Charming to scout around Moe French's house, in case Regina was lurking around in the shadows. It was improbable, but not impossible. Regina may want to savor the consequences of her so-called victory. Emma knew she would need to console Belle as well. Hadn't the girl suffered enough torture under Regina's hands? "Why him? If she was going to show her face and attack anyone, I never expected it would be someone like Moe French. Sorry, _Maurice_."

Snow rapped her knuckles against her teeth, thinking.

"Maybe that's why she chose him," she suggested. If anyone was familiar with Regina's cruelty and twisted motives, it was her. "Someone you would never expect. She knows you're protective of your family and she knows you would do anything to protect the townspeople, Emma. She's trying to make you doubt your abilities as savior."

"Yeah, right about now, I agree with her. Get me some soap so I can wash out my mouth," Emma said miserably. Snow frowned.

"Emma-"

"No one in town should have to die because of me," Emma continued fuming. "This is my war. She's the one playing it dirty. Now Belle's father is dead and there is no way I can ever make it up to her. If she wants to make a move on the chessboard, then I am the one she should be confronting."

Emma didn't wait to hear her mother's response before storming out of the room. However, she should have known her mother would be persistent. Her footsteps followed behind Emma, trailing her through the darkened apartment. As she passed through the main room, Emma saw the time on the clock. A little past midnight.

"Where are you going?"

"Witch-hunting," Emma shot over her shoulder. The only time she paused was to holster her gun and shove her feet into her worn brown boots. Then she pulled open the front door, already mapping out the route to Moe French's house.

Something on the floor made her stop. It was a white scrap of paper, left directly outside the apartment. She bent to retrieve it before recognizing that it was a note. She flipped it over to read the hurried, scrawled writing. Her teeth gnashed together as she read it.

"_He is only the first. Surrender Henry or someone will die each night. Your move."_

Emma barely finished reading the final word when the paper ignited with flame. The heat singed her fingers while the edges of the white paper swiftly turned black. She dropped the note on the floor and stamped on it with her boot, but the fire would not relent. The words were scorched into oblivion and all that was left behind was a pile of ash.

...

_**I want to thank everyone for their patience while I wrote up this chapter. I would also like to thank my reviewers, who always give me the motivation to carry on with my writing: my muse, DaesGatling, Huntress4455, megumisakura, ra7matigorti2, GuestRoom, sbcarri, discotimelord, orthankg1, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, elizebeth1994, The Auburn Girl, beverlie4055, Saida, Fairy Demon26, Grace5231973, puxa10, Kakazu, StrangePointofView, and Hummelberry94. **_

_**Just think: come March, we'll be celebrating two years of Sunshine. (-; I cannot express how much it means to me that so many people are still reading this. **_


	74. Chapter 74

_**A/N: Two chapters in almost one week. I'm actually kind of proud of myself for that. I have no idea where the sudden inspiration came from, but I'm glad it did. I have a couple of surprises in store for you in this chapter (good ones). Enjoy!**_

It was past midnight, but Rumpelstiltskin was not asleep. Sleep never came to him very easily after he lost Bae in the Enchanted Forest, combined with the fact that the Dark One didn't seem to need much sleep at all. It wasn't any different here in Storybrooke, especially without Emma or Henry by his side. Going to bed was futile when the house was so silent and empty. So cold. All he would end up doing was staring mindlessly at the ceiling until a dreamless sleep carried him away.

At the moment, he was perched on his stool in the basement, his concentration fully trained on spinning. It eased his mind, until there was nothing but the straw sliding through his fingers, the gold spooling out, the wheel creaking as it spun…spun…spun…

Someone was knocking at his door.

The sound was distant at first, a simple nuisance in the background. Louder and louder it became as his concentration ebbed. It sounded almost…desperate. The wheel stopped. Who could possibly have need of him at this hour of the morning? Was it Regina rearing her dark head? Unlikely. Or was it…?

With renewed energy, he grabbed his cane and pushed his body as hard and fast as he could up the basement stairs. His breath came in quick gasps, but he didn't dare slow his pace for an instant. _Oh, please let it be….please let it be her…_

The knocks had turned to insistent banging by the time he reached the front hall. It sounded like she was using both fists and a foot now. He didn't know why she didn't use her key. It made him worry about her state of mind if she was panicked enough not to abide by logic. He opened the door and a stream of gold flooded his vision, punctuated by two hard emeralds.

"Emma," he breathed happily in spite of his worries. He couldn't resist sweeping her into the security of his arms. She fit perfectly against his body, her head falling into the crook of his neck. He buried his face in the halo of golden hair and inhaled her natural scent. Enticing as always.

Overcome with relief as he was, it took him a moment to realize she wasn't returning his embrace. Her hands were crushed against his chest, scrunching his shirt in her balled fists. When he pulled back to survey her face, he recognized the numb horror inscribed there. Something terrible had happened. This visit wasn't intended for pleasure.

Just as he feared.

"Regina," she whispered. It was the only thing she had to say to deaden his excitement. Ice poured through his veins. What had the wicked witch done this time? "Belle's father is dead. Had his heart ripped out." His own heart ached for Belle's sake. It didn't come as a shock to anyone in town that he and King Maurice never saw eye to eye, cursed or not, but anything that hurt Belle ended up hurting him, too. She would always be his most loyal friend, if not his love. If anyone else had come to his door with the news of the florist's death, it would have been in the form of an accusation. _I had nothing to do with it, _he would have calmly told them, followed by a command to get off his porch.

Of course, Regina welcomed such savagery. _When will she stop? _But he already knew the answer to that. Regina would not relent until Henry was in her possession once more and their heads were severed from their bodies.

"There's more to tell. I can see it in your eyes," he said, brushing his finger along the corner of her right eye. She blinked and her eyelashes tickled his skin. There was that look. That stubborn look that suggested she did not know how to put the truth into words—or she did not want to at all. "Tell me," he implored her, cupping her cheek. Emma hesitated for a heartbeat and then he felt her give in.

"She sent me a note. An ultimatum. She wants me to surrender Henry."

His eyelids narrowed, his teeth clenched behind his carefully clasped lips. He would rather rip out his own beating heart and grind it into dust than hand over his stepson. He was certain Emma felt the same way.

"Of course she did," he muttered. Regina had conveniently shoved her foe between a rock and a hard place. The choice was never easy when your child's life was at stake.

"And if I don't," Emma continued as if she hadn't heard his interference. "She's threatened to kill someone in town every night, just like she did with Belle's father. What am I supposed to do? I can't give Henry over to her, but then it means people will die. I'm the savior; I'm supposed to protect them!" She broke away from his arms and her fingers crawled through her hair in frustration. "You said it yourself—I can't save everyone."

He flinched. All at once, he deeply regretted ever putting that foul thought in her head, even if it proved true from time to time. This was a situation that needed to be handled delicately, a time where Emma needed to be strong, not doubting herself. It pained him to admit that his brave swan might have finally reached her limit.

"No, don't think that way. It'll only make you vulnerable to Regina's manipulation. I should never have said that." He tugged tenderly on her wrists, pulling her back into his arms where she belonged. Softly he kissed the crown of her head. A mighty gust of wind enveloped them both, the chill blowing straight through his suit. Emma shivered in his arms. "Come out of the cold and try to relax. The prolonged stress is not healthy for the baby."

He led her inside and bolted the door. Then he silently cast a protective charm over it, just in case. It was a logical rule of survival: be ready for anything, at any given time. Once they were safe and warm in the kitchen, he guided her into a chair and fixed her a soothing cup of tea. Normally, Emma did not care for tea of any kind, but tonight she accepted the cup without complaint. After a few timid sips, the color rushed back into her frozen cheeks.

"If Regina's word is true," he mused, lowering his body into the chair across from his wife. _Doubtful, _he added to his spoken thought. He figured that was the main reason Emma ran to him—counsel—and he gladly administered it. "It means there will be no more deaths tonight. I know Regina. Fond of gloating as she may be, she won't risk being out in the open. She'll assume you'll search relentlessly for her in the shadows. Mirrors are her windows to the world. For now, I suggest you sleep on this and regain your strength. Call a town meeting tomorrow. They deserve to know."

He waved his hand toward the kitchen wall, indicating the sleeping town beyond it and its people. Matters had become exceedingly trivial, too trivial to keep hidden any longer. Their lives were endangered by Regina before, but now the queen was carrying out the threat of picking them off one by one. Their savior needed to rise from the ashes and prove she was fighting on their behalf.

Emma understood and nodded in agreement. The only sound issued from her was the slurping of her tea.

"Rumpel?" He took ahold of her hand. The palm was warm from wrapping around the cup of tea, but her knuckles were still pale and cold.

"Yes, dear?" Her eyes lifted from the pool of tea in her cup. Those eyes could have belonged to a frightened child. He longed to hold her and whisper promises in her ear that everything would be alright, even if it wasn't true. However, that was more along the line of Charming's relationship expertise, not his. He had seen too much of the world and its cruelty to hide behind a veil painted with pretty colors.

"Can I…stay here for the rest of the night?"

Her lip trembled and he let his thumb trace it. He did not need to ask her reason for asking to stay. Tonight, she needed comfort that an empty bed in her parents' apartment would not provide. She needed to be close to someone else, someone who was fighting this war just as much as she was. Most of all, she had been reduced to a child by Regina's startling threat and needed protection.

The savior was meant to protect the town…but who protected the savior?

"Of course," he replied instantly. He allowed her to finish her cup of tea and waited until the chill had left her bones. Then he brought her upstairs and held her through the night, to ensure that no evil queens would intrude in her sanctuary. Both slept soundly through the night.

….

Emma never really liked Archie's office. It reminded her of the days when Regina sent Henry to therapy, all because he had guessed correctly about the existence of the curse. This time, Henry wasn't the patient and that made her skin crawl even more.

"Are you ready for this?" Rumpel inquired as they stopped right outside Archie's door. It had taken her an unnecessarily long time to get ready that morning because she kept finding excuses to stall going to therapy. Every ringlet in her golden hair got more attention than it ever deserved. The shower lasted twice as long, until her husband threatened to come into the bathroom after her. Somehow, her legs dragged all the way down the stairs, all the way to the car.

Was this how Henry felt every time Regina brought him to therapy?

"No," she answered honestly. She knocked three times on the door. Better to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Neither am I," Rumpel replied, sounding tired. Not so much physically tired as emotionally. The door swung open and Archie stood there with a welcoming smile on his face. Neither Emma nor Rumpel requited the gesture.

"Emma, Rumpelstiltskin…glad you could make it." He stepped aside and motioned for them to enter the office. Emma's feet felt glued to the carpet until her husband took the first step forward. They were doing this together, and they were doing this for the sake of their family. Emma's eyes found the clock on Archie's desk. Right on time. Even for all their reluctance to attend family therapy, Rumpel insisted they be punctual.

Archie closed the door and it suddenly felt as though she were trapped within those four walls.

Bae was already there, hanging on the edge of the black leather couch. His hands were folded between his knees and he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else at that moment. He barely nodded his head when they settled on the other end of the couch. It only unnerved Emma more to realize she was stuck in the middle between father and son. How appropriate.

"Fancy meeting you here," Bae said without meeting her eyes.

"Fancy that," Emma repeated. Archie located a small notepad and pencil for taking notes. Emma figured he could probably publish a whole book about their family issues. It would be a miracle if he could even sort through the tangled web. Archie sat down in the armchair across from the couch and smiled at each one of them. It was terribly dark on their side of the room.

"So…what seems to be the problem?" That was a loaded question. Emma waited for the gun to go off. _Three…two…one…_

"Him," Bae exploded. _Ka-boom, _Emma thought. Bae stretched his arm around her waist and pointed at his father. "Him, him, him, him, him." Rumpel rolled his cane between his palms and avoided looking at anyone in the room. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Already, this was on the verge of being a disaster.

"Why don't I attach a neon sign above my head and save you the trouble of pointing?" Rumpel muttered. Bae slapped his hands down on his knees. That sound alone was like a gunshot in the room.

"You want to know what the problem is? He is married to my ex-girlfriend! Diagnose that." The pencil was unmoving atop the pad of paper, the sharpened graphite tip still pressed to the first line. Archie clearly had no idea how to handle this particular case. Emma couldn't blame him; it wasn't like this level of craziness ever walked through his door.

"Um….well…I would suggest…" Archie's voice faded away. Emma decided to take the reins.

"I didn't know he was your father," she shrieked at Bae. "I didn't know that until I found you in Tallahassee. If I did, do you think I would actually be in this position? And why are you pointing fingers so much? You could have told me—"

"Oh, yeah, _that_ would have gone over well," Bae cut her off midsentence. His knuckles curled and cracked, warning her that he was getting angry. "Imagine that, would you? _Oh, hey, Emma, since we're together, I want to confess all my secrets to you. Get everything out in the open. Starting with: I'm the son of Rumpelstiltskin. _Would you have honestly believed that?" Emma did not offer an answer. "Why him? Was it his money? The way he beats people with a cane? Or just the suits working their so-called charm?"

Rumpel squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, his hip brushing beside Emma's. His hand snaked along the length of his leg, stroking the silk material of his impeccable suit.

"How about some trust exercises? Those usually do the trick," Archie suggested through their intense arguing. Emma rounded on him with a look that said he must be the crazy one.

"I wouldn't trust him," she pointed at Bae's chest, "if he was Superman and I was Lois Lane falling off the Empire State building!" Bae glanced at Archie for help, but their therapist was struggling to keep up. It didn't help that his Ph.D. came from a curse. All he knew about handling stressed patients derived from the story Regina had spun in his head.

"Why would you be falling off the Empire State building?" Bae retorted. _Oh, sure, you question that, _Emma thought irately. _But you don't question the part where you're Superman, right? _

"I didn't say me. I said Lois Lane. And maybe she's sick of listening to her ex-boyfriend's woe-is-me attitude," Emma shot back. Bae pressed a hand to his chest, feigning injury. She shook her head in annoyance.

"That hurt, Emma," Bae moaned, rubbing his chest.

"Or perhaps some inkblots…" Archie carried on weakly.

"Just think: your baby is going to be my step-sibling!" Bae gestured his hands to her swollen belly. She cradled it to protect her unborn baby from his accusations. Why did he have to bring that subject into this session? "My son is both my son and my step-brother! How can anyone manage to cope with that?" Bae stretched his hands away from his head and made a brief _pfft_ sound. Mind-blown.

"Now you're just being dramatic on purpose. What did you do? Plan all this out while you were sipping your morning coffee?" Bae didn't respond to her taunting. He craned his neck around her shoulder and glared at his father. Rumpel was staring hard at the clock, probably wishing the hands would move a little faster.

"What about you? You're being awfully quiet over there. Cooking up Evil Plan number 108?" Rumpel's mind came back to their strenuous family therapy session. He licked his lips slowly, weighing every word on his tongue before he dared speak. Emma wished him all the best of luck, because she apparently had none of it so far.

"I am delving into the depths of my cold, black heart in search of the proper means of saying _I'm sorry _and _I love you _in a way you'll actually believe," he said. Emma snuck her hand next to his thigh and rubbed it, telling him silently how much she appreciated his calm demeanor. Of course, he may have been calm on the outside, but Emma bet he was a wreck on the inside. Bae snorted.

"Apology not accepted," he grumbled. Rumpel finally turned his head in Bae's direction. Moisture clouded his eyes and the hurt bled through his controlled expression. Even Archie looked concerned as he gazed back and forth between father and son.

"You don't love me?" His tone was broken, barely louder than a whisper. Emma bit down on the inside of her cheek and she watched Bae from the corner of her eye. There was nothing more painful than the loss of love in a parent-child relationship. She was thankful Henry didn't harbor any hard feelings after learning she gave him up at birth.

"I did once. That was before you let go of my hand." Archie waved his hand rapidly in front of his eyes. Removing his glasses, he reached over the table for the box of tissues. It was supposed to be the patient that burst into tears, but somehow the box of tissues always ended up on Archie's side of the table. The three on the couch exchanged odd glances and wordlessly agreed to ignore the sniffling.

"He made a mistake," Emma told Bae. He slid further away from her on the couch. "A terrible one, but mistakes happen. What matters is that he spent three centuries trying to fix it. If he didn't love you, he wouldn't have fought so hard to get you back, would he?"

"No, a mistake is leaving the toast to burn or turning the clothes in the wash pink because of one accidental red sock. This was a _choice, _Emma. He let go of my hand and clung to that dagger. His power. It means more to him than I do." Rumpel nearly leaped over Emma to find Bae's hand. Bae whipped away and pushed himself against the opposite arm of the couch.

"That's not true! I regret what I did, Bae. I have every day for three hundred years. I love you very much. So much that I strived for centuries to right my wrong and beg your forgiveness. I want us to be a family again." He looked from Bae to Emma. _A family. All of us, _his underlying meaning did not go unnoticed. At least Archie managed to swallow most of his tears.

"Bae, have you ever considered giving your father another chance? Perhaps the bridge can be mended," Archie spoke soothingly, balling the tissue in his hand. Bae let his head droop.

"No, it can't. I'm afraid that if I do give him another chance…there will only be regret and disappointment." Rumpel released a ragged breath. He shook his head, but the words and pleas died on his lips. Emma drilled holes into Bae's head with her eyes, but he would not pick up his head.

"You shouldn't let your fear make the decisions for you, Bae," Archie continued. Instantly, Emma knew the therapist had said the wrong thing. Bae's back arched and his fingers turned white from the way he was squeezing them together so hard.

"Are you saying I'm like my father? That I'm a coward?" Before anyone could react, Bae gave his father one last scornful look. "I will never be like you. I will never do to my child what you have done to me. You know what? I'm finished with this. Don't expect me to return next week."

Bae leaped up from the couch and circled it so that he wouldn't have to get close to Emma or Rumpel. He made a beeline for the door. Archie was astounded, sitting slack in his chair without a word written on the notepad. Rumpel was distraught, retreating to a secret place inside his mind where even Emma could not reach. She bolted up from the couch and pursued Bae, stopping him before he raced down the stairs.

"I'm not going back in there," he shouted, pulling away from her touch.

"I wasn't going to ask that," she replied coldly. He gripped the railing of the stairway and refused to turn around. "I thought I should warn you that Regina has made a threat against our son and the entire town. She killed Belle's father last night and if I don't surrender Henry, someone else will die tonight. The pattern will continue until I obey her request."

From what she could glimpse of his face, he actually looked sympathetic. He had sworn he would not abandon Henry and this was his chance to prove it.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Henry out of danger," he vowed. "What are you going to do about her? Obviously you're not going to sit around and wait for someone else to die. Are you going to use magic to stop her?" He half-turned to gauge her reaction. Emma wiggled her fingers by her side, testing the flow of magic in her veins. "Emma, I'm saying this for your safety and for Henry's. Magic is not a good idea. Look what it did to my father."

Emma closed her mind to his furious remarks. If magic was the only thing that could save her son and the town, she would use it. Of course, if there was another way, she would try that first. Even Rumpel had warned her about the dangers of depending on magic too heavily; she didn't need to hear the same from Bae.

"Will you at least come to the town meeting?" Bae's answer was to descend the stairs, declaring their conversation over. Emma bit down on her tongue to staunch the urge to punch the wall. Everything was falling apart at her feet.

"There's going to be a town meeting?" She noticed Archie standing in the doorway, with his notepad still tucked under his arm. She had been mulling over the best ways to spread the word about the meeting around town and now the idea hit her effortlessly. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier?

"Yes, I'm calling a town meeting in an hour. Do me a favor: tell Red to spread the word." At last, Red could put her false counterpart's gossiping nature to good use.

…

The town meeting was appropriately held in Storybrooke's Town Hall. It was the only place reasonably big enough to accommodate so many fairy-tale characters. Everyone in town gathered there fairly quickly despite the fact that the meeting was called on such short notice. They were either seeking comfort after the death of Belle's father or they were hoping to hear that Regina had been caught at last. Emma doubted she could give them the former and there was no way in hell to grant the latter in the next few minutes.

When everyone was seated, she shakily stood up at the front of the room with her parents by her side for support. Rumpel remained seated, unwilling to attract the town's attention away from Emma.

"You're probably all wondering why I called you here," she started uncertainly. It always made her uncomfortable to have hundreds of eyes on her. To have so many lives depending on her. She glanced sideways at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. "As most of you may have guessed, it's about Regina. By now, you have heard the news of King Maurice's untimely death."

Whispers floated throughout the room, a symphony of frantic voices echoing _King Maurice. _Emma's eyes flickered to Belle in the front row. Jefferson had his hand on her shoulder, but Belle stood tall and still as an angelic statue, jaw locked, and blue eyes set forward. Despite how strong she was trying to be, a silent tear slid over her rosy cheek.

"I wish I could have prevented it," Emma spoke for Belle's sake. Then she scanned the rows of frightened and pleading faces. They hadn't even heard the worst part yet, but they were all looking to her for guidance. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Regina has issued an ultimatum. Someone will die every night…unless I hand over Henry. I figured everyone should be aware of the danger she's posing."

The whispers ceased. Panicked cries broke out across the room, heads spinning back and forth to seek comfort and to be reassured their family members were still there. Emma only caught snippets here and there from the rising murmur of the crowd.

"_What are we going to do?"_

"_Who's going to be next?" _

"_Our children…" _

"He-hem," a raspy clearing of someone's throat was nearly drowned out by the woes and worries of all those that flanked it. Yet, it did not need to be repeated to issue the effect its owner desired.

Starting from the center of the circle and spreading outward to the edges, the townspeople fell quiet. Some did not even understand why they fell quiet; they simply noticed the dulling of the crowd's roar and hushed. In the very center of the crowd, King George stood proud and defiant. Every pair of eyes in the room focused on him, but his eyes were two frigid slates reserved for Emma at the head of the hall.

"Everyone else in this room is thinking it, whether they dare admit it or not. If not, then I declare you cowards. You've obviously got another child on the way. Why does that one matter?"

George pointed a knobby finger toward Henry, who was seated beside Grace. Belle pressed his face into her woolen coat, shielding him from the cruelty of King George's implication. Charming let his hand fall to his holstered gun. Rumpel's fingers curled around the head of his cane and he indulged in several gruesome yet satisfying fantasies of bludgeoning King George's head until it burst like a watermelon.

And yet, the malicious monarch was not finished. A sinister smirk crept over his dry lips.

"How many people are you going to let die, Sheriff? Or is it Savior, now?" He scoffed. "Some savior you're turning out to be. It's plain to see you take after your father." The barbs were flung harshly, with every intention of cutting to the bone.

"_Enough,_" Emma and Charming exclaimed simultaneously. King George's smirk widened, screaming _you-see-what-I-mean. _Emma didn't know what he was so proud about. If he was attempting to turn the crowd of townspeople against her, it wasn't working in his favor.

"Don't make me bite you," Red warned, snapping her jaws together. King George looked at her like she was a slab of meat, ready for roasting.

"And what if I am the next victim? The Queen never valued royalty unless it was her own title to be compromised," George continued. While that statement was most likely true, it didn't win him any sympathy points. People may have detested Regina as queen, but King George wasn't very high on their top ten lists of rulers, either. _I can see why, _Emma speculated.

"If you're next, then you know what I say? Good riddance," Granny bellowed from a few rows away. Immediately, George's eyes burned into her broad back.

"What did you say, old woman?" Snow and Red groaned from their respective seats. No one ever insulted Granny with such a flimsy title as _old woman_ and got away with it. While Red might have been pleased to see Granny tear into George in a way her teeth could not, it meant she had to listen to Granny's griping all night.

"Sit down or I'll do the Queen a favor and personally introduce you to my crossbow!" Granny glared fiercely at George over the rims of her glasses. Surprisingly, King George plunked himself down on his chair. "Old Bessie won't be leaving my side until the Queen's head serves as a decoration in my diner."

Emma stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, directing everyone's attention back to the front of the room before any more arguing could commence.

"I understand your concern. Charming and I will take late night shifts and patrol the streets. Nighttime is when Regina will strike and if we can catch her in the act—"

A grunt came from the middle of the crowd. No one had to turn around this time to know who it belonged to.

"Yes, because it's done the town a hell of a lot of good so far," George interrupted. Emma's patience with the king was waning fast, along with everyone else's in the room. Once more, his chair scraped on the linoleum floor as he rose to his feet. Granny turned around and crossed her arms. "Have you ever considered, Almighty Savior, that if you were spending less time on your back, King Maurice would not be dead at all?"

_It's your fault, _the implication rang loud and clear in Emma's ears. That was it. Emma pounded her fist into the table. Now Rumpelstiltskin shot out of his chair, brown eyes ignited with fury and magic crackling along his fingertips. Charming stepped in front of Emma to block his daughter from King George's view. However, it was Snow White that remained calm enough to take control.

"Team Seven, please escort King George to the door. Since he is royalty, be sure to treat him with the care and respect he deserves," she commanded with the polite yet firm tone of a queen. The dwarves pushed through the crowd to obey her request.

"Alright, Baldy, start walking," Grumpy demanded, poking George's shoulder. The king gawked at the seven little men as if he'd never seen a dwarf before. Or perhaps he had never been handled so roughly by one. When he didn't move, Sneezy, Doc, and Dopey latched onto his arms and dragged him along.

"You're calling me bald? Have you glimpsed a mirror lately, you oversized Munchkin? Get your grubby hands off me! I am royalty! I have rights!" The dwarves were stronger than they looked, leading King George by his limbs out of the hall. They had to be strong in order to wield their pickaxes all day long and cut diamonds. George's complaints carried on for several minutes once the doors were closed.

When all was silent, the meeting continued. Only this time, Snow White was the one who did the talking. Everyone, including Emma, regarded her with awe and respect for the way she serenely handled King George. _If this was _The Lion King, _they'd probably kneel and bow their heads, _Emma thought wryly. _But then who would be Simba? _

She shook the nonsensical thoughts from her brain.

"We're not here to tell you that there is no hope of defeating Regina's ultimatum. We're here to counterattack, to devise a way to protect you. We will do everything in our power not to let last night's tragedy be repeated. But everyone needs to do their own part as well. Savior or not, there is only so much Emma can do in so little time."

Emma rolled her eyes to the high-vaulted ceiling.

"Thanks, Mom," she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. Snow bit softly on her bottom lip.

"Sorry," she whispered back. Truthfully, people were too busy offering up passionate suggestions of their own to linger on Emma's inefficiencies as protector of the town. Desperate times called for desperate measures. These people had been ravaged and tormented by Regina long enough; they refused to let it carry on.

"There's a full moon coming," Red pointed out, glancing around at her fellow townspeople. Archie held her hand for support. "I know how to control my wolf form. I can patrol the town with you. If Regina pops up, I'll catch a scent. I'll take her down faster than if Archie tossed a chew toy." She blushed. "Not that…he's done that often." Archie grew visibly nervous, but he smiled at Red affectionately.

"I've never missed once with my crossbow," Granny boasted. Everyone in town already knew it—and feared it. "I'll get her right between the eyes, mark my words. No one is touching a hair on that boy's head so long as I live." Translation: forever.

"We have our pickaxes," Grumpy called out. He and the dwarves had returned from tossing out King George. On their tail, though, was Bae. Emma tried not to look at him as he took a place along the back wall. Rumpel couldn't do anything but look at him. "If those things can slice up a diamond, imagine what our pickaxes can do to the Queen. _Woom-pah!_" Grumpy mimicked mining, startling a few people around him.

"For the record, I've asked Rumpelstiltskin to place wards around your houses," Emma said. Everyone shifted their heads to Rumpel, each face mirroring an expression of disbelief that the Dark One would willingly help. In the back, Bae frowned, but he didn't make a move to object. "The wards would be powerful enough to keep Regina out until we learn how to deal with her. Until we learn how to stop her. Unfortunately—"

"He won't help?" Bae's voice rang out through the hall. Annoyance pinched Emma's brow. She hoped he wasn't going to be another King George.

The hurt radiated off Rumpel in crushing waves and Emma dipped her hand beneath the table to take his hand. The crowd did not register the change in his demeanor. To them, he was stoic and formidable as ever, but Emma didn't miss the ache in his eyes, the way he stopped breathing, or the tightening of his hand on his cane. Only Belle watched him closely, catching the change as well. People examined Bae curiously, the stranger in their midst. Those that he and Henry visited the day before passed the word along that he was the Dark One's son.

Emma forced herself to meet Bae's gaze.

"Rumpelstiltskin is more than willing to help, at no cost to you," she assured the crowd. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…Unfortunately, the amount of magic required for multiple wards takes a great deal of energy and time on his part. The wards won't be up by tonight."

_Not all of them, anyway, _she added silently. The only reason she didn't voice it aloud was to spare the crowd from the debate of which houses would be protected by wards and which would remain vulnerable to attack.

"Most of the wards can…if I help," the Blue Fairy announced. The crowd parted to reveal her pristine figure. "With the aid of the wand you promised me, Emma, I should have enough power to set up efficient wards over half the town, at least. It would still take a day's worth of time to enact the wards, given the layers that are required, but it will be progress." Rumpel reared his head back in alarm.

"You would agree to combine your power with mine? Oh, dearie, I believe your devil horns are showing," he mocked. The Blue Fairy pursed her lips.

"I would if it meant the protection of this town, Rumpelstiltskin," she said, gesturing her hand to the crowd of people around her. "And look who's calling the kettle black. Clearly, your dark magic isn't as powerful as you once claimed." Emma restrained Rumpel by the arm before he could leap over the table. A few colorful words were hissed under his breath.

Emma suddenly noticed how Jefferson's head was bent close to Belle's. At first, she was afraid Belle finally suffered a severe breakdown, but then she realized the two had been softly conversing. Belle urged him to say what was on his mind, nudging him gently forward. Jefferson rotated to face the crowd.

"For those who are unaware, I have a house on the hill on the outskirts of Storybrooke. A mansion, really. Rumpelstiltskin just repaired it and cast powerful wards over it. Regina won't have a chance of getting through. If anyone wants protection, you're welcome to my spare rooms." Belle smiled approvingly at him through her pain. Even after such a heavy loss, she was willing to put aside her grief for the sake of others.

"Travel in groups," Charming advised. "Stay indoors. Do not walk the town after sunset. Keep Emma's number on speed dial. Meanwhile, we'll keep searching for Regina."

"I swear I won't stop until she's subdued," Emma declared, meeting every pair of eyes in the room. Everyone was counting on her now. She made a vow not to let them down.

The meeting ended shortly after that. People were more visibly disturbed going out than when they first came in. Every person that passed Belle offered her some form of condolences for her father. Henry departed from Belle's side and joined Emma and Rumpel at the front of the room. Even he was trembling with fear, though he fought hard not to show it.

Her brave boy. Henry would have made an extraordinary knight one day, had he been raised in the Enchanted Forest.

"You okay?" Emma questioned, pulling her son into her arms. Really, it was her that longed for the comfort. Ever since Regina's threat, she had been reluctant to take her eye off Henry for an instant, for fear that he would have vanished when she sought him out again. Every parent's worst nightmare was becoming her reality.

Henry nodded against her shoulder. He was getting so tall. With everything going on, she hadn't taken the proper time to appreciate it. Pretty soon, he would be standing eye to eye with his stepfather.

"Why don't you just give me over to her?" Henry blinked up at her innocently. His grandparents overheard and froze in their tracks, wearing matching masks of horror. Emma's arms tightened around him, refusing to let him go. This was all Regina's fault. Surely he didn't blame himself for King Maurice's death and those that may follow?

"Henry—" She caressed his face, but he wiggled away. His eyes were wild and desperate, but wiser than any child's eyes should be at his age.

"Everyone is scared. People are going to die by her hands. She's only doing this because of me. If we give her what she wants, maybe she'll stop. She won't hurt me," he reasoned. Every syllable was a cruel, sharp knife slicing into Emma's heart. She could almost feel it struggling to beat as she scrutinized her son. So innocent, so young, so brave. Braver than most of the men that attended the meeting.

"You're right, Henry," Rumpel spoke up. Emma whipped around to stare at him, taken aback by his defense of Henry's reasoning. He didn't mean…he couldn't…Rumpelstiltskin would not meet her eyes. He looked past her, only choosing to hold Henry in his line of sight. "She would not harm you, but she will destroy _us_. Henry, what do you suppose the Evil Queen will do once she gets her hands on you? Her next move will be to wipe out everyone who poses a threat to her so-called happiness, to ensure that she never loses you again."

Emma released a sigh of relief. He wasn't proposing that they ship Henry in a box to the Evil Queen's lair. He was making a point of the weight of such a decision. Henry hung his head, admitting defeat. Emma knelt by his side and took ahold of his shoulders, squeezing them until he looked at her.

"I can't surrender you, Henry. You've suffered enough in her care and it won't stop death from following in her wake. I'm sorry, but we'll find another way." That was all she could promise for the time being. Rising to full height, she kissed Henry's forehead. Something tapped her arm and she glanced down to see her husband's fingers resting under her elbow.

"May I have a word?" He tilted his head toward the corner of the hall, where they would not be overheard. Emma tentatively entrusted Henry in the care of his grandparents and followed on Rumpel's heels. He bent his head low, his words only traveling to the shell of her ear. "I may have another way."

Emma's eyes widened. How long had he been sitting on such valuable information? She understood then that he must not be putting too much stock in its success if he didn't wish Henry to overhear. This was an act of desperation, a last resort.

"What is it?" He shook his head and watched the bustling crowd just beyond the hall's door. It wasn't so much the crowd that made him anxious, but the prospect that Regina could be hiding close-by, eavesdropping. Emma didn't dare call it paranoia.

"Not here. Meet me in my shop. Say, an hour or two. Right now, I'm about to offer my son a deal." The family therapy was nothing short of failure, so it was time for Plan B.

"A deal he can't refuse?" Emma's lips lifted slightly. Rumpel stole a small kiss. For good luck, she imagined.

"Ha, ha. Good to see you've maintained your sense of humor in these dark days." She shrugged loosely and watched as he limped toward the crowd. _Laughter is supposed to be the best medicine, isn't it? _From what she remembered, Regina's face had no laugh lines at all.

….

"Bae," Rumpel called through the chaotic crowd. It wasn't an easy feat to navigate past so many bodies with a lame leg. It was tempting to cure his leg in order to gain agility, but he drowned that urge before it could flourish. Not too long ago, that strength would have been nonexistent. He caught up to his son outside, grabbing ahold of his sleeve to slow him down.

Bae groaned loudly. Rumpel had a feeling his son had been ignoring him. Bae whirled with a protest on his lips, but Rumpel overrode any complaints with a handful of papers, thrust into Bae's hands without warning. The irritation dissolved into stark confusion.

"What's this?" Bae didn't bother to sift through the papers.

"A written contract," Rumpel stated, folding his hands neatly atop the head of his cane. Disbelief burned in Bae's eyes. His son had no reason to take a deal from him after the first one he broke, but Rumpel was desperate. "I know I've taken enough of your time, but surely one minute more will not kill anyone."

Bae's fingers curled over the edge of the contract, wrinkling it. Rumpel imagined his son tearing it up, the ripped pieces raining like confetti on the sidewalk. Gods, he hoped it didn't come to that. But Bae cocked his head, listening. It went without saying that he was on a time limit.

"Thank you," Rumpel said sincerely. Whatever bitter retort Bae might have given, he held his tongue. "According to this contract, which I fully intend to abide, I will settle the matter of Regina. After she has been taken care of, I shall willingly surrender my magic by whatever means necessary, in a reasonable length of time of your choosing. If not…" He hesitated. The knot in his tie felt too tight at the base of his throat. "If not….then you may take necessary precautions to ensure that my magic is not a threat to the ones you and I love dearly. Or to anyone, for that matter. If you wish it, I will even forfeit my right…to Emma and Henry. I've already signed the contract. All that is needed to enact it is your signature."

Bae studied the contract in his hands for a long time. So long that Rumpel began to fidget in place. The pages were flipped, Bae's eyes rolled back and forth as he scanned the neatly written words. He was searching for a loophole, Rumpel knew. A few times Bae's hands clenched the contract a little too hard and Rumpel held his breath, waiting to hear the rip of paper. Bae reached the last page, where Rumpel's signature looped over the appropriate line. Was his son on the verge of discarding the contract and all it entailed? Did he even have a pen to sign?

Finally Bae let the papers fall back into place and he sighed.

"You really care about her, don't you?" Rumpel did not dare to hope that his son would let him off that easy. But when he pictured Emma and Henry, two of the closest people in his world, he felt something inside him break.

"Very much, Bae. Regardless of what you believe, I do not disagree with you. Emma deserves much better than what I can offer. If she were happier elsewhere, I would let her go. The same goes for Henry. But Emma has chosen to stay and fight, so I strive to reciprocate. I only wish to give her everything I have. Above all, I want her happiness."

Rumpel was familiar with reading faces when it came to making a deal, but this time it was difficult to detect any sway in Bae's behavior. Perhaps it was because of the emotional investment and Rumpel's desire to have his son agree for once. It alarmed him when Bae handed the contract back.

"I want to talk to Emma first," Bae said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "There are some things we need to get out of the way. Then I'll give you an answer on that deal."

It wasn't exactly a refusal, but Rumpel very much doubted that his son would miraculously change his mind. Sorrowfully, he folded the contract and slid it into his jacket. Bae must have spotted Emma behind them, for he ran past his father without so much as a farewell. _That was it, _he thought with more agony than he would ever let the world see. _One more attempt to gain my son's favor, gone. _

He looked over his shoulder to see Bae and Emma walking side by side. Most likely, they were going somewhere private to discuss their situation. Before she disappeared from view completely, Emma turned her head and looked back at him questioningly. His only answer was a subtle, solemn shake of the head.

…

They went to the beach, not far from where Henry's castle used to be. Very few people walked the beach in Storybrooke, so it was an ideal place for privacy. The peaceful isolation was one of the reasons she and Henry enjoyed the castle so much—it was a place they could talk about anything without fear of being disturbed.

It wasn't so peaceful with Bae, though. They walked along the beach in silence for a time, their hands red from the cold and snuggled in their pockets. Every time she thought Bae would get around to discussing what he so badly wanted to discuss in private, he never did.

"It gets chilly up here, doesn't it?" He shivered, but Emma suspected it was mostly an act. A way of breaking the ice.

"Yeah, it does," she replied unenthusiastically. Usually, she didn't have much patience for small talk. She busied her hands with zipping up her leather jacket. Her red leather jacket was starting to get tight with her baby bump. A few more weeks and it wouldn't zip up at all. She would have to borrow some of Mary Margaret's old oversized cardigans to stay warm.

"When did you start wearing leather jackets?" He nodded to her worn red leather. The girl he knew in the past hadn't been so rough around the edges and wore flower-print dresses among other things. Not leather.

"Shortly after I got out of jail. This is my favorite," she admitted.

"Oh," he murmured. Once more, they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Emma tilted her face to the sky and frowned at the swirling gray clouds. It looked like it was going to rain again. After five minutes of walking without a destination in mind, Bae abruptly pulled Emma up short by the arm. "Look, Emma, I didn't bring you out here to discuss the weather. Or fashion."

"No….really?" She mockingly batted her eyelashes. She was wondering when he would quit it with the small talk.

"Why do you like him?" The direct question took her by surprise. Apparently he was no longer interested in beating around the bush. There was no question about who Bae meant. Even without Rumpelstiltskin there, his presence filled the space between them.

"Don't hold back," she said sarcastically. During the car ride to the beach, she had had a sickening feeling that this was his reason for wanting to talk to her privately. It was time they stopped running and confronted the problem. In that case, she wasn't holding back, either. "Do you know how long it's been since I've been genuinely happy?"

"I can guess," he said, rubbing his jaw. Emma ignored his input. There was no stopping the venomous words from bubbling up in her throat, not when she had kept them bottled for so long.

"Since before you betrayed me," she roared. "Believe it or not, I was happy with you and you broke my heart. After that, I didn't dare make the mistake of trusting anyone again. I didn't even have the means to be a good mother to my son, so I gave him up. I thought he'd have his best chance without me. For ten years, I never settled anywhere; I never had a home. I was convinced that there was something wrong with me, that I couldn't be loved, so I put up walls everywhere I went. I was alone."

Her voice broke. She didn't realize she was crying until she could no longer see Bae clearly, her vision blurred with warm moisture. Angrily, she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. It was impossible to blame it on the hormones when she'd thought those words hundreds of times in the past.

Her only consolation was that Bae had the decency to look guilty.

"Emma—" He reached a chafed hand toward her sleeve, but she tore away from him. She couldn't stop. If she didn't say what was on her mind now, then she never would.

"Henry found me in Boston and I returned to Storybrooke with him. After I saw that he wasn't being given his best chance, I couldn't leave. I ended up marrying your father….while drunk…and I agreed to give it a chance. I fell in love with him. He opened up to me and he gave me a home. A home was the one thing I wanted most. For the first time in ten years, I had something worth fighting for."

"Wow," Bae whispered behind his hand. It must have been a lot for him to take in. She didn't like the way his face remained hard, closed off to her. "He's really got you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?"

Emma wanted to scream. She wanted to hit something with all her might. She wanted to toss Bae in the ocean. Deep down, she knew none of these options would be helpful in the long run, so she forced herself to take a deep breath of salty air and calm down. _Now I know how August felt when he was trying to convince me to believe in the curse, s_he thought sadly. _Talking to someone who refuses to see is like talking to a brick wall. _

"I know you think it's wrong. But I'm happy being with him and I'm happy to be given a second chance with Henry. I can't live without either one. And after everything you put me through, I don't really think you have a right to take that happiness away." The accusation sent Bae spiraling into silence. He looked past Emma's shoulder, out at the water. His forehead creased with anxiety and deep concentration. She was almost afraid he wouldn't say anything when his lips finally parted.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Emma." She felt her jaw unhinge. _Did I just hear that right? Am I finally getting through to him? _In a snap, the irritation bounced back, as if she had simply wandered into a sweet daydream for a few seconds. "But do you know how painful it is to have the mother of your child choose your father over you?"

She spread her hands by her side and let them fall limply by her hips. Nothing she could say would ease Bae's frustration. It was easy to see how deep his despair ran.

"I can't change the way I feel. I understand that you resent your father for abandoning you and I get it if you want to hurt him emotionally. When I still thought I was abandoned by my parents, I always imagined seeking them out just to prove to them how badly they hurt me by leaving me on the side of the road. But in case you haven't noticed, you're hurting me in the process!"

That seemed to shake Bae's resolve. It wasn't as rigid as it was seconds before. As she watched, his wall began to crumble. True regret marred his face.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Emma. Hell, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. That's why I left you, so you can fulfill your destiny and reach that happiness you've only ever dreamed of." He paused to suck in a breath. Slowly, he released it. "Okay, if you're going to continue with this…marriage, I have to be sure you're doing this for you, not for anyone else. Don't think about what I want or what my father wants. Will this make you truly happy?"

"Yes," she answered automatically. "I'm sorry, but I love him. I want to be with him. He has done nothing but love me and he makes me happier than I've ever been." Bae nodded weakly. Honestly, he looked like he was inches away from emptying his lunch over the sand.

"I'm still not going to like it," he warned. Emma felt the beginning of relief rush through her mind, chasing at least half of her worries away. "But I'm not going to demand that you leave him. If this makes you happy, Emma, I suppose I'll learn to live with it." Emma couldn't contain her emotions any longer. She hastened to embrace Bae, repeating _thank you _in his ear until he patted her back to signal her to let go. "Just do me one favor. Don't ask me to call you Mom. That's where I draw the line."

Emma's drying tears gave way to lines of laughter. She was almost hysterical with happiness.

"No problem."

"And no playing footsie at the dinner table."

"That I can't promise." Somehow, her husband's foot always happened to find hers under the table, whether he claimed it was an accident or not. Bae's face twisted, as if he sucked on a lemon. He really hoped she was kidding. He shuddered at the intimate gestures Emma and his father might share, but Emma didn't notice. If she did, she didn't say anything to spur it on. "I have to meet your father in his shop."

"I'll stay here for a bit," he said, turning to behold the endless water. It was tranquil and beautiful, the waves shining as though lined with thousands of white diamonds. "I can see why you and Henry enjoyed this place. It's a nice spot to clear your head."

Emma smiled as she studied his back. The anxiety rolled off him like the water rising on the beach to kiss his boots. She dug out her cell phone while she trudged through the sand, retracing her steps to her car. She had to tell her husband the good news.

…..

Even after Emma left, Bae continued strolling along the beach. The thoughts and dilemmas that were stuck at the back of his mind came forth effortlessly then. He made the decision to stop pestering Emma about marrying his father. _All we ask is that you don't take it out on her, _Snow and Charming had requested. He may be miles from forgiving his father yet, but at least this way he could stop hurting Emma.

He hadn't been lying. All he wanted was her happiness, same as his father apparently did. After everything she'd endured, she deserved it. His own happiness, however, didn't appear to be waiting right around the corner.

"_La-la-la-la-la-la!" _The unmistakable sound of someone singing drifted to him from the distance. It wasn't exactly the enchanting singing of a siren, but it lured him in nonetheless. Instead of his passion, his curiosity was to blame. Who would be singing on the beach on a cold day?

"_La-la-LA-la-la-la!" _He followed the disharmonious singing to a massive boulder. Circling it, he discovered a young girl hunched on the ground behind it, her knees tucked to her chest. She must have been swimming because she was shivering profusely and water rolled off her ivory skin. The water under her eyes might have tears, though.

She was also naked.

The girl gasped when she saw him standing there and curled tighter against the boulder. Her damp, stringy red hair covered her face, the strands glistening with pearls of water. Bae spun around and held his hands in the air.

"Whoa! Sorry! I…uh….I didn't see anything! I definitely didn't mean to intrude on your skinny-dipping," he said over his shoulder. He was flustered and his cheeks blazed. He heard the girl shift through the sand. From the corner of his eye, he saw her unfurl from the boulder.

Maybe she presumed he wasn't that much of a threat.

"I wasn't…I'm sorry, what did you call it?" Bae was tempted to glance back at the girl, incredulous as he was by her naiveté. Despite her lack of singing, he found her voice to be smooth and gentle, lapping in and out like the calm waves of the ocean.

He had a funny feeling about which particular fairy-tale character the girl was.

"Skinny-dipping?" Slowly, he lowered his arms. The girl did not cower. "You know…where you take off all your clothes and dive into the ocean? Usually at night? Usually with another person?"

That was another detail that concerned him. She was alone. There wasn't another individual in sight on the beach. Who went skinny-dipping alone? Or did someone play a cruel prank where they snatched her clothes as soon as she was in the water?

"People in this world do that?" The distaste was evident in her delicate voice. "How unsanitary. I'm a mermaid. When I step out of the water, I lose my tail." Bae couldn't help turning around then. He had suspected that the girl in front of him was not actually a girl and she had just proven him right. This was a mermaid. And not just any mermaid, if he had any money to put on it.

"You swim where you pee and you call us unsanitary?" The mermaid wrapped her arms around her knees, though it wasn't the protective stance she assumed initially. This was more along the lines of a child pouting. The gesture reminded Bae of her current predicament. If it weren't for the inescapable nudity, he might have taken the time to admire the cerulean blue shade of her eyes. "Sorry. Again. I'm having trouble talking to you when you're…."

He motioned to her body, absent of a stitch of clothing. What if some other guy had stumbled across her, someone whose intentions were not as pure as Bae's?

"Why don't you wait here and I'll be back with some clothes for you? You'll probably have to go commando for a bit, though." At least until he could escort her to the nearest clothing shop. The mermaid's face rippled with confusion.

"Go…where?" Bae dragged a hand across his face. The method of conversation in this town would have to take some getting used to. _I really need to start thinking before I speak, _he thought.

"Never mind. Stay here and I promise I'll be back with fresh clothes." He dashed off like the devil was chasing him. In fact, he was running toward the devil, not away. It was amazing what one could find in a small-town pawnshop.

…

The first thing he noticed was that Emma's car was parked outside his father's shop. _Hello, Sunshine, _Bae thought, patting the yellow hood. He might have decided to come back later, but he remembered his promise to the girl—mermaid—on the beach. The front section of the shop was empty, which meant they were together in the back. There was a bed back there and Bae hoped they weren't doing what he was afraid they were doing.

As he waited—because he had absolutely no intention of peeking through that curtain—he looked around the shop. He bet Henry would love giving him a personal tour of the pawnshop and its wonders. Something on one of the shelves caught his eye. It was his old leather ball. Sensations of nostalgia and warmth invaded his chest. Henry had said the ball was in the back of the shop, but his father most likely put it out front for Bae to see. He reached out to caress the scuffed leather and almost smelled the livestock and fields of home.

"Reminds you of home, doesn't it?" His father's voice claimed his attention. He had emerged from behind the curtain. Bae hadn't even heard him move. His father's suit wasn't the least bit disheveled, wasn't thrown on in haste, but Bae didn't take that as solid evidence of innocence in the back room. Appearance was very important to Rumpelstiltskin. "What can I do for you?"

Bae knew that contract was still inside his father's suit jacket. He knew his father waited for him to sign it or tear it to shreds. However, the issue with his father wasn't what brought him to that pawnshop, so Bae cast all thoughts of it aside. With the face of that girl in his mind, he charged to the front counter.

"I know you have women's clothing in the back of your shop. I need it," Bae stated. His father stiffened, his brows furrowing slightly to betray his bemusement. _Now that I think about it, that probably didn't sound right, _he thought, feeling his cheeks flame.

"May I ask why?" Rumpelstiltskin's curious brown eyes roved up and down, surveying Bae dubiously. Bae hesitated. How best to explain this situation?

"Let's say…I met a girl on the beach…who happened to be naked." His father's lips quirked upwards. He obviously found this to be amusing.

"So, you're trading Emma for a mermaid with two legs she has no idea what to do with?" His father's accent thickened while he spoke. It meant he was struggling to hold back his laughter. Bae gripped the edge of the counter and glowered. That only made his father's lips twitch more.

"Why do you have to know everything? Just because she's naked on the beach does not mean she's a mermaid. There might be another reasonable explanation for her lack of clothing," he argued.

As always, his father was right, but Bae didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that. Rumpel laid his palms flat on the counter and loomed closer to Bae. He was much too relaxed. When Rumpelstiltskin was certain about something, there was no chance of convincing him otherwise. It was a trait that Emma shared. Bae imagined that, if she and her devoted husband ever argued, it must be equivalent to World War III, with neither side willing to accept defeat.

"Yes, I'm sure she volunteered to go skinny-dipping and someone pilfered her clothes. It's the reason I choose not to do it. I value my suits far too much."

"Yeah, that's the only reason," Bae replied dryly. Since appearance meant so much to Rumpelstiltskin, it also made him extremely self-conscious. He wouldn't be caught dead in this town without his clothing.

Rumpel quietly begged for a moment and slipped behind the curtain. He was back before Bae counted to thirty, his arms full of female clothing. The pile of clothing was distributed on the counter. Bae didn't know the mermaid's style or size, but he selected the best dresses, slacks, and shirts. He hoped he wouldn't have to teach her how to put on pants. Women usually did not wear pants in the Enchanted Forest.

Once Bae had finished sorting through the clothes, his father bent behind the counter to retrieve a bag for the clothes. He lightly touched Bae's wrist while Bae was stuffing the bag.

"If all goes well, this may be a fresh start for you," he said. Bae paused with a white blouse in hand. His father thought…assumed…that he and the mermaid….that was ridiculous. It was about time he moved on from Emma since she belonged to his father, but…a mermaid? In the end, he didn't bother to confirm nor deny it.

Would it really be so bad if he earned a second chance with someone?

"By the way, I told Emma that I accepted her relationship with you. So you can stop sprouting gray hairs," Bae teased. His father made an exaggerated, offended _humph _and gingerly smoothed his hand through his hair. Only a few streaks of gray were visible.

"I know. Emma called directly after leaving your company and informed me of your change of heart. We're celebrating tonight." Rumpel's face was a blank slate, but it didn't stop Bae from interpreting the likely message underneath. He cringed.

"Ugh, Papa! I did _not_ need to know that!" Rumpel tilted his head.

"I was thinking of celebrating with Emma by treating her to an extra creamy ice cream cone and a generous foot rub. What were you thinking of?" Bae gathered the bag of clothes in his arms and hurried out of the shop without answering that question. He swore he heard his father chuckling at him all the way out the door.

…

There was a serious problem waiting for Bae when he made it back to the beach. It wasn't just the lack of clothing on his new female friend. The girl—_mermaid_—was gone. Nowhere to be found. At first, Bae circled around and around the massive boulder, wondering where she could have gone. _Wonderful, _he thought, dropping the bag of clothes in the sand. _Now I'll have to scour through the town for her and ask if anyone's seen a woman streaking lately. _

A splash from the ocean broke through his panic. A dark head popped up from under the water. As he drew closer, he recognized the mermaid and his shoulders slumped in relief. She hadn't disappeared, after all; she only went swimming.

"You look worried," she commented. Her chin bobbed just above the line of water. Thankfully, the water more or less hid what was underneath. "I told you I was a mermaid. I decided to float around while I waited for you."

Just then, a scaly, forest-green tail sliced through the water and rose into the air. The scales shimmered in the sunlight, the fins flexible and seemingly woven with glass. The tail flopped back down, submerged by the water, as if it hadn't been there at all. Bae was sure his mouth had fallen open. He'd never been this close to a real mermaid before he left the Enchanted Forest.

"Oh…um…right. I like your tail. Uh, I brought clothes for you, just like I promised." He pointed to the bag of clothes on the sand. "I didn't know what you liked, so I took a little bit of everything."

The mermaid smiled appreciatively. He liked the way her blue eyes matched the water when she did.

"Thank you."

"Any time," Bae said, out of habit. He rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for the eagerness. "I mean…not you and the…naked problem. I meant…." This wasn't working out well for him. Luckily, the mermaid giggled. Her tail splashed through the water again, spraying the air with mist. He took that as a sign of her happiness.

"I'm Ariel, by the way," she offered. He knew it. The notes of _Under the Sea _played in his head.

"Ariel? What happened to your singing voice? No offense." Her small white hand fluttered against the hollow of her throat. The sadness darkened the color of her eyes. Was that why she had been upset?

"I lost my voice in the Enchanted Forest, but it came back when I wound up here. It hasn't been quite right, though. _La-la-la-la-la-la,_" she sang off-key. Bae tried not to wince at the scratchiness. He thought he knew the reason why Ariel's voice dilemma had occurred. This was originally a land without magic, thus the magic his father had introduced followed a different set of rules than the Enchanted Forest. Maybe his father could help Ariel regain her true voice.

"Do you have a name?" Ariel did backstrokes, swimming in playful circles. "Or should I just call you He-Who-Skinny-dips?" Bae threaded his fingers through his hair and tried to work through the awkwardness.

"My name is Baelfire, but you can call me Bae," he introduced himself. Ariel swam close enough to the shore to shake his hand and not be reduced to a naked female girl. Her long red mane was plastered to her skin, covering all personal parts of her torso. For a mermaid, Bae had to admit that she was attractive. It was easy for him to return her warm greeting and hard for him to let go of her hand. He almost fell into the ocean after her.

"Nice to meet you, Bae."

….

"Bae is having fish for dinner this week," Rumpel quipped when he parted the curtain and crossed into the back room of his shop. Sometimes he could not help himself when it came to knowledge other people did not yet possess. Emma lifted her head from the sheaf of papers on his desk. Atop the sheaf of papers was the _Emma _scroll, the ends held down by a crystal paperweight and an old scarlet candle.

"I'm not a fan of fish," she said dismissively, turning her head back to the scroll. He smirked.

"Good to know." It should make matters interesting when she learned that Bae's method of moving on involved dating a mermaid. He would leave that confession to Bae. Rumpel approached the desk and peered at the scroll over the curve of Emma's shoulder.

"So, why did you want to show me this again?" Ah, yes. He had been ready to explain the plan to her before Bae came to visit. The tip of his finger traced the mesmerizing squiggles of Emma's name. Even when his finger hovered over the scroll, he sensed the magic emanating from each drop of ink.

"I never confided in you the scroll's deepest, darkest secret. The ink I used to pen your name was none other than squid ink. Near impossible to obtain unless you live under the sea…or you're me." She pictured her husband swimming down to the depths of the ocean and battling a squid for a little bottle of ink. Rumpel raised an eyebrow, silencing her chuckles. "In our world, this particular brand of squid ink has the power to trap a magical being temporarily."

A spark of intelligence burst to life in Emma's eyes and he knew she was on the same page. When she looked upon the scroll again, it was with renewed awe.

"You mean, if we used this on Regina…"

"She will be rendered powerless long enough for you to subdue her however you desire," he finished. Having been a dealmaker for many years, he knew very few opportunities came without catches. The fine print of the contract, so to speak. "Of course, it means you'll have to get close enough to use it in the first place."

Their only option, since Regina was tricky about popping up of her own free will, was to arrange a meeting with her. It would require careful consideration and smooth manipulation to make it work. Emma didn't seem worried. Determination pulsed through every muscle as she picked up the scroll.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get her." If it meant being able to protect her child and the town at the same time, Emma would take it, no matter the cost.

…


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N: Well, the countdown is over at last. For those who are able to catch the return of season 3 tonight, I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to those who reviewed for this story recently. **

It was nice to be home. Emma had moved all of her belongings back into Rumpel's house. They had no reason to worry now that Bae agreed not to drive a wedge between them. For a while, she even flounced down on their bed and savored its familiar comfort. It was like laying on fluffy white clouds compared to the single-sized, shabby bed she used in her parents' apartment.

Goldie and Henry came with her, of course. That night, they were both tucked into Henry's bed when she went to check on him. He thumbed through his favorite storybook and she leaned against the doorframe to watch him quietly. It was obvious enough that Rumpel was happy his wife and stepson were back where they belonged, but she wasn't as easily reassured. This was the calm before the storm. Anything could happen. What would she do if she ever lost him?

She flicked the light switch up and down, warning him it was time for lights out. Henry laid his book flat on his stomach and frowned in protest. If he had his way, he would pull an all-nighter. Rumpel would likely join him, no matter what speech he put on in front of Emma about the importance of getting one's sleep. It was turning out to be one of his natural habits: he rarely said no to Henry. Instead, he let her deal with those tough situations. Like now, for instance. Chances were, he would do the same to their unborn child. He would spoil the child and let Mommy handle the occasional tantrum.

"Aww, Mom," Henry moaned. He could add all the O's in the word Mom all he wanted, but Emma stood her ground, folding her arms. "I was just getting to the good part." His thumb was on the corner of the page, preventing him from losing his place. On the page was an illustration of Snow White and Prince Charming, at the moment where Snow White awoke from her sleeping curse. It didn't matter if he read it hundreds of times. Somehow it continued to enthrall him, even more now that he recognized the two fairytale characters as his grandparents.

She crossed to his bed and sat down on the edge. Taking up the book in her own lap, she stared down at the smiling faces of her parents for a minute before closing the book and setting it on the bedside table.

"Don't Mom me. Even princes need a full night's sleep," she said, much to his disliking. She made sure he was tucked in with an extra blanket in case it got chilly during the night. Then she bent to kiss forehead. She really was trying to be a good mother. Unfortunately, being a mother and being the savior didn't mix well. When she didn't get up from the bed, Henry gave her a questioning look. "Henry…what would you say if we needed your help to catch Regina?"

The last thing she ever wanted to do was place Henry in Regina's cross-hairs, but it would be extremely difficult to lure Regina out into the open for any other reason. She wasn't stupid enough to risk everything if Henry was not the ultimate reward. Ever since forming a plan with Rumpel involving the scroll, Emma had been struggling with how to tell Henry. She didn't think it was a good idea to keep him in the dark.

"I would say I'm in," Henry exclaimed, propping up on his elbows. Emma placed a hand on his shoulder to ease him back on the mattress. She didn't want him getting too riled up before bed. "Do you have a plan?"

Emma hesitated, diving headfirst into Henry's innocent brown eyes. All she wanted to do was protect him. What did it mean if she could protect the town but not her own son? Was she really doing what was best for him if she involved him in this plan? Perhaps there was truth to the phrase _ignorance is bliss. _But she knew if she didn't tell him, if she did not trust him to make his own choices, he would never let her forget it.

"Rumpel possesses a scroll that contains squid ink. Don't ask—it's a long, strange story. Point is: that squid ink is infused with magic that will temporarily trap Regina and render her powers useless. After that, we can decide what to do with her. Rumpel and I are planning to arrange a meeting with her, but she'll know something is wrong if you're not there. We're going to make her think we're ready to surrender. That's why I need to know—without a doubt, are you okay with this?"

She put emphasis on that question, alerting him to the seriousness of the situation at hand. If he wasn't comfortable with it, she wouldn't do it. They would find another way to confront and defeat Regina. But she already knew the answer before he even spoke. It was written plainly in his eyes.

"Without a doubt," he echoed. "I'll do it. I don't want anyone else in town to get hurt because of me," he said. She smiled sadly. Her little knight. This might work. If it did, everyone would be safe, the nightmare would be over, and the only issue that would remain was bringing everyone back to the Enchanted Forest.

"Then you'll really need your sleep. Goodnight, Henry," she whispered and kissed his forehead one more time. "I love you." Not a day went by where she neglected to say it at least once. She kissed Goldie's head, too, but the only response she earned was a swift kick of a foot. No such thing as puppy love tonight.

Falling victim to her paranoia, she double-checked that Henry's balcony doors were locked. Rumpel had placed a ward around the entire house and an individual one on every door, but it brought her mind a sense of peace to double-check. She switched the light off and left his door open a crack. Then she went in search of her husband.

It was rather easy to locate him. Since he wasn't waiting for her in bed, her next idea was to look for him in the basement, where he liked to perform his mad experiments with magic. Sure enough, the basement door was ajar and she heard the steady creaking of the wheel before she even finished descending the stairs. She came close to tripping over an old bent nail sticking up in the last step. She caught herself from falling, her hand protectively covering her belly.

The wheel paused. The stool's legs had screeched on the floor, as if her husband was secretly the Flash and he meant to rush to her side in lightning speed and catch her before she fell. She waved her hand to tell him to settle back down. He did so with obvious reluctance, watching her from the corner of his eye from then on.

"You should be careful on those stairs," her husband cautioned. He glared down at the bothersome nail in that last step and she knew it would be gone by the morning. She went to his side and rested her hands on his tired shoulders.

"If I can fight a dragon with PMS, then I'm sure I can handle a flight of stairs." From the tension in his back, it was clear he was still worried. Tenderly, her hands squeezed his shoulders and she began to use the heels of her hands to massage them, coaxing out the knots. Rumpel stopped spinning again and leaned his head back into her breasts, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. She stole an upside-down kiss. She always wanted to try that ever since she first saw the movie _Spider-Man. _"Henry's in bed," she stated.

He smiled against her lips.

"Is that your code for grown-up time?" He returned her upside-down kiss. Then he picked up his head and resumed spinning. Neither of them were able to find much comfort with Regina stalking the town by night. Rumpel tried to find peace with his spinning, but she could tell he was frustrated and distracted even with that. She threaded her fingers through his hair and that seemed to relax him a bit. "Did you tell him about the plan?"

"Yes. He wants to do it." Rumpel exhaled roughly. He shared her feelings in wanting to keep Henry out of it. Even if it meant taking down Regina, Henry's life was not a price they were willing to pay for it. It made this intensifying war all the harder to fight since their options were terribly limited.

"Of course he does. He would love nothing more than for us to save the day." He rubbed a hand over his exhausted eyes. Emma ceased running her fingers through his hair.

"Are you suggesting that he doesn't understand the consequences of what he's agreeing to?" Henry was wise for his age. She had to admit that sometimes it was hard to remember he was merely eleven years old. Rumpel half-turned on his stool to meet her eye. The sudden movement made her fall against his chest and he caught her by the waist. She put her knee on the stool, between his legs, and took advantage of his support.

"I'm suggesting…that he's already turning out to be a fine knight. Your father is training him well. Don't tell him I said that." She shook her head in amusement.

"You might find this hard to believe, but my father knows you like him more than you're willing to admit. He likes you, too." No matter how he tried to hide his face with his hair, she noticed the blush rising to his cheeks. She felt the amusement between them dry up all too quickly after that. Even in the safety of their home, Regina's overhanging presence in the town had poisoned any good feeling that threatened to grow. He rubbed the back of her leg, but it didn't feel like he was conscious of doing it.

Emma dropped her knee from the stool and straightened up. They were both thinking about what needed to be done.

"So, how do we arrange a meeting with Regina?" Wordlessly, Rumpel rose from his stool and escorted her to a tall, thin object in the corner of the basement. A velvet burgundy cloth draped it from top to bottom, the extra layers of cloth pooling on the gray cement floor. He whipped off the cloth, revealing the full-length mirror underneath. Carved wooden swirls framed the glass. It appeared to be an ancient mirror, derived from the mystical world of the Enchanted Forest. Emma traced one of the wooden swirls with a finger and she sensed the magic brimming within it.

"Remember when I explained to you that Regina uses mirrors to spy on others?" Emma stared hard into the mirror. She remembered his explanation well. It was the reason her husband avoided mirrors like the plague in their house. He leaned against the edge of the mirror, leaving her reflection standing alone in the glass. "If she has access to a looking glass, she'll hear you."

It sent a chill down Emma's back, the thought of having less privacy in their home than she assumed. Was Regina watching and listening at that moment? She almost wanted to drape the cloth over the mirror again.

"Regina?" She expected something magical to happen, something like Regina's reflection replacing her own. Minutes slipped by and Emma held her breath. Even Rumpel ducked his head around the mirror to check if anything had changed. The mirror passed for an ordinary one. She glanced uneasily at Rumpel, but all he did was wiggle his fingers, encouraging her onward. "Regina, I don't know whether you're listening…but I considered your ultimatum. As savior, I don't want anyone to get hurt. Not my son and not the people of this town. You win. Meet me in the cemetery at noon tomorrow. Henry will be there. I won't come unarmed because I know for a fact that you won't, either. I do, however, want this fighting to stop. If this is what needs to be done to make that happen, then so be it."

There was nothing more she wished to say to the Evil Queen. Whether Regina received the message or not, her move had been made on the chessboard. She was about to ask Rumpel what they should do next, but he fervently tossed the cloth over the mirror and held a finger to his lips. Together, they ascended the basement stairs. Rumpel halted on the bottom step to banish that crooked nail. They crept into bed, careful not to disturb Henry along the way, and Emma felt relief when his arms snaked around her waist to hold her tight as they spooned.

"What now?" It felt safe enough to ask. She felt his lips brush the nape of her neck.

"Now we wait and see if our fish bites the hook." Her hand sought out his upon her belly.

"Do you think anyone will die tonight?" Inevitably, she looked toward their bedroom window. The glass was coated in frost and there was nothing but blackness beyond it. The town of Storybrooke was sleeping, but how many of its citizens would be allowed to wake in the morning? She hoped the mock surrender would stay Regina's hand.

"That's up to her." Her husband did not sound so optimistic.

…

Regina smirked into her mirror as the oh-so-high-and-mighty savior all but fell to her knees in fealty. That was more like it. At last, she had emerged from her prim and proper fantasy and seen that she was incapable of protecting the townspeople of Storybrooke. Now she practically begged her to take Henry away. It was glorious to behold. Regina savored every drop of the savior's distress and loathing like a bitter wine. Could the little hero not bear the guilt of selfishly keeping Henry and letting Belle's father die? _He might still be alive if you had only given Henry to me in the first place. _

With a flick of her wrist, the savior's golden image faded from the mirror, darkening into Regina's own reflection. Regina paced the length of the room, wondering how to proceed. With caution, most definitely. Henry wasn't in her hands yet. How could she not take the leap and risk never getting Henry at all? She would attend that meeting the next morning. The cemetery at noontime. Belle's father's funeral was being held in the morning. Perhaps she would arrive early and pay her respects.

But wait. She stopped pacing, a new worry festering inside her black heart.

What if this was a trap? A deceitful plan to capture her and lock her up once and for all? She would rot in a dreary cell, easily forgotten. The worry only increased the more she thought about it. After all, where was Rumpelstiltskin during his little wife's surrender? She would have preferred to watch both fall to their knees. The gloating would certainly be sweeter if that imp surrendered alongside the savior. It was unlikely that she would surrender without consulting her husband.

And she even admitted that she would not come unarmed! It did not startle her that they assumed she could not be trusted, but how could she be certain that gun would stay holstered on the Sheriff's hip? What if she brought others along with her and they tried cornering her? What if Rumpelstiltskin attempted to wield his magic? She was powerful, but she had never defeated him before. And he never let her forget it.

There were too many variables. It would be utterly foolish to dive in headfirst, to chase Henry like a dog would chase a bone on a string. It wouldn't hurt to take precautions.

…..

He didn't do it every night, but sometimes King George drove past the Charmings' apartment building at night and thought sinister things about them. They thought they were so perfect, so above everyone else in town. He had offered that shepherd the life his son had and what did the shepherd do? Scoffed and threw it back in his face. He chose that uptight fugitive Snow White. He chose _true love _over a kingdom and eternal riches.

Their daughter was no better. What made her so special? The person that had named her savior was the same infernal man that put a child in her belly. How could everyone in town be so blind to not see that their savior only cared about herself and her family's safety? Everyone else was expendable, herded along at every turn like the lambs that shepherd once managed.

George was so distracted by his hatred of the Charmings that he didn't notice there was someone standing in the middle of the road. He would have hit her with his car if he hadn't turned his attention from the apartment building at that moment. The headlights illuminated the face. It was the Queen. Any other person might have sped up or ran to the Charmings, but King George remained calm and collected behind the wheel as she walked around to the passenger's side and got in.

Evil people needed to stick together.

Silently they drove on until they were a good distance away from the Charmings' apartment building. King George stopped the car near the harbor. There was no one around at this time of night to catch them together.

"I doubt you slipped into my car with the intention of a one-night stand. Not even I am that desperate enough to get involved with you in the way your pet Sheriff did. So, what else is on your mind?"

Regina brushed her hair away from her pale face. George curled his lip at the sight of the black leather gloves covering her hands. It wasn't as though she could benefit from them. If anyone turned up dead, she would be the first suspect. And he never knew Regina to be affected by Maine's cold air. Even the forces of nature knew better than to challenge her. The only purpose of gloves was dirty business.

"What a coincidence, meeting you in front of their apartment building. I happened to be doing the same as you: keeping my enemies in check," she said, shrugging carelessly. He narrowed his eyelids and wondered how much of it was true. With Regina, it was impossible to tell. She could pass as a pathological liar. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, refusing to be intimidated.

"You told me you were going to use him to bring down Snow White once upon a time," he said bitterly. He had wanted to confront her about it for a very long time. Why must she get her happy ending while he lacked one? "Yet she lives, without concern save for you. I could have taken my revenge on that shepherd long ago, before they ever produced that golden child we're meant to call _savior_."

Everything he and his one true son, James, worked hard for, gone because some lowly shepherd-turned-prince decided to throw it all away for love. He could have burned that miserable farm, killed that pathetic old woman, destroyed everything the shepherd dared to love. Regina had the audacity to roll her eyes and he wished to gauge them out.

"After I get my son, I'll personally wipe your son off the face of this world. I'll save you a front row seat." George knew better than to jump on that offer without thinking twice.

"He's _not_ my son," he growled. His only son died in the Enchanted Forest. Charming was just a happy-go-lucky fool with the same face. All of a sudden, he wanted to be done with Regina and whatever she had planned. "Quit stalling. Don't deny the fact that you've already made up your mind to kill me."

Why else would she have appeared before him? To use him, manipulate him, and then discard him. As far as he knew, no one had been killed tonight. And the Evil Queen was sitting in _his_ car, those merciless hands folded carefully in her lap.

Regina smiled coldly.

"If you insist. You'll be serving a good cause." And she leaped over the junction between their seats to thrust her hand in his chest.

…..

The morning of Maurice's funeral was damp and icy, as though all the world were mourning his loss and denying even one glimmer of sunshine to peek through the clouds. The streets were slick with puddles, the windows of every car glazed with frost. The skies above were charcoal-gray. Any moment now, it looked like the clouds would open up and dump buckets of rainwater over the heads of everyone that huddled around Maurice's black casket. The blood-red roses at the base of the casket were the only bright things amidst the sea of dark bodies. They were the same roses that Jefferson meant to give to Belle, but he generously offered them for her father's funeral since they had already been paid for.

Emma tucked the layers of her black wool jacket tighter around her chest and belly as the wind blew, chilling her to the bone. More than once, her fingers dug inside her pocket to check if the scroll was still there. She kept Henry steadily between her and Rumpel throughout the entire funeral. Rumpel's hand never once left Henry's shoulder, as though he was afraid his son would slip through his fingers like smoke the minute he let go. Not even the fact that they wore matching suits cheered her up that miserable morning. Neal had given a pitiful shake of the head when he saw the resemblance in wardrobe. If anything, he should be thankful he wasn't fourteen or else he might have been clad in the same thing.

Rumpel's eyes remained dry during the funeral, but Emma noticed that he winced with regret every time he dared to glance Belle's way. One time, Emma followed his sad gaze to see the brunette breaking down at last on Jefferson's shoulder, his arms supporting her quivering body. Emma's heart squeezed painfully and she could not bear to look a second time. Many times Rumpel had insisted that Maurice's death wasn't her fault, but still she felt guilty.

Did Maurice even know the reason why he died that night?

Rumpel must have noticed her guilty expression. Hooking his cane over his arm, he moved to stand behind Henry. He kept one hand on Henry's left shoulder and reached down to take Emma's hand with the other one. She waited for him to whisper that it wasn't her fault. That it was okay. But his lips remained glued together and he did not say anything at all. She had heard all those things before. She figured he was clever enough to understand that she didn't need to hear them again. For a heartbeat, she squeezed his hand back. The offer of his hand was his sign of support. It said _I'm here _and _I'll bear it with you. _That was what she needed—support, not coddling.

When the funeral ended after what seemed like an eternity, many people were courteous enough to place a rose on Maurice's casket. Red, Archie, Granny, her parents, the dwarfs, even Neal and his new friend gathered in a tight circle around Belle to tell her how sorry they were for her father's passing. Belle accepted the array of condolences with her chin held high despite the tears streaking her flushed cheeks.

Then, she turned in Emma's direction. Belle's body began to tremble again as Jefferson led her carefully by the arm. Grace was in tow, her head bent low and her steps quickening as she passed the casket. Emma sucked in a cold breath of air through the nose. She, too, would express her regrets, which ran considerably deeper than anyone else could express in Storybrooke.

"Belle," Emma hesitantly spoke when the brunette finally stopped by her side. She forced herself to look into those wet blue eyes. Rumpel crumbled beneath them and he hung his head. "I am so sorry. I never meant for anyone in this town to die, least of all your father."

To Emma's alarm, Belle stepped into her arms and embraced her, leaning over her extended belly. Tears stained the fabric of Emma's jacket and Emma awkwardly returned the hug, patting Belle on the back. Hugging still wasn't very big on her list of public intimacy. Rumpel was kind enough to offer Belle his black handkerchief when she lifted her head from Emma's shoulder.

"I don't blame you, Emma," Belle reassured her as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. The way she said made it seem like an obvious fact of life. It shocked Emma more than if Belle had slapped her across the face. "I blame _Regina_. She's stolen too much from the people of this town. You did what you had to do for the safety of your child. You've given everything as savior and lost even more. You should be entitled to that much."

"Thank you," Emma mumbled, awed by Belle's praise. Rumpel once said it wasn't in Belle's nature to hold a grudge or point accusing fingers. She simply chose to rise above it and make something good out of it. "I am trying to keep everyone safe. I meant what I said at the meeting—I won't stop fighting."

If luck was on their side, Regina might even be locked up by the end of the day, never to harm anyone again.

"Don't," Belle said softly. "It takes more strength to continue fighting than to give up the fight completely. You should admire it." She tried to hand back the handkerchief to Rumpel, but he enclosed it in her fist.

"Keep it," he insisted. She looked unsure about it, but he was adamant. "Just in case you need it. I have more handkerchiefs than that one." Belle agreeably clenched the handkerchief and gave Rumpel a small embrace as well. On that sad day, Emma turned her head to give them their own private moment and did not protest. Belle deserved comfort after all Regina had put her through recently.

The crowd dispersed from the cemetery. Granny was supposed to be hosting an after-party at the diner in Maurice's memory, but Emma wondered if Belle would even survive it. If anything, Belle would put on a brave face for the people of Storybrooke, kindly accept their condolences, and then let her walls down behind closed doors. Emma consulted the clock tower in the distance for the time—11:30. Already she scanned the row of lonely headstones, searching for any sign of an overlarge crow in their midst. Would Regina arrive early? Or would she find satisfaction in making Emma wait?

Her parents stayed behind after everyone else headed for the street. Emma had informed them of her plan that morning and how Henry had agreed. At first they objected before coming to the conclusion that neither Emma nor Henry would be moved on the subject. When Emma began reconsidering, Henry only strengthened his defense. Both desperately wanted this war to end.

Snow and Charming approached them with caution. As soon as she was close enough, Snow took Emma's face in her hands and stared into the green eyes that she had inherited.

"Are you certain you should do this alone?" Technically, Emma wasn't alone since Henry and Rumpel would stand beside her to meet Regina, but the underlying message was crystal clear. If Emma needed their help to fight, all she had to do was say so. But she shook her head, escaping her mother's touch.

"You can't be here. If it doesn't immediately please her that you're surrendering with me, it means she'll know something is up. You've never given into her that way before."

"Neither have you," Charming said. Somewhere behind his grim expression, she sensed he was proud of her for never giving up the fight. She had their blood running in her veins. Giving up was not an option. Snow and Charming both gave her one last kiss on the forehead. They did the same for Henry. Emma watched them leave, their reluctance coming through loud and clear as their feet trudged through the muddy ground.

It was time for the battle to begin.

"Aww, isn't that sweet?" They hadn't even heard her appear. The three of them turned to see Regina standing beside Maurice's casket. She was sneering down at the pile of roses adorning it. "Perhaps after you hand over Henry, I'll personally send her my condolences." She plucked a fresh rose from the bouquet and it curdled into ash in her fingers. Regina's taunting did not sit well with Rumpel. Revulsion rippled across his face and he started for her, his palm blossoming and outstretched, Regina tossed her dark head back and cackled as Emma wrestled him back by the elbow. Her heels dragged through the mud. He was stronger than he looked.

"Well, well. Seems you're not as willing to surrender as you claim." Her eyes were impenetrable diamonds hoping to flay apart their souls. They only softened when she looked upon Henry.

"No," Emma admitted, drawing Henry closer to her. From her pocket, she unfurled the scroll. "Every word I told you was the truth. I want the fighting to end. Henry is here, like I promised—I never said I'd let you take him. I'm sorry it has to come to this, Regina."

She opened her mouth wide and prepared to blow on the scroll, just as Rumpel had instructed. According to him, doing so would release the magic within the ink and it would trap Regina immediately upon contact. And yet, she paused with the breath caught in her throat, because Regina did not appear furious or shocked or betrayed. She appeared rather confident, which sent Emma's alarms haywire.

Why wasn't she fighting back?

"I could say the same thing to you," Regina said and conjured something black and moving inside her hand. It took Emma a lot of head-tilting and squinting to ultimately recognize what it was. Judging from Rumpel's sharp inhale and his restless fidgeting, he already had. It was a heart. Emma's insides knotted and she couldn't bring herself to release the breath that would send the scroll's magic flurrying. Slipping her hand inside her jacket, Regina revealed a letter-opener and posed it over the throbbing heart. "You warned me that you would not come unarmed. I suspected you would set a trap for me. Turns out I was right."

Henry shook his head in wordless horror and curled into Emma's side. Emma glanced between the scroll in her hand and the heart that rested in Regina's. If she used the scroll, who was to say Regina wouldn't plunge that blade into the heart before she was ensnared? Even if it was black, Emma didn't want to gamble with the life of the owner of that heart.

"Whose heart is that?" Emma jerked her chin toward the heart. Rumpel was studying the heart with a furrowed brow. She wondered if he already suspected the answer. How many people in town had black hearts? Someone that attended the funeral?

"Glad you asked," Regina said and waved the letter-opener to the patch of grass to her left. The blade gleamed dangerously, a slice of silver amongst everything else gray and black. A puff of purple smoke welled up from the grass. When it parted, King George stood beside Regina, wobbling unsteadily on his feet and his hands bound by chains of magic. A snarl twisted his face.

"No wonder the other royals never favored your company, Your Majesty. You treat us like turkeys on Thanksgiving morning," he complained loudly, waving his bound fists in her face. She swatted him away with the dagger, as though he were little more than a bothersome housefly. That was the way Regina viewed everyone in the world—pesky flies for her swatting pleasure.

"Go ahead, use the scroll. I'll take him with me," Regina threatened.

Most people would not have been hurt by such a threat since most people in town did not have great love for King George. But even if Emma did not like the unruly king, she could never wish death on anyone. Her lips parted again, a gulp of air ready, but then her lips came together. She didn't want George's death on her hands any more than she would want the deaths of the townspeople. He was a citizen all the same, even if no one else liked it. It meant she was responsible for his safety, too. What kind of person would she be if she simply let him die?

She couldn't.

She felt her husband's eyes on her hands as he waited for her to trap Regina. If the scroll were in his hands, he wouldn't have hesitated. But the choice was hers alone…and she couldn't do it. It was her flaw more than her virtue—even if she was setting herself up for destruction, she wanted to save everyone.

"Emma, there is nothing you can do for him. Chances are, she'll kill him even if you give in to her demands. Let him die," Rumpel advised. Her fingers crinkled the edges of the scroll. That was exactly the kind of thing she did not want to hear and it only inspired her to save George more.

"Now I remember why I never invited you to my castle more often, imp. You would bow like a gentleman at one turn and poison my tea at another," George scowled. Rumpel ignored the king's accusations. Meanwhile, Henry had ripped away from Emma's side and was growing frantic.

"No, that can't be the right way! If we don't try to save him, it's as much our fault as hers when she kills him," Henry objected, pleading with Rumpel with his wide brown eyes. Rumpel tilted his head back to the cloudy sky and dared not to give in to his son's cries. So Henry switched to Emma. "Please, Mom! I don't want anyone else to die for me. She won't hurt me." When Emma realized what he was implying, she nearly dropped the scroll then and there.

"Sweet kid you have there," George commented dryly. Regina's face had soured when Henry called Emma "Mom", but now she looked down at him with something like relief. It dug under Emma's skin like an unreachable itch to understand that Regina thought she was getting her way.

"That's right, Henry. I won't hurt you. If you come with me, everything will be fine. You'll see." She didn't put the heart or the letter-opener down. When she tried to take a step closer to Henry, Rumpel shifted his body in front of him, shielding him from Regina.

"There is no such thing as _fine _in your world, Regina. Hell would be a more suitable respite than your care," he hissed. Regina retreated to her original spot, her lip trembling from the rejection. Emma swore the tip of the blade descended an inch.

"Make your move," she barked at Emma impatiently. Emma surveyed her son and husband tensely, both encouraging her to walk down separate paths. She wanted to much to protect Henry, but the responsibility of savior was ingrained in her system from day one. Rumpel or Henry. The heart…or the scroll.

She threw the scroll down at Regina's feet.

Henry dashed into her arms and she clung to him fiercely, whispering _I'm sorry _into his hair. Rumpel dove for the scroll, but Regina buried the silver blade in George's leg and snatched up the scroll first. Rumpel's hand swiped across the grass and mud, too little too late. As George collapsed on the ground, writhing and howling in agony with the hilt of the letter-opener protruding from his thigh, Regina did what Emma failed to do.

She blew heavily on the scroll.

The elegant letters that spelled Emma's name lifted from the page, the essence of the magic swarming in the air around Rumpel and trapping him in an icy blue aura. His feet were planted on the ground, his arms awkwardly extended before him. With a little silver dust and without the blue aura, he might have resembled the Tin Man after the Tin Man had rusted in place.

"Ah, no," he muttered through his clenched teeth, attempting to break free. It was no use. The only parts of his body he could move were his eyes and his mouth. "The last time this happened, I forgot what it was like to feel anything below the neck."

Emma felt a wave of sympathy wash over her. She touched her husband's arm, but it was stone stiff. She even tried pushing him over, but he never budged an inch. That squid ink was powerful stuff.

"You got what you wanted, you crazy bitch," George huffed from where he rolled on the ground. His hand gripped the handle of the letter-opener, but he had yet to pull it out of his leg. "Heal me and hold your end of the bargain. I want to witness that lousy shepherd take his last breath."

Emma's hands tightened over the juncture between Rumpel's shoulder and neck until he warned her to ease up. She wondered if he was capable of passing out while stuck that way, assuming she ever hit a pressure point. She wanted to lunge at King George and make him regret ever wishing for her father's death. It was no wonder his heart was filled with darkness if he freely gave it to Regina for the purpose of revenge. His arrogance was his downfall.

"Don't worry," Regina crooned. "I'm prepared to give you exactly what you deserve."

Emma knew what was about to happen, so she pulled Henry against her stomach and covered his face with her arms. She couldn't close her eyes as Regina's nails tore into George's heart and reduced it to dust within seconds. George let out one last howl, his hand released the hilt of the blade, and his head dropped back onto the patch of grass. His cruel eyes were already becoming glassy and dull.

_No…_

"It's not your fault, Emma. It's always her," Rumpel said, but Emma wasn't listening. She was too busy watching Regina wipe the dust from her palms.

"Your turn," Regina said, setting her sights on Emma. A sizzling fireball burst to life in her hand. Rumpel unleashed an anguished cry and struggled ten times harder against his binds. Beads of sweat or tears—it was difficult to tell which—rolled across his cheek. All Emma could do was hold onto Henry dearly. No matter what happened, she would not let him go.

"Stop," Henry shouted at the top of his lungs. He broke free of his mother's arm, much to her dismay. He strode toward Regina with his hands raised. The fireball in her hand dimmed, but did not fade completely. "I'll go with you, but only if you stop trying to hurt my family!"

"Henry—" Emma pleaded with him to return to her arms. She reached for his shoulder, but he took another step closer to Regina. He shouldn't have to make the choice he was making. Rumpel looked as broken as she felt, unable to prevent the disastrous events taking place.

Henry turned back around to face her, acceptance shining in his eyes. He spoke far wiser than his eleven years.

"I'm grateful that you want to protect me, but this is my choice. I'm tired of all the fighting. If this is the price for stopping it and for keeping everyone safe, then I'll pay it. The hero always puts the well-being of others before his own." There was nothing she could say or do to change Henry's mind except drag him from the cemetery. This was Henry's way of being a hero. The flame in Regina's hand died out.

"Yes, Henry. That is all I've ever wanted. You will be enough. Come with me and I will let your family be," Regina promised, extending her hand. Emma regarded her dubiously, but Henry readily took ahold of her hand. The deal was sealed. Regina pulled Henry into her arms. "Enjoy your second one," Regina told Emma, nodding to Emma's swollen belly.

"No," she murmured. She admired the fact that Henry was being a hero for everyone in Storybrooke, taking after those in his family line, but she couldn't let Henry go this way. As a mother, she refused. A cloud of purple fog enveloped Henry and Regina. She bolted across the damp grass and thrust her hands into the purple cloud, but her hands were empty when it cleared.

Henry was gone.

Gone….with Regina.

No…

Her legs wobbled, her knees buckled. She could barely stand. Her knees met the cold, moist ground, patches of dew soaking through her jeans. She bent her head and tried to keep down the bile rising in her throat. How could she have failed so miserably? What was to stop Regina from raining fireballs over their heads now? It was doubtful she would keep her promise, even if she had made it to Henry.

"Emma," her husband called. If he were able to move, he would have been at her side in that instant. "She will not hurt him. We _will_ find a way to get Henry back." Emma's nails scraped the ground, her fingers curling into fists. Then she forced herself to get up from the ground. This wasn't the end. Regina didn't win the war yet.

"I will find him," she vowed. She went to stand in front of her husband. Her hands absently roamed his chest, pulling his lapels, pushing his shoulders, and tugging on his arms, but there was no severing the magical binds holding him in place. "I will get him back. I have to. There's no way I can stop fighting now just because…"

Her words trailed away. The final syllable broke, her voice shaking and betraying her pain.

"It's the most painful feeling in the world, isn't it? Losing a child," Rumpel said mournfully. That feeling was enough to break Emma's heart ten times over. He spoke from experience, having endured the loss of a child for centuries. The understanding he bestowed on her, combined with his own grief, shook Emma to the core.

Her defenses shattered, the hardened mask she had been constructing crumbling into dust. Her body violently shuddered and her head sank onto her husband's shoulder, the flood of tears soaking his neck. He wished he could hold her while she grieved. At the very least, he gave her all the time she needed to gather her emotions and ease her pain. Losing a child was not something that could be healed or dismissed in the blink of an eye.

Finally, Emma gained control of her senses and allowed her head to rise from Rumpel's shoulder. She blinked away the stinging, hot moisture from her eyes. From her pocket, she took an old crumpled napkin and dabbed her eyelids.

"How long will it take for the squid ink to wear off?" The blue aura surrounding his limbs and torso did not look like it was thinning.

"Truthfully? I have no idea. I wrote your name on that scroll dozens of times. That's a lot of squid ink," he admitted. His lips puckered in a serious pout and his eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets, but even his head would not move. The tip of his nose wriggled and she wondered if he was testing it out or if he was about to sneeze. She stepped a little to the left, just in case. "Emma, would you be kind enough to do me a favor?"

She raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Depends. What is it?"

"Care to itch my nose?" So that was why his nose was twitching. It wasn't the strangest request he could give her, considering he couldn't move at all. She acquiesced, using a finger to scratch the tip of his nose. "Ooh, ah, yeah…that feels splendid, dear." Emma sighed and plopped down on the grass. She struggled not to think about George's corpse a few feet away. Someone would have to bury him.

"Guess we'll have to wait and see how long it takes you to move," she said to Rumpel, dropping her head in her hands.

_One hour later…_

"Emma?" Rumpel called. She was practicing her magic by making the wadded napkin float in the air. It was hard to keep it suspended an inch or more for even a few seconds. Her concentration broke and the napkin fell.

"Yeah?" She glanced up to the spot where Rumpel still stood frozen, a black and white statue among the headstones.

"I can wiggle my toes."

…..

"What should we drink next?" Ariel asked Bae, holding her empty glass in the air. The only thing she drank so far was a glass or two of wine. It was nothing special or expensive, only cheap white wine, but she treated it like the best drink in all the world. They must not be familiar with alcoholic drinks under the sea.

"What would you like to try?" She had been taste-testing Granny's food all through the afternoon. From a rainbow selection of fruit to triangular finger sandwiches to lasagna.

She perused the menu and decided to order a pina colada. Red and Bae exchanged wary glances. Bae considered warning the mermaid that it wasn't the best idea to drink so much so early in the afternoon. Before leaving to fill the order, Red brought her lips close to his ear and whispered that she would fix up a virgin pina colada for Ariel. He felt a little better after that. It wasn't like he was trying to get Ariel drunk. This was the first time they dined together and he didn't want to mess it up. Or get hitched like his father and ex-girlfriend did.

As they waited for Ariel's drink, Bae looked around the diner. The after-party had ended a half-hour ago and not many people had stayed behind, even for the leftovers. Belle had bravely stuck it out through the entire event, forcing smiles and sipping wine, but whenever she had been left alone, she would grow distant. Even Grace could not seem to hold Belle's attention for very long while she was folding her napkin into origami. She, Jefferson, and Grace had departed from the diner after everyone else.

Bae hoped she would be alright.

"It's so sad how that girl lost her father," Ariel said, voicing his thoughts aloud. He looked across the table and noticed her solemn expression. Even though Ariel did not know Belle personally or did not understand how high the stakes were nowadays, she still expressed her condolences to Belle after the funeral. The dark cloud that hovered over the town had not yet dissipated. Even a newcomer like Ariel was not oblivious to it.

"Belle? Yeah, it hasn't been easy on her lately," he replied.

According to his father, it was all because of Regina. Not only had Belle been locked away by the Queen for thirty years counting the curse, but she had also been tortured by the mother-daughter duo and now lost her father as a result of Regina's cruel intentions. As far as Bae could tell, Belle never once griped about the damage done to her. She never pitched a fit, she never even cried publicly except for the funeral. Bae didn't think it was very healthy for Belle to shove it down inside. Everyone got mad and emotionally hurt sometimes, but he hadn't witnessed that particular side of Belle.

"I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost my father, especially so tragically. You?" Her shoulders sagged. With a tiny tilt of the head, the thick red layers of her hair spiraled across her cheek. He longed to brush it back over her shoulder, but he didn't know if she would welcome the gesture or be startled by it.

His train of thought gloomily switched from Ariel's hair to his father. They had made a truce of sorts, but he found it impossible to forget the centuries of being fatherless.

"You know, for a long time my father and I haven't been on good terms. It had been…years since I've seen him before coming to Storybrooke. But if something ever happened to him and I found out he….died….nothing would ever be the same. After all, he did a hell of a job raising me by himself until I was fourteen. We lived on his spinner's wages in a humble village in the Enchanted Forest. Some nights, when his weekly earnings weren't great, he even went without food so I could eat properly. Despite our falling out, I would still miss him if he was gone."

Ariel smiled. He began to feel that dark cloud fade, if only a little.

"For someone that had a falling out with his father, you sound very fond of him," she pointed out. Bae shrugged. Even after all the hurt his father caused him by letting him drop into that portal, there was a part of him that loved him. It was his _father_. How could he not feel anything?

Fortunately, his thoughts were interrupted when Red delivered Ariel's drink. A half-full coffeepot was in her other hand and she generously refilled Bae's empty mug. It had been sitting on the table with a ring of coffee on the bottom, but he had forgotten it completely while talking to Ariel. He had formed a habit for drinking the stuff a while ago. That, and pizza. He dumped two sugars in the coffee, emptied a small tub of creamer, and stirred it with a spoon. Ariel playfully twirled the small paper umbrella that came with her drink.

"I've never seen one so tiny! Sometimes when I popped my head out of the water, I would see these on the beach, sticking out of the sand. People would lie underneath them, but they were always so much bigger. This could suit a cricket!" Bae hid his chuckle behind his hand.

"Turns out he already has one. Have you met Jiminy Cricket?" Bae described Storybrooke's therapist—curly redhead, spectacles, the man whose arm Red had been happily hanging—and Ariel's eyes brightened with recognition. It was surreal to Bae to remember that Archie was really a cricket.

Tucking her red hair behind her ear, Ariel wove the umbrella into the hair on the right side of her head. The pink umbrella matched nicely with her hair. Bae said he liked the decoration, even if other people in the diner cast her odd looks over their menus and drinks. Like a woman wearing a paper umbrella in her hair was the weirdest thing that ever happened in this town.

"Now if only I had…" Ariel's fingers combed through her hair restlessly. She scanned the table for something and gasped when she found it. "Oh, this is exactly what I need! I remember using one of these before!"

She snatched up her fork from her napkin and started to guide the silver tines through her long hair. Behind the bar, Granny looked like she was about to have a heart attack. Bae quickly reached across the table and caught the hand that held the fork. Much to her confusion, he gently urged her hand back down to the table.

"I forgot about that," he said, taking the fork from her hand. He placed it back on her napkin and wondered if Granny would be kind enough to offer a new one—without red hairs. Seizing his own fork, he brought it close to his lips. Someone had to teach her. "Forks aren't generally used for brushing your hair."

"Forks?" Ariel's nose twitched at the unfamiliar word. Bae recalled that she did not use the same label for the utensil as they did above water. What was it she called it? Think Disney, think Disney…oh, right. Dingle-hopper.

"Yes, this is called a fork. You use it to eat." It would have been easier if he had a plate of food sitting in front of him, but he would simply have to make do with what imagination. But how to explain the concept of using a fork? It was common sense to humans in this world, so it was incredibly tricky to explain in words. "See these tines?" He ran his finger over the row of silver tines. "You stab these tines into the piece of food you want to eat and then you put it in your mouth. Like…this."

He pretended to poke his fork into a piece of food and shoved the fork into his mouth. He even mimicked chewing so she would get the idea. He didn't chance looking at Granny behind the bar. At this point, she must be questioning their sanity if they were combing their hair with forks and pretending to eat food.

"Oh, I see," Ariel said. Claiming her fork again, she copied his action in pretending to eat. She put the fork in her mouth and she feigned chewing. "Ow!" She stopped to stick her fingers in her mouth and probed her tongue. "I think I bit my tongue."

"This demonstration probably would have worked better if we were actually eating food," he admitted apologetically while she massaged her tongue. This was his chance—they could turn this into a real afternoon lunch date. Something good could come out of this sad day. "Would you like to share some food? I'll pay."

He didn't have much money to his name, but he would happily use it to please Ariel. Since he was staying in Storybrooke indefinitely, he was working on finding a decent job in order to get some money. He refused to take anything from his father, no matter how wealthy he claimed to be. Not only did he wish his father to use his wealth to care for Emma, Henry, and their unborn child, but it was one of the promises he secretly made to himself after falling in that portal—never to depend so greatly on his father again.

"I would like that," Ariel agreed. He was glad to hear it, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Even he had to admit that Ariel was quirky and awkward sometimes while she learned the ways of the world above water, but he also enjoyed every minute of the time he spent by her side. She was like no other girl he met before and it had little to do with the fact that she popped a tail every now and then.

"After we get something to eat, would you like me to give you an official tour of the town?" Ariel glanced up over her menu. She appeared ready to float right out of her seat, her body rising so much over the tabletop.

"That would be lovely." Bae smiled, making a mental list of all the places he would show her first. There was Storybrooke's main street, lined with dozens of shops. It would be a good idea to stop at Modern Fashions for extra clothing for Ariel, especially since his father was unable to provide undergarments. There was the harbor, the clock tower that overlooked the entire town, the woods...

Something buzzed inside Bae's jeans. It was his phone. He had switched it to vibrate during the funeral and forgot to switch the ringer on afterwards. He seriously hoped it was one of those annoying telemarketers. Digging it out of his pocket, he checked the screen for caller ID. Emma. He didn't want to be forced to choose between his ex-girlfriend and Ariel, but what if it was important news about Regina?

"I'll be right back," he told Ariel and scooted out of the booth. He made a hasty beeline for the door, heading into the alley beside Granny's Diner where he could have a little more privacy. "Emma? What's going on?"

"Meet me at my parents' apartment," she demanded without missing a beat. Her tone was strictly final, leaving no room for negotiation. He slowly paced in a circle, picturing Ariel waiting for him inside the diner. It had been going so well, too.

"Look, Emma, unless it's urgent, I happen to be on a lunch date-"

"It's urgent," she cut him off. This time, she sounded on the verge of tears. The next thing he heard was the dull dial tone in his ear. She had hung up. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he paced in a circle again, nearly knocking over a trashcan with his frantic movements. He planted his palms on the brick wall behind him and cursed under his breath. If Emma insisted it was an urgent matter, he couldn't risk not showing up to hear her out. Had something gone wrong with Regina? What if it was Henry or her baby?

He lowered his hands from the wall and shuffled his feet on the sidewalk, slipping back into the diner to tell Ariel the unfortunate news. There went his plans of showing her the town.

...

It was late afternoon by the time the squid ink completely wore off, allowing Rumpel to move. She called the dwarfs to request that they politely bury King George's body—that is, if they hadn't drunk too much at the after-party. There were several missed call alerts waiting on her phone from her parents, but Emma didn't have the energy or proper mindset to return any of them. Losing Henry to Regina was not a topic she wanted to discuss over the phone. The only call she made was to Bae and that was to tell him to meet her at her parents' apartment. She hung up without bothering to explain.

They didn't exchange many words during the ride from the cemetery. Since the cramps and stiffness had yet to subside from Rumpel's limbs, Emma opted to drive. The only times their silence broke was when she planted her foot too hard on the gas pedal and he warned her to slow down. She was furious and heartbroken and the last thing she desired to do was talk about what happened with Henry. She never meant to shut out Rumpel, but she shied away from his comfort for fear of breaking down entirely. There was little else he could say to lessen her pain after acknowledging that he knew how it felt to lose a child, so he chose to leave her to her thoughts.

When they pulled up outside the apartment building, Emma leaped out of the car and slammed the door hard enough to make the noise echo down the street. Rumpel followed in her wake as she mounted the stairs, each step pounding beneath her boots. He shared her grief over Henry, but she was the one that expressed her grief loudly. In the private corners of his mind, he could not stop replaying the scene of Regina taking Henry, his knuckles curling over his cane all the while. It made him sick at heart to lose Henry, his boy, and not be able to do anything about it.

If he ever encountered Regina again, he would not hesitate to kill her. Slowly.

He barely registered it when the apartment door swung open and Snow admitted them inside. He was numb all over, detached from his body, even as he passed over the threshold. This out-of-body feeling, this sensation of illness and helplessness was exactly how he felt after he lost Bae. Speaking of his other son, Bae was there, perched on the edge of a white chair. He looked up when they entered, but Rumpel felt sick again upon meeting those brown eyes. How many children must he lose? He had the overwhelming urge to put his hand on Emma's belly, to remind himself that there was yet another one on the way. They'd lost Morraine.

"Emma," Charming sighed happily and pulled his daughter into his arms, where she was bound to be most secure. His hand instinctively cradled her head as if she had reverted to a newborn. Both Snow and Charming showered Emma with affection as often as they could and Rumpel was glad. They should be grateful for every waking moment they had with their daughter.

When Charming pulled back, his ocean-blue eyes searched around for something behind Emma and Rumpel. Rumpel automatically knew what he was looking for. He dreaded the loaded question that was forming on the prince's lips.

"Where's Henry?"

Emma retreated from her parents, closing herself off as firmly as she had with Rumpel. He directed his sullen gaze to the ground, though he sensed several pairs of eyes roaming his face for answers.

"Papa?" For an instant, Bae's voice resembled that of his fourteen-year-old self, tiny and fearful. Hesitant as they were to put the truth on the table for everyone to see, their remorse was ear-shattering. The walls and ceiling felt like they were closing in over their heads. It didn't take long for everyone in the room to put together the scattered pieces of the puzzle. The picture was nowhere near pleasing.

"No…" Snow whimpered. Emma closed her eyes. Her lack of answer said it all. "Oh, Emma, no." Snow reached out to take Emma's hand, but Emma yanked away. The rejection hurt Snow worse than the ugly truth of Henry being in Regina's hands. That minor touch shook Emma from the troubled, speechless void in which she had been stuck.

"She took him," she said coldly. Currently her voice lacked emotion, flat and restrained as it was, but Rumpel knew his wife well. There was a torrent of fury brewing beneath the surface. It would be disconcerting if she wasn't upset by Henry's loss.

"I knew I should have stayed with you to face Regina," Charming said. Rumpel admired the prince's desire to fight, but he severely doubted it would have made any difference if Charming was there to confront Regina. Knowing his enemy, she would gladly proceed to rip out his heart in front of Emma. There were only so many losses Emma could endure, despite the brave face she constantly put on.

Bae hopped off his chair and sent a disgusted look at his father.

"You lost Henry?" Rumpel's shoulders caved under the excruciating weight of Bae's stare. He wanted to defend himself, to explain why he was unable to protect Henry and prevent his capture, but no sound left his open mouth. The power cloaking him like a second skin had only brought his sons harm time and again. He continued to shrink under Bae's unforgiving gaze until Emma stepped between their bodies. Always the savior.

"It wasn't his fault," she snapped, holding out her hand to stop Bae from coming closer.

"Neither is it yours," Rumpel added, laying his hand upon his wife's shoulder. She tensed. The fact that she did not immediately agree with that sentiment bothered him. How much was she blaming herself inside her head? What he needed to say was crucial for her ears. "For as long as I've known Henry, he wanted to be a hero. He certainly inherited the potential, what with the savior for his mother and Snow White and Prince Charming for his grandparents. This afternoon, he transformed into that hero. For the safety of the town and his family, he willingly made the choice to go with Regina. I have never seen a braver boy in all my years of living. Except you, Bae. As much as we may mourn this defeat, you should be proud of Henry. Being able to do what is right, to sacrifice everything in the name of others, is an extraordinary strength."

Everyone in the room bowed their heads to honor Henry's sacrifice. There were a few sniffles among the group.

"I _will_ get him back," Emma stated passionately. She turned to Rumpel and grasped his arm with fresh urgency. "I want you to help me tap into my real power. You said I have it in me. I want to use it. Teach me to control it."

"Emma—" Bae started to warn against it, but the spiteful look Emma tossed him silenced all warnings. Her decision was made, just as Henry's had been made the moment he agreed to go with Regina. Rumpel had to wonder how long Emma intended to make this request. This was not decided impulsively.

"I know that all magic comes with a price. I don't care," she declared boldly. "I'll pay any price to get Henry back. There is no way I am leaving him with her. If using my magic is what it takes to fight back, then so be it. If there's black magic, there has to be white magic, right? Teach me." She requested again, her gaze searing into Rumpel. He debated whether it would be a good idea to expose his wife to so much magic. Emma was prepared to give everything she had to save her son. He respected that.

"It will be difficult to tap into your full potential in so short a time. It doesn't matter what she tells Henry—I guarantee you she's plotting our demise as we speak. She will not feel victorious until no other obstacles stand in her way. Nor will she be reassured that Henry is really hers to keep," he warned.

"I didn't ask for easy. I'm asking if it will be possible." His lips thinned into a grim line. She was hellbent on doing this and there was nothing he could say to change her mind. Better that he show her the proper ways to manage her magic than have her wandering off into the woods to practice by her lonesome. He nodded gravely.

"We can try." He held out his hand to her, silently asking if she was ready and certain about her decision. She took his hand.


	76. Chapter 76

_**A/N: Hello, everyone, and Happy St. Patrick's Day! I also realized before finishing this chapter that this month marks two whole years since I started this story. As always, I want to thank everyone that gave me the support to keep writing all these chapters. Truthfully, I didn't think Sunshine would come this far when I started it. Shout-outs go to sbcarri, ValueMyHeart, The Auburn Girl, orthankg1, beverlie4055, Grace5231973, and Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape for their reviews. Enjoy! **_

Rumpel was wide awake before the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains. In fact, he hadn't had more than an hour or two of sleep-and not in the sense that made the lack of sleep worthwhile.

Emma's head rested on his chest and his fingers wove through her blonde waves. It had taken him until the wee hours of the morning to get her to fall asleep. She was so distraught by the loss of Henry. It was the same reason he could not sleep. How could he when Regina had succeeded in taking his boy without leaving a single clue of their whereabouts?

It was because he was awake that he heard the knock at the front door.

It wasn't particularly loud, so Emma did not stir. Her eyes were peacefully closed, her mouth hanging slightly open. A wisp of blonde hair kept blowing off her nose while she breathed. His own eyelids kept fluttering, longing to close, and he was almost convinced that he dreamt the knocking.

Then a second knock disrupted the silence of the house. From the end of the bed, Goldie picked up her head and growled. He reached over as carefully as he could and lightly slapped her bottom.

"Shush! If you disturb your mama, you won't be getting extra scraps from me for a week," he hissed. He had never had the misfortune of experiencing it firsthand, but he heard that waking a stressed pregnant woman from sleep was not a pretty sight. The dog bounded off the bed and bounced down the steps of the staircase, the clicking of her nails on the hardwood floors going right through his skull.

Gently, he slipped out from underneath Emma and placed her head comfortably on his pillow. He made sure she was covered by the blanket and then he crept down the stairs to answer the door. The dog was running back and forth in front of it, daring the unexpected visitor to venture inside. Occasionally, she would leap up on the door and paw it viciously, whining in the back of her throat.

At least the dog hadn't resorted to barking up a storm. Whatever was on the other side of the door, she must have recognized the scent. Rumpel pulled open the door to address the visitor that was standing on his porch. He closed the door behind him to keep the dog inside and to avoid alerting Emma with their conversation. He cringed with every movement he made. At six in the morning, the chilly Maine air did not bode well for his weary bones.

"Bae," he fondly greeted, taking his son by the arm. Bae turned around with a weak smile, his eyelids barely open. The exhaustion was evident. "I take it sleep evaded you last night." He gestured to the sore purple circles under Bae's eyes.

"You have the same dark circles under your eyes as I do," he said defensively, dragging the sleeve of his shirt over his aching eyes.

Rumpel dabbed a finger across the patches of skin above his own cheeks. He hadn't had the chance to glance in a mirror yet. It appeared Henry's disappearance did not sit well with any of them. It was also a sign that Bae had come to care for Henry. If he wasn't interested in stepping up as Henry's real father, those dark circles would not be there.

"Sometimes I forget how human I am in this world," Rumpel muttered, all at once sagging under the weight of exhaustion that cloaked his shoulders. "Time and again, I am forced to remember that I still require sleep. After three centuries of being sleepless, you'd think I would be immune."

"I like you better this way," Bae mused. For that admittance alone, Rumpel swore to stop complaining. "Is Emma awake?" Bae mumbled through a yawn. Rumpel looked back at the front door. All was quiet inside the 'Stiltskin residence. He hoped it would stay that way for a while longer.

"At the moment? No. She's had a rough night as well. Restless, unable to sleep, forever on the verge of tears though she's much too proud to let me see them fall. It's impossible for her to stop thinking about Henry for an instant." He couldn't say he blamed her. When Bae had fallen through that portal, cursed or not, Rumpel hadn't slept a wink. Now Bae stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. "Did you want to speak to her?"

Rumpel did not like the idea of waking Emma at this hour, especially after a sleepless night. If Bae was willing to stick around and wait, he could always fix breakfast for his son. But Bae shook his head.

"Let her sleep." He rocked back on his heels. Rumpel started to get the feeling that Emma had never been his purpose for visiting. All he had to do was wait. "I want to sign that contract."

Dread coursed through Rumpel's chest. It made him sick to the stomach and his head throbbed all the harder. Yet he did not deny Bae's request. With a flick of his wrist, the same contract he offered to Bae appeared in his hand. He surrendered it to Bae along with a fountain pen. Bae skimmed over the neatly written terms.

"The terms are the same as the day I presented the contract to you," he said, though he admired Bae's meticulous nature. Cinderella once signed without reading and it didn't turn out well for her. Pity, because he even put the term _first-born child _in red ink and she still missed it.

"Just making sure," Bae grumbled.

The pen skated over the empty line at the bottom, every drop of ink devoted to sealing the deal. When it was dry, he handed the contract and the pen back to Rumpel. His fingers crumpled the edge, but Bae's hand also gripped the other end of the contract longer than necessary.

"I want you to know that this has nothing to do with keeping you away from Emma and Henry. It's about keeping them safe. I never want what happened to Henry yesterday to happen ever again. Magic can do nothing but tear us apart."

Bae released the contract into Rumpel's care.

"I understand your need to protect your child," Rumpel assured, tucking the contract away. "You should always put your child first."

Bae took a step closer and brought his hand to his father's shoulder. It felt crafted from stone, further straining Rumpel's shoulders.

"I know you never stopped searching for me, Papa." Then Bae embraced his father. Rumpel was not accustomed to hugging, but this was one circumstance where he readily hugged back. He only ever wanted Bae to know how much he valued him. "Get rid of Regina. Get Henry back. Then promise me...no more magic."

It didn't matter that Rumpel had signed that contract; Bae needed to hear it from his mouth.

"No more magic," he swore. If it weren't for Regina, he might have strived to give it up after that revolting scene in the cemetery. Then again, the only reason that scene took place was because of Regina.

Bae whistled with relief and retreated down the path. Rumpel watched him go. Halfway to the street, he stopped suddenly as though struck by another disconcerting thought. He pointed to one of the upstairs windows. Unbeknownst to him, since Bae had not been given the official tour of their house, it was Henry's room with the balcony.

"Don't corrupt her, either. You know she's only turning to magic because she needs to save Henry."

"I know," Rumpel replied forlornly. At this point, Emma had run out of viable options. Even if magic was the reason she lost Henry to Regina, she thought magic was the best and last solution to defeating Regina. She was desperate, frightened, furious, not a good combination. "Bae?"

His son paused again on the path.

"Perhaps one of these nights, after we save Henry, you can invite the mermaid over for dinner," he suggested. Bae needed hope for the future since the present appeared so dim. To his surprise, Bae smiled again and it warmed Rumpel's heart to see it.

"If I do, are you planning on serving fish sticks for dinner?" Rumpel's lips split apart in a mischievous grin. He decided to play the game.

"Do you think she'll be offended if we eat sushi?"

...

Rumpel insisted that they needed to go somewhere isolated in order to practice magic. Emma figured it was insurance so that no one in their vicinity would be caught in whatever wrong spell she cast. It was Rumpel's idea to go to the cabin and use the surrounding woods as their training ground. No one would intrude on their session and the only creatures she would be in danger of roasting were butterflies and birds.

She hoped he didn't expect her to be able to conjure a fireball or else Storybrooke would be faced with its first forest fire.

When they were close to the cabin, the yellow Bug bouncing up and down over the bumpy road, Rumpel started playing with the knob on her radio. He rarely bothered to touch her radio. There was mostly static coming through, but every now and then the garbled lyrics of a song would join in. He flipped through the stations so many times that Emma quickly became annoyed with the static.

"If you're looking for directions, that comes from GPS, not the radio," she remarked. He stopped fiddling with the dial to cast her a serious look. He was never amused when she pointed out how much of the world beyond Storybrooke he lacked in knowledge.

"I'm searching for inspirational music to get us in the mood for your practice session," he stated. The car crawled along the uneven trail while he concentrated on the broken segments of music. Emma heard the chorus of _Kiss Me _by Sixpence None the Richer, but Rumpel switched it quickly. "Not the mood I wish to set." He flipped the knob and landed on Madonna's _Like a Prayer_, right when the choir of voices in the background prevailed. "Inspirational, but not the type I want. Why do they never play _Eye of the Tiger_ anymore?"

If he was this indecisive with her radio, Emma never wanted to introduce him to the little device known as her iPod. Ultimately, he gave up searching and only the twittering of birds in the trees reached their ears through the windows.

He parked the car outside the cabin and they strolled along the trail behind it. Even though the sun was shining in the sky, the woods were still drafty. Rumpel draped a shawl over her shoulders to protect her from the cold. The fresh air filled Emma's lungs, making her feel more refreshed than she had since Maurice's funeral. Even Rumpel's bad leg seemed a lot stronger as he walked by her side.

They came to a halt when there was considerable distance between them and the cabin. There were fewer trees in their way, the trail opening up to a miniscule clearing. Rumpel spun around to face her, assuming the role of her mentor.

"So far, you've practiced with flowers and that is a good start. Unfortunately, you won't be able to harm Regina with flowers unless you intend to smother her with their sweet fragrance." Flowers might not be a suitable weapon, but Emma fantasized about using an overgrowth of poison ivy to distract Regina.

"Is that possible?" Rumpel folded his hands together on top of his cane and snorted.

"How would I know? If I wielded flowers as a weapon, do you suppose I would be feared as the Dark One? They'd call me the Imp of Flowers." He waved his hand as though he could push that thought away. "What I am going to teach you will be more effective. By the time we leave this place, you should be able to conjure a flame in the palm of your hand. It is the simplest use of magic I can teach you at the moment and it will not leave you weaponless."

Emma felt her nerves tingle with excitement, her magic ready to be called upon. She warily surveyed the trees around them.

"You want me to start a fire...in the middle of the woods?" Where was Smokey the Bear when you needed him? A frown puckered Rumpel's lips. Was he just realizing how problematic his request could be? Had he not thought that far ahead?

"If you start a forest fire, I'll make it rain," he said. Unless he intended to unleash a flood over Storybrooke, Emma didn't know how helpful that would be. Still, they were already there, and she didn't want to waste time searching for a better location to practice magic.

"Then let's get on with it."

For the next hour, Rumpel attempted to instruct her on the proper way to ignite a fireball in one's palm. It was one of the few endeavors where he failed miserably. Whereas the fireball flourished painlessly in his palm, Emma stared at her lifelines until her vision blurred. Their frustration mounted, surging off one another, and she had never argued so hotly with her husband as she did that afternoon.

"Concentrate," he warned for the umpteenth time. Every time he said it, he sounded more irritable than the last.

"I _am _concentrating!" She flung back, whipping the shawl at him. "Or at least I was until you interrupted me!"

Now she had to start all over again. She opened her palm and stared hard at it, imagining tongues of flame writhing through her fingers. No, wait-he told her not to think about it. It was difficult not to think when nothing was happening. She had to feel it. _I feel fire. I feel warmth. Must stop thinking. _

"Stop thinking," he berated when her brows knitted together. His voice echoed off the trunks of the trees. "_Feel _it. Conjure a fireball. Hell, a _spark_, Emma!" She squeezed her hand into a fist.

"I don't know how! That's why you're teaching me! Hint: you're not doing a very decent job of it! And I didn't sign up for a year's worth of classes!" Already the sun was streaking across the sky, their time waning.

"Stop yelling at me! I know time is of the essence," he roared, throwing his cane onto the ground. He turned away and sucked in a few breaths to calm his senses. When he faced her again, the redness had dissolved from his neck and his fingers were tented under his nose. "You're not doing it wrong. It's just...your motivation. You've done magic before. How?"

Emma raked her fingers through her tangled blonde waves. Beads of sweat rolled over her temples, matting the strands of hair to her scalp. This was much more stressful than she had expected it to be.

"If I knew that, wouldn't I be able to do it?"

"You _do _know," he persisted, staggering toward her. His foot nudged the cane, but he did not bend to retrieve it. "You were able to make flowers sprout on Graham's grave. How?"

Emma wiped her hand across her damp forehead. She spread her arms by her sides in defeat. Her brain hurt and she was at the end of her patience.

"What were you feeling right before the magic took place?" He pressed her when she did not offer an answer. "Vengeful?"

"Not then. I was...reminded of how much I missed having him here. How sorry I felt that Regina had taken his life. He didn't deserve to die. The flowers grew in honor of his memory because I...I loved him, too." Rumpel released a pent-up gasp, as if that had been the admission he was waiting to hear.

"Exactly. You used love. How did you make magic work when we sent Hook through the hat?" Emma recalled how satisfying it felt to watch the pirate fall into the hat and to toss in the hook after him. The satisfaction came from knowing that his reign of destruction was over.

"I never wanted him to hurt anyone again. I cared too much about the well-being of the townspeople. I did it for my family." Rumpel nodded approvingly. Swept up in the whirlpool of her memories, she did not notice him step close enough to grasp her hand.

"See the pattern?" One by one, he unfurled her fingers and let her hand blossom. It hovered between their bodies. "Emma, do you love me?"

Emma cocked her head to the side. Her fingers threatened to curl into her palm, but he held them steady. He should already know the answer to that question.

"Yes, I do." He smiled softly.

"Do you love Henry?"

"Yes," she answered in a heartbeat.

"Close your eyes now and submerge yourself in that feeling. It is a tide of love washing over you, lapping over your toes, rising to your waist, pouring over your head. Welcome it."

She did as she was told, listening to the thrum of her heartbeat. He maintained a gentle grip on her hand, so light that it was nothing more than a tickle. He must have placed his hand in hers, for the next thing she knew, her palm was warm. She heard her husband move behind her, his touch still guiding her hand and his breath on the lobe of her ear.

"Emma."

She instinctively opened her eyes. A ball of flame had materialized in her palm. It wasn't very impressive in size, no bigger than a quarter, but it was more than she could achieve before. When her concentration broke, the flame sizzled out.

Her husband closed her fist and held it tightly.

"That is what makes you different from Regina."

...

Henry couldn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was the cemetery, with Regina's iron grasp on his shoulders, which were already heavy with the consequences of his choice. Rumpelstiltskin had been trapped by the magic that Emma had intended to wield and Emma...

His mom...

His mom had rushed forward at the last second before the purple cloud eclipsed his vision. Thrusting her hands into the cloud, he almost felt her touch, but it had already been too late. Her touch had disappeared with the rest of the cemetery and after that...nothing.

Suddenly, he awoke from a dreamless sleep and found himself in a circular, white room. Blankets covered his body up to his chin as he lay tucked in a comfortable bed. When he sat up, the blankets fell away, exposing him to the draft that circulated the room. He recognized the blanket that once covered his bed, the one he slept in for the first ten years of his life under Regina's care.

No, it wasn't just the blanket. It was the entire bed. She had moved it there. He was not inside her grand white manor. Wherever she had taken him, it was unfamiliar.

Henry crawled out of the bed, kicking aside the blanket as he did so. The minute he set his feet down on the floor, he shivered. His feet were bare and the floor was icy and slick, like he was walking on a frozen pond without skates. He suspected the lack of shoes was meant to convince him not to attempt an escape. The suit he wore to the funeral was gone as well, replaced with one of his old red plaid shirts and a worn pair of jeans that still fit.

Had she gotten rid of the suit? Burned it? It would only remind him of Rumpelstiltskin, his stepfather. In his heart, Henry came to view the magical imp as his father. An ache of longing passed through him, but he tried to ignore it. This was his choice; he was doing it to keep his family and the town safe. That meant he had to live with the consequences.

Until his family set out to save him, in any case.

He took a step away from the bed and observed his surroundings. It was so white and bright that his eyelids batted rapidly, struggling to adjust. The only place brighter was the hospital, but this place did not contain the odor of medicine or sickness. Instead, it had an earthy smell, even if there were no windows to let in the scent of the woods. The smell of earth blended terribly with the smell of must. Was he standing in some kind of basement? Or underground?

Along with no windows, there were no doors. There wasn't even a crease in the walls to give away a secret entrance. Why would the Evil Queen need doors if she could magically pop in and out? This was not a haven; it was his cell. Maybe even his tomb.

No mirrors, either.

Headless mannequins crowded one side of the room, sporting several regal dresses that definitely came from the Enchanted Forest. Excessive lace and leather, each one colored black or twlight blue. Cloaks of all lengths and dark hues hung behind them. Was this what the Evil Queen wore in the Enchanted Forest? Henry recalled the pictures of the Evil Queen in his storybook.

He wished he had his storybook to pass the time.

Curosity won over as he examined the dresses and he brushed his fingers over one of the leather bodices. It was stiff but smooth.

"Do you like it?"

Her voice came from directly behind him, startling him so much that he jumped. He whipped his hand away from the dress. How did she pop up without him hearing? Magic, as always. It was the same trick his father liked to pull now and again, especially on his mom. Regina approached the dress he had been studying. She ran her fingers over the leather bodice, plucking at the laces.

"That is real leather, Henry, and very old. Oh, I remember the days when I would rule the Enchanted Forest in one of these spectacular gowns."

Henry turned away from the dresses and looked toward his bed. He had never seen Regina in her true Evil Queen form except for the illustrations in his storybook. He didn't think he wanted to see it anytime soon. That was when he noticed something on his bed that hadn't been there before.

It was a transparent glass plate presenting a thick wedge of pie topped with a generous cloud of whipped cream. His stomach yearned to taste it, but he exercised caution. Taking candy from strangers was often safer than taking it from the Evil Queen.

She walked up behind him, her heels clicking on the floor this time, and she clamped her hand down on his shoulder. It was cold and restraining, the exact opposite from the way Rumpel held him by the shoulder during the funeral. His touch had been comforting.

"I thought you might like something to eat, so I brought you a treat," she said, unintentionally rhyming like a macabre version of Dr. Seuss. Henry crept closer to the bed, but he didn't dare to even lay a finger on the glass plate. For all he knew, that pie was spiked with a deadly curse and disguised by sugar.

"What's in it?" He pinched his nose as if it were something foul instead of a delicious-looking piece of pie. Regina's smile threatened to crumble, but she struggled to keep it in place.

"It's not apple, if that's what you mean." The reassurance did not inspire Henry to jump for the pie. Lines of frustration marred Regina's pale forehead. She bent down to his level. "Why would I poison your pie when all I've ever wanted is to have you back?"

Henry wriggled away from the hand that gripped his shoulder.

"You may not have poisoned it, but it doesn't mean it's safe to eat. You might have slipped in a curse to make me think I love you better than my real mom." This time, Regina's smile dropped completely. She snapped up so fast that Henry was surprised she didn't crack her spine. Her hands smoothed down her black skirt, a sign that she was pondering how to proceed through a delicate situation.

"I see that sick little imp has worn off on you," she said under her breath, but Henry heard it. His brows furrowed. "He always was suspicious of my cooking."

"That _imp _happens to be my dad," he retorted. Clearly Regina wanted to say something not so nice, her lips twisting sourly, but she shut her eyelids until the urge was gone. It bothered her enough that Henry referred to Emma as his mom, but he figured it was made worse when he declared Rumpelstiltskin his father.

"Henry, I am grateful that you chose to come with me. That's enough," she insisted, but he did not believe it. Even if she kept him to herself, it wouldn't be enough until there was no threat of losing him. "Please, eat."

Henry sank down on the edge of the bed. He used his fingers to pick at the crust of the pie, but he did not consume a single crumb. All too soon, a mound of crumbs grew next to the dessert. Regina settled on the bed beside him, the plate caught between them.

"Where are we?" Once more, he glanced around the circular room, but there was little to suggest his location. If he could not figure out where she had taken him, could his family ever find him? Were they looking for him already?

"Currently? This is a safe house. But soon you and I will return home together."

Henry's attention snapped to her face, the pie forgotten. He had a feeling that a poisoned pie was the least of his worries. She wasn't looking at him now. One blood-red pointed nail dug under another, scraping it clean.

"Home?" Somehow, he didn't think she meant her house in the middle of town. She wouldn't be that answer stirred, dark and determined in the depths of her ebony eyes.

"To the Enchanted Forest," she confirmed his fears. A fresh shiver slid over the back of his neck, but it had nothing to do with the draft inside the room. If she took him away to the Enchanted Forest and his family had no clue about the transition, they would most likely never see him again. It was true he made the choice to go with Regina, but it was just becoming clear what that choice entailed. He scooted away on the bed, nearly falling off the edge.

"And you'll do something to make sure that everyone else stays here. So you and I will be together, alone." The way her lips curled told him he was right. She leaned over the pie and caught his hand. It kept him from falling off the bed, but it lacked security.

"You will be happy, Henry. I will do everything in my power to ensure it." That was what he was most afraid of.

...

It wasn't the first time she did it. The first time was when she came home after losing Henry. It was her form of grieving. Something, some insatiable desire to ease the ache in her heart, lured her to Henry's bedroom.

She knew it was empty before she ever found the knob and opened the door. Nothing could come of it but heartache, yet she would lean against the door and look into his room. He had been so happy when she and Rumpel showed it to him that first time. She contemplated the decisions she made in the cemetery. Henry was gone and Regina killed King George in spite of the way she called off her attack. The pain in her heart told her it wasn't worth it.

This time, a pair of hands slid around her middle and cradled her belly. From behind, he kissed her neck.

"How long have you been standing here?" He breathed into her ear. His warm hand swept her hair away from her cheek. She stood up straight, but the circle of his arms did not break. Turning in his arms, she came face-to-face with him and noticed the solemnity in his eyes. Did he see the same reflected in hers?

"Long enough," she admitted and buried her nose in his collar. The very real scent of his cologne kept her grounded and soothed her endlessly. He rubbed her back. "I miss him so much."

"Losing a child often hurts worse than the broken heart of a scorned lover. I understand how it feels, to experience that intolerable pain during the first few days when you remember your child is no longer with you. It leaves a gaping hole in your heart."

All of a sudden, she felt foolish for wallowing in her grief. This was the second time he lost a child. Third, if one counted Morraine, their previous unborn child. She lifted her head and confronted the agony displayed on his face. If anyone was familiar with the burden of losing a child, it was him.

"How did you survive it?" For centuries, his only purpose of living was to find his son and beg his forgiveness. A corner of his mouth rose by an inch, then dropped just as quickly.

"Hope," he said, shrugging listlessly. "I had hope that I would see my son again and that alone kept me going. You need to do the same now. Believe that you will find Henry."

It bothered her that he said _she _would find Henry; there was no _we _in there. Did he believe that only she had the power to save her son? Or that it was solely her responsibility to do it? She didn't want to think on it. She had been independent since she could walk, but this was the kind of hardship she did not want to trudge through alone.

"At least I have you to bear this with me," she said. She absently rolled the top button of his dress shirt between her fingers. "The last time I had to accept a future without Henry was when I gave him up and I did it alone."

Rumpel took her hand from his shirt and caressed it.

"You are not alone in this," he promised, enclosing her hand in his. "You have me, your parents, and Bae to share your grief. I love Henry as if he were my own blood. If I have to demolish every building and turn over every rock in this world or the next, I shall. I did it for Bae and I am prepared to do it for Henry. Now, please, come away from there."

Emma closed Henry's door.

"Are you ready for your next lesson in magic?"

She appreciated the way he tried to change the subject to a more optimistic one. His tone was delicate, implying that he would not press the issue if she wanted to hold off until tomorrow. But she knew she would not forgive herself for doing that. If she slacked on her training, despite the weariness in her muscles, she might as well be throwing in the towel early.

One more lesson would not kill her.

Her arms moved to his neck and her feet stayed planted on the ground.

"Not really, but I'm going to do it for Henry. Do you think my mentor would mind if I was running late?"

Before he could answer, she kissed him hard. It was as good a distraction as any she was likely to get. At the very least, it was her personal brand of morphine to numb the pain. He carefully pushed her back against the door and trailed kisses over her jaw.

"You best hurry," he warned, even as his lips eclipsed hers. "I hear he's quick to punish those who do not readily obey." Emma started to put on an act of surprise, but he took advantage of it to give her an open-mouthed kiss. She pushed his shoulders, directing him down the hall.

"Lead the way."

...

Their final training session of the day took place in the basement. Emma was grateful for the warmth of their home compared to the natural landscape of the woods. The minute she spotted the fresh basket of straw next to the wheel, she knew what he planned to do.

"This," he said, pointing to the wheel,"will teach you how to use magic continuously instead of the occasional, short-lived burst. It will also teach you patience." Emma put her hands on the small of her back.

"I am patient!" He slowed in spinning the wheel to shoot her a skeptical look. "Okay, maybe I'm not _that _patient, but can you blame me? I just lost Henry yesterday. Patience isn't my strongest point today."

Hooking his fingers, he gestured for her to approach the stool. He helped her to sit down on it. Then he straddled the stool, perching directly behind her so that he could guide her hands.

"We'll take it slow. Hmm...something is missing." He looked around the basement, drumming his fingers on her waist as he thought. "Ah, I know. It's too quiet down here. Allow me to provide a little music for the occasion."

He snapped his fingers next to her ear and she winced. A few gentle notes flowed through the air, though she was unable to detect the source. She smirked as she recognized _Unchained Melody _from the movie _Ghost. _

"Very subtle, Rumpel," she commented wryly. He seemed rather proud of his selection of music, scooting closer to her on the stool. His legs embraced hers. As he claimed her hands and they went to work, he hummed the melody.

The music was alluring, but the task of spinning was a different matter. Too quickly she assumed she knew what she was doing, shaking free of his hands, only to do the wrong thing. More than once, she lost the straw she was holding or she spun the wheel faster than necessary. The straw hopelessly remained pale strands of straw, never transforming into the glistening gold Rumpel was capable of producing spool after spool. Eventually, she tossed down the straw and Rumpel settled his hands on her tense shoulders, signaling her relaxation.

She never knew spinning could be so difficult to master. Rumpel always made it look simple.

"It's not working," she complained. She could tell by his silence that he was thinking. Her boot pushed aside the basket of straw, almost tipping it over.

"You need a conduit," he announced matter-of-factly. "A powerful source of energy that will assist you in generating magic indefinitely."

"Like a wand?" Too bad she gave the Blue Fairy her precious wand. He sighed, the breath tickling her neck.

"Like a feeling. An overwhelming feeling inside you that will channel that magic. Remember how it worked this afternoon? It's the same concept, expect you need it to carry on for extended periods of time."

Love. That was what he meant. Sometimes Emma wished Rumpel wouldn't speak in riddles.

"I remember. Right now, though, I'm feeling tired and frustrated and angry at Regina." His hand extended before her and he flailed it frantically.

"No, no, no. Anger, resentment, loneliness-these feelings can only inspire dark magic. That is precisely the wrong conduit to use. Consider instead your love for Henry and how much you want him back."

Emma inhaled deeply and released the breath through her nose, commanding her nerves to relax. She collected the straw, handling it carefully, and thought about Henry as the wheel turned.

She remembered the first time she met Henry in Boston, on her twenty-eighth birthday, clad in a stained red dress, having just made a wish on a blue star candle that she wouldn't spend that birthday alone. _Are you Emma Swan? My name's Henry-I'm your son. _

She remembered the first time she found him at his castle, before Regina tore it down like so many of his hopes. _I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance. _

She remembered all the times he called her Mom recently and how she adored it every time. It felt right. _Henry..._

The straw shifted through her fingers, rough and pale, but it began to change. A glint caught her eye, working its way along the straw to her fingertips. The straw was turning to gold. Gold. She held it up to the light to examine it closely.

Rumpel smiled against her cheek.

"Congratulations," he whispered proudly. "You are the first I've taught that successfully depended on love instead of bloodlust. Twice now, might I add."

Emma ran one finger along the length of the gold string. It was smooth and strong compared to the straw it had once been.

"I did it," she breathed in pure amazement. Her heart felt so full and so heavy that she was certain it would burst inside her chest if she even took a breath. She yanked on the golden string, but it did not break. Real gold. "Thank you."

Laying the piece of gold in her lap, she twisted around on the stool, put her arm around Rumpel's neck, and kissed him chastely. It was meant to be a brief kiss of gratitude, but he eagerly returned it. He scooped her legs onto his lap. Love was supposedly the most powerful magic and she sensed it stirring between them, in danger of eruption. Both were breathless by the time their lips parted ways.

"Can we do it again?" She anticipated the chance to carry on that magic for more than a minute. With practice, perhaps it would not be such a strain to accomplish. It would soon come with ease, the wheel spinning effortlessly.

"We can do it all night if you so desire," he said, tasting the skin of her jaw. His accent was thicker than usual, an effect of his lust. Emma delved her fingers into his hair, urging him on. She didn't miss his underlying meaning.

"You do realize I'm talking about the spinning, right?" He picked up his head and feigned innocence.

"What else would we be talking about?" _Screw it, _she thought and cupped his face with her hands, seeking out his lips. Was it so terrible if she indulged in something that felt so good?

They were so consumed in the movement of their mouths that they almost fell back, off the stool. She clung to him fiercely as he struggled to keep them balanced on the seat. Nudging her legs off his lap, he encouraged them to stand up. She was about to ask if he intended to stop, but he swallowed her question with another searing kiss. Over her lips, her cheek, her ear, everywhere. As one entity, they began to move across the floor, scraps of clothing falling away.

"I've never done this before," he said, nuzzling her neck. Emma splayed her hand over his back, his muscles thriving under her fingers. Not even the nightly draft of the basement could torment her skin now, despite the fact that her shirt was long gone.

"Are you sure about that?" She deliberately rubbed her belly against his body, indicating the vessel of life growing within. He snickered between kisses.

"Of course I've done _that_. Perhaps I should be more specific. I've never done..._this_."

And then her back met the wheel. She hadn't even realized they were moving toward it. In the blink of an eye, his body was flush against hers, his hands gripping the spindles of the wheel. _Don't stop _fell from her mouth. She held onto his neck and brought her leg to his hip, giving him room to finish what they started.

Just for a moment, one blissful moment, her mind was quiet.

...

At some point, she and Rumpel made it to their bed upstairs. She couldn't remember climbing the stairs of the basement or to the second floor or walking past Henry's bedroom door.

_ Don't think; feel. _

Her memory was filled with feelings-the feeling of his lips on her cheek, the feeling of his fingers fluttering over her belly, the feeling of the sheets as they slipped into bed. Thinking took too much energy and she knew the problems prodded the serene barrier that formed over her mind, seeking to invade.

She felt it when that barrier broke wide open.

With her husband's arms protectively wrapped around her waist, she cuddled close to his side and laid her head upon his chest. She kissed the center of it, his velvet skin stretching under her lips with each breath he drew. Her mind was a tangled mess of woes. She worked to untangle the strands.

"I wish there was a way we could communicate with Henry," she murmured, her mouth gliding over his neck. If it was possible, he might not feel so far away. Would Regina be that cocky or careless to leave Henry vulnerable to magical communication?

"There's no point in advising you not to worry. She will not harm him. That much is true. However, I doubt she'll put him in a room with mirrors." Emma's forehead dropped to his chest. His hand stroked her hair. "We will get him back. For now, try your best to sleep. You'll need it."

If only it was an easy feat. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, but no matter how many times she closed them, they snapped back open again like blinds that were pulled too hard. She clenched them shut, willing sleep to come. It would be a blessing.

Her husband patted her back.

"Sleep," he repeated. He patted her on the back again, a little harder. "Sleep!" The blinds snapped open.

"I may be the savior and the daughter of Snow White, but even I can only fall asleep so fast. And your voice, charming as it is, isn't helping."

Rumpel stared right through her. His face was blank, but she distinctly heard the creaking of the wheel inside that head. She propped herself on her elbow and waved her hand in front of his face, but he didn't blink. He was too caught up in his epiphany.

"No, Emma," he finally responded, his voice dreamy. He started to sit up and she had no choice but to move to her side of the bed to accommodate it. "I may have a way to communicate with Henry."

She felt like she had dived straight off a cliff and was stuck in the process of free-falling. Her fingers tugged on the sheets, her blood freezing in her veins. Had she fallen asleep? Was she dreaming? Why wasn't her husband explaining his euphoria? She was ready to shake the answers out of him.

"Well, don't sit there looking smug! Tell me!" He pulled his body onto the edge of the mattress, his back to her. In a flash, his cane was in his hand.

"I will tell you everything in due time. First, you may want to get your parents on the phone. We'll need them."

...

_**Obviously, I do not own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter. **_


	77. Chapter 77

_**A/N: I want to apologize ahead of time since this chapter took longer to update than I expected. Currently, I'm balancing five stories and school (not my best idea). *sigh* Writing has turned out to be one of my biggest addictions. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. **_

Regina waited until nightfall. She had what she wanted most; no one in Storybrooke had to die. Quite frankly, she didn't have the time or patience to plot anyone's untimely death that night. Let those fools rot in this cursed world.

What she needed now was hidden away in her office in Storybrooke's Town Hall. It was the key to her happiness. That was all that ever mattered.

She expected the band of so-called heroes to place protective wards around her office to alert them if she ever returned there. A magical security system of sorts. She would have done the same. If that was the case, she would only have a few minutes to get in and get out. It would be stupid to walk right through the front door, so she materialized inside her office. She took a moment to admire it. The office where she once ruled this town changed as little as anything else in Storybrooke during the curse. The only thing missing was a fresh bowl of juicy red apples.

She wouldn't be surprised if the heroes had developed an allergic reaction to her fruit by now.

There was a hidden room inside her office. She had locked and concealed it with a powerful blood spell once magic had returned to Storybrooke. Regina took an old silver nail filer from one of the drawers of her desk and used the tip to slice the pad of her thumb. A drop of scarlet blood welled up and she pressed it to the wall to the left of her desk. A single red drop smeared the black and white wallpaper.

_This is for you, Henry. For our happiness, _she thought as the door slid back, allowing her to enter the hidden chamber.

Immediately, she spotted one of the only objects she had stored inside: Jefferson's enormous peach hat box. The hat was stowed away inside. She had kept it after abandoning him in Wonderland. Jefferson had tried countless times to make other magical hats, but none ever came close to the essence of his original creation.

Regina had the urge to unlock the hatbox, to retrieve the hat and to feel the magic brimming through it. But she knew time was precious and so she resolved to save the gloating for later. There would be plenty of opportunities to gloat once she and Henry were safe and sound in the Enchanted Forest.

He could finally grow up to be the knight he always dreamed of. She would teach him everything she knew, about life in the Enchanted Forest, how to ride a horse, ruling a kingdom with an iron fist, perhaps even a hint of magic if he desired to learn. He would want for nothing.

With the hatbox in both hands, she vanished in the blink of an eye, in the midst of a purple swirl of fog. _Just think, Henry: we're one step closer to our happy ending. _

...

Before arriving in Storybrooke, Emma had never really been a small-town type of person. She always preferred big cities, places where she could get lost in the crowds and escape from the reality of her loneliness. Now, she was grateful she lived in a small town because it only took her parents a little over five minutes to reach their house. Ironically, Storybrooke was the place where she was least lonely in her twenty-eight years of living.

When she opened the door, they greeted her with gaping yawns. Over their shoulders, she glimpsed Bae stifling the same yawn with the back of his hand.

"I expect there's an important reason for this secret late-night meeting and not just mid-pregnancy issues. Regina?" Snow sleepily inquired. Her face was lined with exhaustion, but underneath it was worry.

"Not exactly." Emma ushered them inside and closed the door. While Snow and Charming followed closely on her heels, Bae took the opportunity to tread slowly down the hallway and look around. It was the first time he had seen the inside of his father's house since agreeing to go to Storybrooke, though the lack of lighting didn't help since it was the middle of the night. He craned his neck and peered into the living room as he passed by.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said, staring intently at the clutter of antiques in the living room. Emma noticed what he was inspecting and smiled weakly.

"I've stopped trying to organize it," she admitted. Bae wandered inside the living room and plucked one of the strings on an old violin. The thrum echoed between them like a heartbeat. "Sometimes your father can be an overgrown child and this is his playroom."

Bae's eyes scanned the collection of instruments, the rose-colored wallpaper, the fine wooden wardrobe in the center. That was where she used to huddle whenever there was a thunderstorm. The living room probably contained more valuable items than Bae had ever seen in his lifetime, especially when they used to run on the streets together.

"Ariel would have a field day in here," he mused. Emma didn't doubt it. If the mermaid's tale was true to that of Disney and she had a habit of treating forks like buried treasure, she would lose herself in the mess that was their living room. If she ever visited, it would take all of Rumpel's power to convince her to leave.

She led them down to the basement. Charming offered to lead the group, specifically his pregnant daughter since the stairs looked so rickety. Emma knew they cared about her and wanted to keep the baby safe while she was carrying it, but she was frustrated by the way they handled her like a piece of delicate china. She never responded well to coddling. Only Rumpel occasionally succeeded in that department, but it was because he was as stubborn as she was.

In the basement, Rumpel was hunched over his worktable, his back to them as he prepared for what was to come next. She went to his side and ran her hand down his arched back. Then she turned her head to meet the pairs of curious, glazed eyes belonging to her family.

"We may have a way to communicate with Henry," she said. A glimmer of hope began to flourish in her parents' eyes, driving away the sleepiness. Charming's fingers threaded through Snow's as they held each other. "Technically, it was Rumpel's idea." It only seemed natural to give credit where credit was due.

Rumpel set a glass vial down on the worktable and rotated to address the group. For someone who preferred to orchestrate his schemes from the sidelines, he certainly dominated the spotlight with astounding ease.

"As we all know, Henry was recently placed under a sleeping curse by Regina," he stated coolly. Snow looked sad to remember it. Bae stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe on the floor. As Henry's real father, it didn't sit right with him to hear about his son suffering through so much tragedy. Charming was the only person that appeared confused by the reminder.

"What's your point?" He asked, slightly cranky.

"My point," Rumpel said sternly, "is this: so has Snow. You know, your wife dressed in white whom you vowed to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? Twice, might I add?" Charming folded his toned arms across his chest. He obviously didn't enjoy the belittlement. And at that hour of the night, he didn't have the sense to hold his tongue.

"I think I'm capable of recognizing my wife," he barked. Rumpel snorted.

"Oh, really? Explain the siren," he challenged. Emma nudged his ribs with her elbow. It earned her a startled look, but at least her husband was clever enough to take the hint. They were all tired and worn from the damage Regina had wreaked over their heads. If they started bickering now, it would give her a good opportunity to sit back and laugh.

"I still don't understand what you're driving toward," Charming continued. "You brought us out here in the middle of the night so you could state the obvious? According to you, that's David Nolan's area of expertise."

Emma's nostrils flared as she glared daggers into Rumpel's neck, daring him to make the connection between David Nolan and her father. It was there on his silver tongue and he longed to let it fly from his mouth. In the end, Rumpel sighed. She rubbed his shoulder to coax him to calm down.

"By sharing the suffering of a sleeping curse, it is my belief that Snow and Henry will be able to communicate briefly with one another while sleeping. They can converse in Dreamland. I've heard of the possibility before, but never witnessed it myself. Have you experienced anything of that nature, Snow?"

He turned his inquisitive brown eyes on Snow, demanding an answer.

"Of course not," she protested. A cloud of pink rose to her cheeks. "Wouldn't I say something if I was? Even if it was a dream? You forget I know enough of our world to realize that not everything is the way it seems." Rumpel seemed to shrink as he leaned back against the edge of the table. Clearly he'd been hoping for a different answer from Snow and was slightly peeved that his expectations were not satisfied.

"That's what I was afraid of. That means too much time has passed." He turned toward his worktable and picked up the glass vial he'd been examining when they walked into the basement. The mixture inside was frothing and slightly pink in hue. Emma had a feeling it wasn't Pepto-Bismol. "In order for this to work, we would need to put you deep enough into sleep to activate that connection once more."

Charming protectively stepped in front of his wife, extending his arms to block her from Rumpel's path.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you suggesting you want to put my wife in another sleeping curse?" In answer, Rumpel shook the glass vial, stirring up the contents inside.

"I volunteered, but he disagreed," Emma said. Rumpel whirled around to face her and a drop of the pink potion spewed onto the gray basement floor. Emma wiped it away with the toe of her sock.

"Of course I disagreed. You are my pregnant wife. The last thing I desire is to see you trapped in a sleeping curse. Besides, you need to be awake to fend off Regina if we locate Henry." Emma suspected there was another reason to his objection that he didn't dare mention: he didn't want to be reminded that, though he was her devoted husband, they were not exactly true loves. Kissing her would not be enough to wake her from such a powerful curse.

"Then put _me _under," Bae suggested, boldly stepping forward from behind Snow and Charming. Determination shined in his brown eyes, but Rumpel matched it. It became something of a staring match between father and son and neither one blinked.

"You are my son. I refuse."

Bae started to debate it, but Rumpel rushed on before his son could plead his case. Emma respected Bae for wanting to go to Henry, even if it meant having to endure a sleeping curse. She understood the feeling of wanting to do anything for their son.

"Snow will be able to wake up because she has already endured a sleeping curse. There is no need for another one. This will simply be the equivalent of REM sleep. It's up to you," he spoke that last line directly to Snow. It was to give her the illusion of choice, Emma knew, when really there was only one option Snow would accept. Rumpel understood that very well.

"I'll do it," Snow said confidently. Charming squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, but she stepped away from his touch. She knew precisely what she was doing as she held her chin steady and held out her palm for the potion that Rumpel so skillfully balanced between his fingers. "It's for Henry."

Rumpel handed her the potion. Snow barely hesitated before tossing it back and draining the contents. She thrust the glass vial back into his hands while her face contorted with distaste, her throat pulsing as she struggled to swallow the potion. Emma had a feeling it didn't taste like bubble gum, despite its pink color. Rumpel set the empty vial down among the other colored vials on the worktable and conjured a twin-sized bed behind him. It looked similar to the beds in Granny's Inn, even as far as the creme flower-printed covers went.

Emma hoped he hadn't really stolen it from Granny.

Rumpel gave a half-bow and indicated Snow to approach the bed. She did so within three strides and settled down upon the covers, her head sinking into the single white pillow. She folded her hands atop her breasts, inhaled generously, and closed her eyes. If she possessed her trademark long black hair and a princess-type gown, she would resemble the Snow White illustrated in Henry's storybook. It wasn't a pleasing thought.

"So all I have to do after taking that potion is fall asleep? I'll be able to reach Henry?" The group gathered around Snow's bedside to watch her doze off. Her eyelids parted and her green eyes trained on Rumpel. He dragged the stool over to the bed and sat down, laying his cane across his lap.

"If I'm right about this special connection...yes. If you wish, I can speed the process along," he offered, wiggling his fingers in the air. Snow turned her head away, rejecting his magic.

"No, thank you. It's the middle of the night. I think I can manage falling asleep." She yawned, as if for emphasis. Emma edged closer to the bed and gazed down upon her mother, whose eyelids were growing heavy. That potion must have been kicking in.

"Tell Henry I love him and that I'm coming for him," she requested and took ahold of her mother's hand. Snow returned a slight pressure to Emma's palm and nodded. Her head lolled like a ragdoll's and soon her eyelids had drifted closed without any sign of opening again. Emma placed her mother's hand back over the other one and let her sleep.

Now all they had to do was wait for results.

...

_Burn, baby, burn..._

The false memories in her head were briefly revived, providing the lyrics of a song she would not have recognized otherwise. It was the first thing she thought of when she found herself in the dream realm. Her cheek rested on a tiled floor and it was scalding hot, as though she had pressed her face to a burning stove instead. She whipped her head up and rubbed her cheek. She wondered if injuries in this dream realm carried over to reality. Only now did she realize that the tiled floor was more than a tiled floor-it was a dance floor. Brightly colored panels glowed beneath her feet and all that was lacking was a disco ball. The dance floor was covered with flames. That explained the spiking temperature.

_Burn, baby, burn...disco inferno..._

She had forgotten about those dreams she used to have in the Enchanted Forest. After her sleeping curse, she often experienced strange dreams featuring endless flames and a multi-colored floor, but she never imagined they stemmed from the sleeping curse. It brought her comfort to remember how Charming held her through each nightmare and how he would light a candle next to their bed to chase the shadows away.

"Henry?" Snow shielded her eyes from the heat and light of the flames to see across the dance floor. She could barely hear her voice over the roar of the flames. The smoke seared her lungs and made her cough. A wall of flames soared over her head, _whoosh_ing out of control, and she turned away to protect her face.

"Grandma?"

It was a miracle that his small voice reached her ears at all. She wouldn't hesitate to say that it was a voice she would walk through flames for, but this wasn't exactly what she meant by the phrase. When she turned, she saw Henry standing a foot or so away. The way he looked at her, with amazed eyes and a hand hovering in the air without touching her body, suggested he couldn't believe she was there, either. She sunk to her knees and pulled him into her arms. A wave of fire engulfed the spot where he'd been standing, trapping them in a ring of fire.

"Henry," she cried out, covering his face with kisses. His hands lightly pushed against her shoulders, signaling her to back off, but she refused to stop until she was satisfied. "Rumpelstiltskin found a way for us to communicate, since you and I both endured sleeping curses. I don't know how much time we have. Where are you?"

She didn't know if he was able to hear everything she said over the flames, so she spoke her question twice, the second time as loud as she could.

"I don't know," he shouted into the shell of her ear. The last word ended in a jarring cough. "She took me to some kind of...cavern."

"A cabin?"

"_Cavern!_ " He yelled at the top of his lungs. "Underground! Not her vault."

Underground...Snow struggled to recall any and all underground spaces in Storybrooke, but none came to mind. Could he be somewhere in the mines? Wouldn't Henry recognize it if he was? Besides, she couldn't picture Regina hiding out in the dust and darkness like the ovegrown bat everyone associated her with.

Henry clutched her sleeve, shaking it with growing urgency.

"She brought something back with her this time. It was a funny-looking box, a big one. She never showed me what was inside," he yelled. Snow's brow furrowed. She strained her ears to hear him, but wasn't able to follow anything he was telling her. The ground beneath her feet quaked, and a few rocks fell down from the black, invisible ceiling above.

Her vision began to blur. She blinked, but it made little difference. What was even more startling was that she could no longer feel Henry's hand on her arm. At first she thought he let go, but it was still there when she glanced down. A gasp clogged her throat. Her hand was fading! She could see the multi-colored floor through her hand! _I'm waking up, _she realized with a heavy heart. _It's too soon. _

Henry must have come to the same conclusion, for his voice became louder, his words spoken faster.

"She's taking me to the Enchanted Forest," he told her. Snow's heart raced in her chest. The Enchanted Forest? It terrified her and inspired hope at the same time. It was a dramatic move for Regina, fleeing to the Enchanted Forest, but it wouldn't be enough to stop Henry's family permanently, least of all Emma.

"Then we'll follow you. If there's one thing this family is good at doing, it's finding each other." There was no question-together they would cross worlds to find Henry. But Henry shook his head.

"She's going to do something to try to keep you here." Snow shook it off easily. Regina could try all she wanted, but if she knew Emma...Emma...Snow glanced down at her body and saw that she was slipping away fast. Emma had asked her to pass along a message and she intended to deliver it.

"Henry, Emma loves you and she's coming for you." A bright light, brighter than the glow of the flames, filled her vision. She felt her feet leave the dance floor, her body slipping away from the dream realm little by little. "I love you, Henry," she called out at the last second.

_"I love you," _his voice floated in her ears as she was all too quickly swept back to the waking world.

...

Emma was proud of her mother for being willing to communicate with Henry, but being a spectator to it was both nerve-wracking and boring. She supposed she should be grateful that Snow wasn't talking in her sleep and hugging air. She paced up and down in front of the bed while the other three watched her anxiously. She tried sitting down, but it only lasted for five minutes. Then she moved to the spinning wheel and spun it with her hand. Round and round, faster and faster, so hypnotizing...

"Emma," her husband cautioned from the stool. "I know your boredom is getting the better of you, but if you spin my wheel any faster, you'll break it." His cane bobbed between his legs, a sign of his own increasing agitation. Emma didn't stop spinning.

"If we didn't manage to break it before, then I seriously doubt my hand will do much damage," she retorted. Only after she blurted it out did she remember that Bae and her father were present. Both men paled.

"Wait, what?" Charming's head snapped up. His crystal blue eyes flicked between Emma's baby bump and the wheel. Bae had leaped off the edge of the worktable, where he'd previously been lounging and swinging his legs.

"Nothing," Emma and Rumpel exclaimed simultaneously.

"Under what circumstances would you two possibly break that wheel?" Bae questioned. Rumpel's lips parted with an answer, but Bae waved his hands wildly. "Never mind. I don't want to know the details. Something tells me I'll sleep better tonight if I remain oblivious." Rumpel closed his mouth.

"What's taking so long?" Charming demanded, slamming his fist down. Once or twice, Emma was sure Rumpel and Bae would have to restrain him from waking Snow White with a kiss.

"Maybe Henry hasn't fallen asleep yet," Bae suggested. Emma's biological clock told her it was going on the late hours of the night. Somewhere close to midnight, at least. What would a kid like Henry be doing up so late? Especially when he was being held prisoner?

"What do you think he's doing with Regina? Munching on freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies and playing video games to his heart's content?" Come to think of it, she wouldn't put it past Regina to use those sort of bribes to try to win over Henry's affection. It wouldn't work. She _hoped _it wouldn't work.

"Patience is a virtue," Rumpel said under his breath. His words were followed by the rhythmic _tap-tap-tap _of his cane on the basement floor.

"Will you still be saying that if I threaten you with no snuggling until we get Henry back?" Emma snapped.

"Sorry, dear," he whispered. Emma bit down on her lip, the sudden guilt overwhelming her. She didn't mean to take out her aggravation on him. It wasn't his fault that Henry was gone and he was only trying to help by letting Snow speak to Henry through her dreams. She started to apologize, but a soft moan came from the bed.

Snow was waking up. Her limbs stretched atop the bed. Her hand rubbed her eyes, coaxing away the sleep. Everyone crowded around the bed as though Snow were Dorothy, returning to them from some fantastical dream. _Except none of us were there, _Emma thought sadly.

"What did he say?" Emma loomed over the bed, bombarding Snow with the question they were all thinking. Snow never even had time to open her eyes or adjust them to the light of the basement. Rumpel held up a hand to warn Emma, but she pushed it away. Snow sat up and Charming instantly claimed the spot on the bed beside her, his hands steadying her by the shoulders.

"Henry said...he has no concrete idea of his whereabouts, only that Regina hid him somewhere underground. It's not her vault. Wherever Henry is, it's somewhere unfamiliar. Regina has a big, oddly-shaped box with her, but Henry never saw what was inside. And she's planning to bring him to the Enchanted Forest." A beat of silence passed. Emma held her breath, in case Snow wanted to add anything else. "That's all."

"Then we'll follow them to the Enchanted Forest," Emma declared. She had yet to bring everyone home. It would be hitting two birds with one stone.

"Henry thinks Regina's planning to do something to keep us stranded in Storybrooke," Snow objected. Concern flashed through her eyes, but Emma did not share in her turmoil.

"She can try all she wants. Unless she intends to kill me, there won't be anything she can do to stop me from finding my son. And if she does attempt to kill me, I'll bring her down with me," she said. Bae, Snow, and Charming's anxiety spiked, but Rumpel seemed impressed.

"Spoken like a true savior and mother," he praised. "Henry's description of this oddly-shaped box is unfortunately vague, but if Regina intends to bring him over to the Enchanted Forest, crossing realms, it's possible that the mysterious item in that box is none other than Jefferson's hat."

"I thought you two used his hat to get rid of Hook," Bae pointed out, his finger gesturing between Emma and his father.

"The hat Jefferson currently has in his possession is one that Emma created while in his captivity. Long story. The one Regina has-possibly-is Jefferson's original hat taken after she left him to die in Wonderland, separated from his child. Both hats can open portals to other worlds with a touch of magic," Rumpel explained gravely. He skidded over the part about Jefferson's child rather quickly, to avoid having questions raised. If anyone felt sympathy for Jefferson's plight in Wonderland, it was someone like Rumpel, who knew firsthand the torment of losing a child.

"So, what do we do now?" Charming grumbled. "Are we supposed to wait until she moves out of Storybrooke?" Emma looked to Rumpel for answers. He gracefully rose from the stool and paced in front of the wheel. He was the one that knew Regina best, having been her adversary for so many years.

"If she is plotting to prevent us from following her to the Enchanted Forest, perhaps we have time. We can try to communicate with Henry again. If push comes to shove, we'll devise a way to return to the Enchanted Forest. Luckily, there is more than one way."

Everyone nodded in quiet agreement. Emma's status as savior and mother never mixed well, but she liked to think there was an exception. _If we have to follow Henry to the Enchanted Forest, we will. And I'll be taking everyone in Storybrooke with me._

...

The next morning, Emma woke early and decided to go to Jefferson for help. If there was anyone that knew the layout of the town-and possibly its hidden spaces underneath-it was the man with the telescope. Rumpel offered to come along, but she insisted that he use the opportunity to place magical wards around the houses of Storybrooke, in case Regina didn't hold true to her word about staying her hand. Emma wasn't going to feel reassured about the safety of the townsfolk until she was permanently subdued.

She really hoped Rumpel listened to her warnings about being nice to the Blue Fairy. With their bad history in mind, she wouldn't be surprised if he "accidentally" turned her into blue confetti and stuffed the remains into a pinata for Henry's next birthday party.

Emma sensed it when she passed through the ward at the base of the hill. It was like crawling through quicksand for a short moment. It was supposed to keep those that meant Jefferson or Belle harm out and so far it was doing its job. Rumpel made sure it was as foolproof and powerful as can be, more for Belle's sake than the hatter's.

She had never seen so many cars parked outside Jefferson's hotel-sized residence. Many families, especially those with young children, had taken Jefferson up on his offer of protection, temporarily moving into his spare rooms. She recognized Michael's car and she was glad he cared for Hansel and Gretel's safety. Ashley's boyfriend's beat-up vehicle was also there. Their baby would be turning one soon. Born in a cursed world where they never belonged in the first place.

It still made Emma's head spin to remember that Ashley's baby might have been her childhood friend if the curse hadn't struck. Now they were twenty-eight years apart.

Grace answered the door before Emma's knuckles touched it. Jefferson must not have kicked the habit of looking through that telescope in the mornings. She smiled up at Emma politely. _If there's anything more surreal than Ashley's baby being my childhood friend, _Emma thought as she returned the warm smile, _it's the fact that this kid is supposed to be older than me. She might have had children of her own by now. _

"Hi, Emma. Did you find Henry yet?" Emma's heart tugged for the little girl. It was obvious that she cared greatly for Henry. It was the reason she dreaded having to inform Grace that he hadn't returned.

"Not yet," she answered solemnly. Grace's smile drooped at the corners. Emma sank down to Grace's level so she could better meet her eye. "You should know we're working as hard as we can to find him. That's why I'm here now. Do you mind if I speak to your father?"

The hallway over Grace's shoulder was vacant, but she could hear a symphony of voices coming from somewhere inside the house. Grace allowed her inside to the foyer and hurried to get Jefferson. The smell of bacon reached her nose and her stomach grumbled.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Belle's making breakfast, so I had to make a detour by the kitchen," Jefferson said, emerging from around the corner with a half-eaten piece of toast in hand. He stuffed the rest in his mouth and licked the butter off of his fingers. He greeted her with a short embrace that she knew was more than a friendly gesture. It was his way of expressing his condolences for Henry. Emma broke free of it before he finished hugging her. She was so tired of condolences. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

"No, thanks. I'm not that hungry." Her stomach betrayed her with another long growl. Jefferson eyed her with concern. "I'm here to ask for your help."

"Well, I'd start with some pancakes, topped with chocolate chips and a puff of whipped cream. Then I'd move on to the bacon and sausage, but to each his own-" Emma rolled her eyes.

"This is serious, Jefferson," she said over the rumble of her belly. She tugged her shirt down over her baby bump, as if that could better staunch the noise. His lips flattened into a thin line. He motioned toward the door and held it open for her.

"Let's talk outside. It's much quieter," he said. She wondered if he was perturbed by the commotion that now filled his house on a daily notice. It had been empty and quiet for so many years during the curse. "I'm sorry about Henry. Losing a child isn't easy to cope with. I'm guessing he's the reason you're here."

"Him...and Regina," she confirmed. Jefferson looked like he was going to choke up that toast he just consumed.

"It's always Regina," he muttered, staring toward the town in the distance. From the top of the hill, it looked so small. A colony of ants that Regina would gleefully burn with a magnifying glass.

"No one knows the town like you do. You watched over it during the curse and I remember your charted it. You would be doing me a huge favor if you happened to know of any underground...uh, caverns. Somewhere Regina might have taken Henry."

Jefferson's eyes narrowed as he gazed out at the town. He became lost in thought and she didn't dare disturb him. _Give me something...anything, _Emma silently pleaded. There was no sign of recognition, no epiphany, no eureka moment.

"There's the obvious choice: her vault. Of course, you most likely thought of that, in which case you wouldn't be coming to me. There are the mines, Regina's Zoo of Death under the hospital...other than that, I'm afraid I'm not much help. There's only so much you can see with a telescope, and most of what I see is above ground."

Emma felt a wave of dismay wash over her. She had been so sure that Jefferson could point her in the right direction. Would Regina be cruel enough to hide her son in one of the dismal cells under the hospital, the same way she had imprisoned Belle?

"Thanks, anyway," she said and started toward her Bug.

"Emma," Jefferson called her back. She turned around and saw something black fly toward her face. She instinctively raised her hand to bat it away and it fell to the gravel. It was only a black bracelet. She picked it up out of curiosity. "I made it for you. If you can use your magic with it, you might be able to prevent Regina from summoning her magic. Slap it on her wrist next time you get close enough, then do us all a favor and toss her in a jail cell to rot."

Emma closed her fist around the bracelet and shoved it in her pocket.

The front door swung open behind Jefferson. Emma glanced up to see Belle, bright and smiling, step out into the cool Maine air. She tenderly touched Jefferson's arm and the wariness in his eyes melted into affection.

"Your waffles are ready. Topped with M&Ms, just the way you like them," she told Jefferson. He licked his lips ravenously. It was a pleasant reminder of the hatter's fascination with candy. Emma still hadn't tried his much-praised M&M pizza. Maybe she would recommend it to Henry when she got him back. That was assuming they didn't relocate to the Enchanted Forest.

Belle noticed Emma heading for the yellow Bug and pushed past Jefferson in an effort to catch up with her.

"Oh, Emma, I'm so terribly sorry about Henry," she cried, catching Emma when her door was halfway open. "Not only did the Queen take the life of my father, but she took your son as well. I wish I had stayed with you in the cemetery."

Emma appreciated Belle's kindness and consideration for others. If she had asked Belle to stay behind in the cemetery to defend Henry, she would have done it without question. More than likely, she would take the chance to sneak up on Regina and whack her over the head with one of her books.

"Will you at least stay for breakfast?"

Emma snuck a glance at Jefferson, who suddenly placed his hands together, feigning prayer. Belle's hands clutched hers, and they felt as unbreakable as steel. Emma's stomach growled again, demanding some of Belle's cooking.

A full stomach would do her good, both as the savior and an expectant mother.

"If I agree to stay, you'd better make a plate that I can take to Rumpel. You know how jealous he'll be if he misses out on M&M waffles."

...

Rumpel was partially thankful that Bae signed that contract. According to the terms, he was allowed to use any and all limits of his magic to save Henry. Not that he would have restrained his power for that purpose. The contract simply granted him the freedom to do so.

After putting up with the blue jellyfish's condescending remarks all morning, and resisting the urge to turn her into a real jellyfish, he returned to his home. It was peaceful there, with only Goldie to greet him with a happy bark. There was one particular item he needed from his collection of potions and magic. He didn't know why he hadn't considered it earlier.

He was going to use a finding spell to locate Henry. No matter where he was in town, so long as he was in Storybrooke, it should work.

It was a daunting feat, forcing himself to open the door to Henry's bedroom and walk inside. This was where Henry first called him Dad. Even now, the memory was crystal clear inside his head.

He needed something personal of Henry's in order to enact the finding spell, but the emptiness of his boy's room hit him hard. For a moment, he staggered against the door. No wonder Emma always lingered on the threshold-she missed Henry greatly and the sight of his lonely room brought her closer to grieving, but it was too difficult for her to step inside. To do so would mean succumbing to that loneliness and she feared she would not have the strength to leave that room again.

It may have been considered stalling, but the first thing he did was open Henry's balcony doors to air out the room. He swiped his hand over the surfaces of each bureau, cleaning it of invisible dust. Eventually, he crossed to the closet and retrieved Henry's red and grey striped scarf. He hadn't worn it to the funeral because of his suit. Rumpel never wore scarfs with his suits; he suspected it was because of this that Henry did the same.

His legs buckled, unable to support his weight, and he plopped down on Henry's bed, cradling the scarf in his lap. With overwhelming melancholy, he remembered all the days Henry had worn that scarf. He remembered days where Henry did not wear the scarf and his fingers dug into the wool. Taking a glass vial out of his pocket, he twisted the cap off with his teeth and poured the contents over the scarf.

He never had the opportunity to test whether potions such as finding spells stained clothing. He hoped not.

At first nothing happened. He looked down into the empty vial and wondered if he selected the right potion. Normally, he knew the position of every single vial on his worktable. A whisper of wind infiltrated the room through the open window. It kissed Rumpel's cheek, a peck of ice. Without warning, the wind heightened to a flurry, lifting the scarf from his lap. He started to reach out to grab it, but then thought better of it. The scarf fluttered and spun in a circle with the wind before flying out the open window.

He had to follow that scarf.

When he made it outside, winded from dashing down the stairs, he caught sight of the scarf twirling in front of the house. Archie and Red had been walking Pongo past his house and were now trying to catch the scarf. Archie hopped up and down like the cricket he used to be, but the scarf narrowly avoided his fingertips.

"Do not touch that scarf!" Rumpel bellowed. He charged off his porch, heading for the scarf with the intention of following it. It had better be the finding potion at work and not just a freak display of weather change. Pongo jumped for it and Rumpel froze him in midair.

"Pongo," Archie gasped. He tugged on Pongo's leash, but the dog didn't budge an inch. Red gawked at him.

"You know, I was going to offer to use my wolf speed to catch that scarf for you, but I changed my mind," she said bitingly. Rumpel froze her in place, too, just in case she was the type of girl that changed her mind a dozen times within minutes. Archie's eyes bulged in horror behind his glasses. The scarf drifted down the street and Rumpel hastily climbed into his car to trail it.

"Hey! You can't just leave me stuck here!" Red hollored, flapping her arms. She leaned forward and backward, attempting to move her feet, but they might as well have been coated in dry cement. His answer was a roar of the engine as he drove past the house, pursuing the scarf and climbing over the speed limit. Red growled. "Your wife will hear about this!"

...

The scarf floated over the main street of Storybrooke. More than once, his car skidded along the road since he tended to keep an eye on the scarf and not the oncoming traffic. The scarf was carried over the gates of the cemetery. He was forced to abandon the car and search for the scarf on foot.

It landed in front of Regina's crypt.

Rumpel studied the decrepit Mills' family crypt and then the unmoving scarf, puzzled. Surely Regina would not hide Henry in the most obvious place. Was she that dense? Or was his finding spell faulty? No, that couldn't be it. The potions he created very rarely led him astray.

_Somewhere underground...not her vault, _Snow had said. Then again, she and Charming had been wrong in the past. It wouldn't hurt to cover his bases.

Draping the scarf over his arm, he wrenched open the door to the crypt and entered its musty interior. The inscription of _Henry Mills _never bothered him before since he knew it was meant for Regina's father, but now it sent a chill down his back. It took great strength to lift the lid of the casket, not so much because of its weight but because he was reluctant to see what was inside.

All he saw was white satin lining. No body. That was a relief. He didn't know what he would have done if Henry was resting inside, regardless if he was asleep or dead. There would be no erasing that image from his mind.

With a flourish of his arm, the casket slid back, revealing the set of stairs underneath. Carefully he descended into Regina's hidden vault. He made certain to check around every corner and in every shadow, all the while holding his breath in case he cursed the chance of Henry being there. The wind whispered at his back and he continuously expected Regina to appear from the darkness.

Too soon, he traversed the entire vault and stopped in the center of the circular chamber that once hosted the hearts Regina stole. Unless Regina had shrunk Henry and stuffed him in one of those heart boxes, then Henry was not there at all.

There was nothing of importance left in that vault. Empty heart boxes, alcoves that contained various cracked vials and forgotten spells...He had broken the mirror the last time he and Emma ventured into the vault. The wall where it used to hang was dusty and gray. What could the scarf have traced if not Henry? Or was this simply where the trail went cold?

How many secrets did Regina have buried away?

Curiosity aroused, he moved to the wall and placed his palm against it. It was like caressing an iceberg, thanks to the vault's constant draftiness and location under the earth. The vault existed within a fake casket intended for her father. The father whose heart she cut out to cast this curse in the first place. Was it such a stretch that she would have other secret chambers?

He refused to believe his magic was prone to making mistakes, even if magic worked differently in this world.

Closing his eyes, he smoothed his hand across the wall. His fingers spread over the cold gray surface. He concentrated on sources of energy that may be embedded within or beyond the wall. There were no magic wards in place. Everything in the vault remained lifeless and silent. _Henry? Am I close? _

The trill of his cell phone startled him and his concentration shattered. He whipped his hand away from the wall to retrieve the phone from the inside of his suit. Emma's name stared up at him from the glowing screen.

"Darling," he answered calmly on the second ring. "Is this an urgent call or casual?" If it was urgent, it would better justify the loss of his train of thought.

"Casual," she replied in his ear. He tried to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. Her tone was so full of secrets waiting to be uncovered. Of course, his curiosity demanded satisfaction and he was too selfish to resist. "Where are you? I checked your shop and at home, but you weren't there."

There was a note of fear in her voice, much as she tried to hide it. It made him feel guilty about not leaving her a note concerning his whereabouts. Ever since Regina's threats had escalated, the two of them assumed the habit of alerting the other about where they were going, if ever they parted ways. It was meant to lessen their panic if they suddenly found the other missing.

"Let's just say...I had a spark of inspiration," he said in his traditional, vague manner. He heard Emma exhale sharply. She didn't appreciate the lack of information. "I used a finding spell in the hope that I would be able to locate Henry. It led me to Regina's vault, but there isn't anything here." He didn't bother shielding his disappointment.

"Jefferson doesn't recall any underground caverns," she replied, equally forlorn. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, fighting off the dull ache in his skull. The hand that held the cell phone tightened. "He suggested the mines and the hospital's psych ward. Should I check them out?"

"If it will ease your mind," he said tensely. Yet he already knew she would find nothing in the mines or the psych ward. It was a waste of precious time. "However, Regina has more pride than to hide in the mines like a rat, nor will she be careless enough to hide Henry in the psych ward. Not after Belle. She must expect I would check there."

Emma made a small _hmm _sound. It was hard to tell whether it was meant to be in agreement. Knowing her, she would check the mines and the psych ward despite his advice against it. She would dot every _i, _cross every _t, _and turn over every stone in Storybrooke.

"Don't take too long down there. You have M&M waffles waiting for you," she tempted him, efficiently changing the subject. His tongue traced over his upper lip. Truth be told, he hadn't been eating well since Henry was lost to Regina. But M&M waffles, courtesy of Jefferson and Belle...

"Jefferson's or Belle's?" He asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "If Jefferson made the waffles, they'll be an M&M extravangaza. One bite will curse me with diabetes. If Belle made them, it'll be like _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_, with this particular dish being just right. So, I repeat the question: Jefferson's or Belle's?"

_Please be Belle's, _he silently begged. He nurtured a sweet tooth as much as any other man or child in Storybrooke, but Jefferson's sweet tooth was worth ten men.

"Belle's," Emma relented.

"I'll meet you at the shop shortly," he promised.

When they bid their goodbyes and hung up, he returned the cell phone to his inner suit pocket. He studied that blank gray wall one last time, his curiosity hardly satisfied. Giving into it, he brushed his fingers along the wall again, but felt nothing. _Perhaps my magic isn't quite what it used to be, _he thought grudgingly. _All sorcerers have their off-days. I promised I would give it up. _

Taking his hand off the wall, he turned around and headed home.

...

_**I don't know about you, but the second half of season 3 has given me so much heartache recently. I won't spoil it in case there are readers who are not caught up in the latest events on the show, but my heartache mostly stems from Rumpel, Emma, and Bae. The last episode was part of the reason why it was hard to update this chapter, especially when I edited it. What do you think of the second half of Season 3? **_

_**Shout-outs for those who left me kind, encouraging reviews: ra7matigorti2, megumisakura, orthankg1, The Auburn Girl, elizebeth1994, beverlie4055, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, sbcarri, and ValueMyHeart. **_


	78. Chapter 78

_Curiosity kills the cat. _

He heard that phrase once when he was little. Well, _littler. _

At three years old, he became increasingly curious about the old apple tree in the backyard. It had always been there, towering over him with gnarled roots webbing across the ground and juicy apples dangling from the leaves. It was next to that tree that he first learned to walk, his tiny hands patting the trunk as he stood on two wobbly legs. Delicious looking fruit hung over his head, tormenting him as it remained out of reach. As far as he knew, there hadn't been a single rotten one. The skin of each apple was shiny, red as blood, unmarred by bumps, blemishes, or holes. Those apples were much too high for a three-year-old to grasp, but the forbidden nature of the fruit only made him crave it more.

At seven, he learned through trial and error how to climb that tree. Occasionally he would tumble or fall, bruising an arm or a knee, but he would never complain to Regina. He knew, even then, that she would not appreciate the news of him scaling her beloved apple tree. Eventually, he was able to swing his leg over one of the lower branches and straddle it. Immediately his efforts were rewarded with his choice of apple.

He remembered he got caught that day because he hadn't been smart or patient enough to wait until Regina went on one of her business meetings, otherwise known as meeting not-so-secretly with Graham. She was the only one in town that ever considered that a secret. When she found him on that branch, with a shiny red apple in his hand and his mouth wide open to accept it, it was the first time she grounded him. She had snatched the apple out of his hand once he was safely on the ground and gave him a lecture about how he might have hurt himself.

After that, she warned him never to go near the tree again.

It had been the fruit. For some reason, she didn't want him eating it. From that point on, he sensed there was something wrong about those apples. Later on, she would fill several bowls around the house and her office with apples, but he did not dare to take one. The way she looked at the fruit, as if it were a precious, delicate child in her care, the way she held it like she should have held him...

When he asked her about it, her only response was _curiosity kills the cat, Henry. _

It never stopped him from being curious, even if he never touched another apple again. Even if the apple did not come from her tree, even if it came from Granny, he shied away. He began to prefer oranges to apples. His curiosity never faded and he found it impossible not to ask questions whenever they popped up in his head. Belle said his curiosity was healthy and that he should never stop asking questions.

Henry's curiosity was more demanding that night than ever before in his eleven years of life.

He had given in and eaten the food that Regina provided him. His stomach was empty and the food looked so good. When he awoke after speaking with Snow, he found a tray waiting for him, filled with pancakes dripping with syrup, bacon slathered in grease, eggs sunny-side up, a glass of orange juice, and even the crispy French fries that Emma sometimes craved in the mornings when they ate breakfast at the diner. Nothing felt different after he ate every crumb, except for the fact that his stomach was full.

Regina made a habit of checking up on him every few hours. He still couldn't tell whether it was day or night. She would conjure thickly-frosted cupcakes or tall glasses of chocolate milk via magic, only to be disappointed if he chose not to accept it. She didn't understand or else did not wish to acknowledge his loneliness or homesickness. Sweets wouldn't make him forget the family he left behind, especially if he might never see them again.

He didn't know if it was a sign of carelessness on her part, but this time she left the strange box behind, next to her dresses from the Enchanted Forest.

It was too hard to resist climbing off the bed and running over to it. The box was only locked by two silver clasps on the side. Henry unlocked it and lifted the lid. At least enough for him to peer inside. There was no telling what dangerous creature or artifact could be waiting inside that box. A poisoned apple, venemous snakes...

...a hat?

He flipped the lid open completely and took the hat into his hands. No, it wasn't just a hat. It was one of Jefferson's magical top hats. Or was it the original one? It was so well-made and Henry knew it possessed the power to open a portal to other worlds.

What if Regina hadn't made a mistake in leaving the hatbox behind? What if she had deliberately kept it there, so that he would find it? She knew how curious he could be.

She wanted him to find it. She wanted him to know how close she was to taking him away from Storybrooke. With Jefferson's hat and a pinch of magic, she could whisk him away to any world she wanted in the blink of an eye.

Henry dropped the hat back into the box and locked it up tight. Maybe later on he could find a way to destroy it, even if it would displease the Evil Queen. He could live with his decision to protect the town by sacrificing himself to the Queen, but he didn't want to live alone in the Enchanted Forest with her while everyone in Storybrooke suffered. That was exactly what would happen if he went with her. The dread slithered through his stomach like tangled, cold noodles.

The minute he fell through that portal, the Evil Queen would undoubtedly demolish Storybrooke and everyone in it.

...

Something startled Rumpel out of sleep. He had fallen deeply into a sinister yet satisfying dream where he had ripped out Regina's heart and repeatedly flattened it with a rolling pin. He moaned groggily and rolled his head away from the crown of Emma's hair. Miraculously, she had also managed to find sleep in his arms.

He checked the clock on the bedside table-it was past midnight. The house was quiet. Goldie was having some sort of dream and kicking his feet atop the covers. He strained his ears past her occasional whines for any unusual sound that might have stirred him from sleep. Perhaps the creak of a floorboard or the howling of the wind.

It wasn't a noise, but a feeling. A disconcerting feeling that started in the furthest corners of his mind and worked its way down the nape of his neck, over his rapidly beating heart, shooting along every finger and toe. He rose up on his elbows, suddenly wide awake and alert. The feeling wasn't welcoming, but he knew the cause of it.

Someone was intruding in his shop.

This was the precise feeling that came whenever someone happened to break through one of his protective wards, usually without realizing it. It was his own personal alarm system. Closing his eyes, he received quick flashes of his pawnshop and he felt the ward weakening. Someone knew the ward was there and was using magic to shatter it in the futile hope that the alarm would not go off.

What if it was Regina? It had to be. What could she be going after this time?

The answer came to him swiftly. Many of the antiques in his shop were of no use or importance to him, but he had a habit of storing personal and vital objects there from time to time. He needed to get to his shop. If he was fast enough, he might even be able to catch Regina red-handed.

He looked back at his sleeping wife. The sheets were desperately clenched in her fists, in panic, not passion. When he placed his hand over hers, the tension gradually eased out of her fingers and the veins that were strung like piano wire under her skin finally settled. It would be difficult to leave her, especially since it was the dead of the night and he didn't want her to wake and find him gone. However, he also didn't want to miss the opportunity to snag Regina in a net.

Opening the drawer in the bedside table, he found an old leather journal and tore out a blank page from the back. Using the cover of the book for a writing surface, he wrote her a small note of explanation and left it on his pillow. He got dressed and then leaned over the bed to gently kiss Emma on the forehead.

"Keep an eye on her," he whispered to Goldie and briefly massaged her neck. The dog trotted over to his abandoned pillow, circled three times, and plopped down right on top of the note. Well at least the dog would make an efficient paperweight.

He checked himself over in the bathroom mirror and wondered if Regina knew he would be seeing her soon. The idea brought a thin smile to his face.

_Ready or not, Regina, _he thought as he quietly slipped out of the house. _Here I come. _

_..._

Regina didn't like paying visits to Rumpelstiltskin's shop, day or night. If she did, it was usually for the purpose of ranting and raging. There was always something uncomfortable about being in the imp's shop and she knew it was more than the fact that she was crossing into his marked territory.

She felt like she was standing in a room three sizes too small, with the cluttered walls closing in and the display cases leaving minimal space to move around. And those puppets! The grotesque puppets that sat on one of the display cases with faces distorted in animalistic terror. Even she had to admit that her skin crawled just by looking at them. She always used to believe those puppets were Rumpelstiltskin's deranged form of Barbie dolls.

As pained as she was by her late mother's untimely death, she still didn't appreciate any instance where she resembled her mother. However, she intended to find Rumpelstiltskin's dagger again. Unlike her mother, she didn't plan on using it to kill him and gain all his power. She wasn't interested in being cursed as the new Dark One and living alone for centuries after watching Henry die. That would be too cruel a fate. It would be easy to take him away now that she had the hat, but she wasn't impulsive enough to overlook the fact that the heroes of this town would tag along for the ride.

She had to prevent them from following somehow.

This was the first place she thought to look for the dagger. After the miserable turn of events with Cora, he would likely stow it somewhere close. He wouldn't entrust it to Belle twice. He wasn't the type of man to deliberately make the same mistakes. If it wasn't here, she would burn the woods to the ground and hope it would be enough to aid in her search.

Regina's magic whipped through the room, sending items flying off the walls. Paintings, instruments, sports equipment. One of the largest paintings behind the register crashed to the floor, revealing his safe. Regina grinned and glided behind the counter. These types of safes were advertised as being indestructible. The best of the best for Rumpelstiltskin. Unfortunately, they weren't counting on evil queens armed up to the eyeballs in hellfire.

_This should be a piece of cake, _she thought as she magically summoned a glowing fireball in her hand. She launched it toward the safe and watched it explode over the lock. Her smile plunged into a frown when the fire cleared and the safe remained intact. Not even a single sign of wear. _What the hell? _

She tried launching two fireballs at the same time, but the safe was impervious to both. Her patience was quickly slimming. She picked up a fallen guitar and smashed it against the safe-nothing. She threw the paintings, the puppets, a stool, anything to make the safe crack. As she huffed and seethed, the safe continued to mock her with its perfection, keeping its contents safely stored inside.

She was willing to bet the dagger was one of them.

Fireball after fireball rained from her palms and she found herself growling impatiently in between shots.

"Why. Won't. You. Open?" The smoke cleared, but nothing had changed. At this point, she hadn't expected a miracle.

"Perhaps it's because the owner of this shop was clever enough to anticipate intruders and therefore placed a powerful blood curse on that safe."

That unmistakable Scottish accent, teeming with hatred, came from just behind her. He wanted her to turn around before he killed her-otherwise, he would have done it already. She did, but only so she could savor the fury and misery on his face. He already lost his only biological son, hence the curse. It shouldn't be that difficult for him to let go of one that didn't even truly belong to him in the first place.

"Fancy meeting you here," she regarded him coldly. His lip curled in disgust and his fingers were trembling and balled into fists. Her guess was that he was barely hanging on to his control. If it snapped, he would attempt to kill her. She welcomed the challenge. "Don't tell me you forgot to bring the apple cider?"

"Regina," he snarled. The floorboards creaked as he took a heavy step forward. She suddenly regretted being trapped behind the counter. Her back hit the safe when she tried to put more distance between them. "I definitely hope this day was eventful for you...because it's the last one you'll ever spend in Storybrooke."

It was so tempting to flee via magic, but that would mean leaving behind the object she came for. If she left the shop without it, then Rumpel would surely move it somewhere else. But he was taking another step closer, and another, cornering her like prey. She was the type that bit back when cornered.

"What are you going to do, Rumpel? Send me to the Enchanted Forest by myself? Kill me?" She cackled. "Go ahead-do it. You know you want to. Henry's location will die with me. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

Rumpel stumbled the next time he intended to take a step forward. She knew he was wedged between a rock and a hard place. She was confident he would back down, and that would be his mistake.

That was before his face hardened again and a fireball surged to life in his palm. Regina barely had time to duck before he sent it flying toward her head. The heat of the fireball singed her hair as it flew overhead and hit the curtain, setting it on fire. _If it's a fight you want, _she thought as she crawled on her hands and knees behind the counter. _It's a fight you'll get. _

He was coming after her. She heard his footsteps, faster now than before, as he pursued her in an attempt to cut her off. As she reached the corner of the counter, his legs appeared in front of her, blocking her path. It was past the point where he minced words with her, but he also failed to notice the broken half of the guitar that she was taking into her hands.

Rising up on her knees, she drove it into his leg. He yowled and his knees buckled, his body falling to the ground beside her. She tried to move around him, but he recovered fast enough to wrest a handful of her dark hair in his fist and tug her backwards. His hands worked to pin her wrists to the floor, but one of her hands wiggled free and she punched him in the face. There was a sharp crack as her knuckles met his nose. He rolled off of her and she clumsily regained her footing, retreating along the leftmost display case.

Rumpelstiltskin was stubborn. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg and nose, staggering to his feet. Once more, he set his slitted eyes on his adversary. Regina acted purely on instinct and used her environment to her advantage. Whatever her hands touched, she threw, aiming for his head. The lamp that sat on the display case whizzed past his ear and book after book collided with his chest.

"Stop throwing my antiques," he roared as he leaned heavily against the display case.

"Don't you mean your trophies, you sick little imp?"

She tossed a couple of painted mugs his way. He batted them down with his hands and they exploded into countless shards on the floor. When he kept coming, using the edge of the display case for aid, she smashed the glass case that contained an assortment of knives and started chucking those, too.

"I'm not a dartboard," he shouted, dodging and flailing past each knife.

"Depends on who you ask," she retorted.

All she needed was to draw some blood. A few drops would do. She held onto one knife and waited for him to limp closer. Frantically she sliced the blade through the air, jutting it toward his chest, stomach, face. A deep growl rose from his throat as she slashed his cheek. Before he reached up to heal it, she lunged at him and dug her nails into the wound, tearing it open and soaking her fingertips in his warm, fresh blood.

He grabbed her by the arms and sent her reeling to the side. She could have sworn her feet left the ground for a minute. The next thing she knew, she landed against the display case on the other side of the room and the glass broke under her weight. The back of her head throbbed and felt wet, her own blood spilling.

"Resist as hard as you want, Your Majesty," his voice floated over her aching head. He sounded much too victorious for his own good. "You're not leaving this shop. I won't allow it." She could hear him lumbering closer. Her feet kicked the pebbles of glass away as she struggled to stand.

"You've misunderstood me, Rumpel. I'm not ready to leave yet," she hissed.

With her hands still stained with his blood, she let her fingers unfurl from her palm. A blast of magic shot out in his direction, massive enough to make him whirl backwards through the air and into the other display case. More glass bounced over the floorboards.

Regina saw her opening and took it. She half-crawled, half-ran to the safe and pressed her bloody hand against it. The ward of magic protecting it shimmered and then the safe's door unlocked, swinging open under her touch. Rumpel had just dusted the glass off his suit when she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the dagger. Immediately he froze in place, a toy soldier waiting for its instructions.

She let him take a good long look at the dagger in her hand. She even turned the blade around so he could see his true name inscribed in the blade.

"Well?" He goaded her. "What are you waiting for? Follow in your dear dead mommy's footsteps. Kill me, become the next Dark One, and suffer in your own personal hell. You'll never obtain the happiness you seek."

Now that she had such a tremendous source of power in her hands, she was not afraid to approach him. He was a wild animal that had finally been broken and tamed. When she was only a foot away, his lips curled back to expose his jaws, but they would never clamp down on her flesh. Not unless she gave the order.

"I'm not going to kill you, Rumpel," she said, as if it were meant to be completely obvious. The suspicion lingered in his brown eyes. He didn't take comfort from that small reassurance. He of all people knew that there were worse things than death. "You're coming with me and you're going to personally send me off with Henry through the hat."

A dry, short laugh fled Rumpel's mouth.

"You're more sadistic than I ever gave you credit for," he spat. The insults rolled off Regina's shoulders with ease. It didn't matter what he said now. He was frustrated, angry, perhaps even afraid of what she could do with the dagger she wielded. She devoured it like the tastiest treat in Granny's Diner. "You must know there'll be no stopping Emma from following you from realm to realm. Remember what I told you so long ago: never underestimate someone that is acting for their child."

Ah, yes, the good old days. Back when Rumpel was newly awakened from her curse. She should've known even then that the imp had tricks up his sleeve. She mindlessly traced the tip of his dagger under her nails, removing the flecks of blood.

"Oh, I won't. You didn't let me finish," she taunted. She watched as the color shifted in his face, growing paler by the second. "Supposing this dagger can cross realms and still bind you...you'll help me with Henry. After we're long gone, you'll burn the hat. And after that, you will slaughter every person in this town, starting with your beloved wife."

"And what if that dagger doesn't work between realms? What's Plan B?" He was a dealmaker through and through, always playing upon the loopholes in a contract.

"If this dagger doesn't work, if you and your precious savior follow me to the Enchanted Forest, then the command will kick in there. One way or another, you will do it or you will learn to live without Henry."

At last, she witnessed true fear ripple over Rumpel's face. She loved it.

...

It was a recurring dream. It had started ever since she lost Henry, on the occasions that she could get more than a couple of hours sleep undisturbed.

The dream always took place in a pitch black room. It was impossible to determine the size of the room, no matter how much she shuffled her feet or fumbled around for walls. The shadows pulsed around her, swallowing her, stealing her sight. She was always alone...

_Henry? _

He would soon appear from the darkness, standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. His eyes would plead with her, begging her to take his hand. Instinctively, she would leap for it, only to smack her forehead into a cool , solid sheet of glass. A mirror, with Henry trapped on the other side. All she could do was scratch her nails on the glass; look, but never touch. Then his reflection would disappear and she would only have the darkness to contend with once more.

The more she experienced the dream, the more often Henry appeared. Behind her, to the left, to the right, everywhere. She never learned. She chased him endlessly through the darkness. Every single time, her fingers met the glass and her hope would diminish. It was a labyrinth of mirrors, taunting her with reflections of Henry and never giving her the real thing. Around and around she went, never being able to reach him.

_Henry...how do I find you? _

...

Emma bolted up in bed, her skin slick with a cold sweat. Her fingers scrunched the sheets and she had to put her mind to it in order to get them to release the tension. She sought out her husband, expecting him to have woken with her and ready to ask her if she was alright. He wasn't there.

His side of the bed was lonely and empty, the blanket tossed back. Goldie was stretched out on the pillow where his head should be. Underneath the dog's belly, Emma glimpsed a corner of paper and she urged the dog to roll over so she could snatch it up.

He had left her a note. She had to turn on the bedside lamp to read it, but she was rewarded with the sight of his trademark elegant penmanship. _Emma, _it read in the same looping style that she saw on his scroll. _I hope you never need to read this note, for it means you woke to find me gone. I won't waste time telling you not to worry, since I know you will promptly ignore it. Regina is breaking into my shop as I write this and I intend to catch her once and for all. Whether she will survive our encounter remains to be seen. Will I also be wasting my time in advising you to stay in bed and let me handle Regina? _

Emma answered that question on her own by tossing back the covers and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. There was no way she was letting him put a stake through Regina's heart alone, not after Regina had taken Henry and hurt so many people. She had practiced her magic for precisely this purpose.

There was more to the note. She smoothed out the note on the bed and read it as she got dressed.

_No doubt you have chosen to ignore my advice...again...and you are preparing for battle. I expected no less from the savior. Ease my mind by doing me this one favor, Emma: please, be careful. Do not be reckless in your actions. This will all end soon. You have my word. _

_ -R _

Emma carefully folded the note and left it on her pillow. She made sure to grab the bracelet that Jefferson made for her before leaving the house, just in case the opportunity to use it on Regina came around.

...

When Emma pulled her Bug alongside the curb outside the pawnshop, she found it despairingly dark. The moment she stepped inside, she found herself standing in the middle of a wreckage. The display cases were shattered, the glass glittering on the floor. Several items had fallen off the walls. The antiques that were arranged in one of the windows now lay in ruins. The window bore a large crack. The curtain that separated the back room from the front was horribly charred.

The damage was devastating, but Emma realized something even worse: there was no sign of Regina or Rumpel.

She navigated her way over broken antiques to the burnt curtain, but there was no one in the back room. As cluttered as it was, the back room was in better shape than the front. Emma scoured for a note or any clue as to what happened, but she found nothing except the disaster in the front of the shop. That ruin spoke for itself. It was obvious there had been a struggle. Either Rumpel had forcibly taken Regina to find Henry and kill her, or Regina triumphed over Rumpel. The only way that could happen was if she found a way to render his magic useless or if she found his dagger again.

Emma noticed the safe that was once hidden behind a painting, its door ajar. There was nothing inside except old contracts. She began to get a sickening feeling.

She needed to find him. For that, she needed a little help.

...

Archie was rudely awakened by two separate nuisances: one being an urgent knocking at the door and the other being Red's brutal kicking under the sheets. She always kicked when she dreamed of running, usually when it was close to that time of the month. Pongo did the same thing, his nails scratching restlessly. But on the rare occasions that Pongo slept in bed with them, he never left sore bruises the next morning.

Once someone in town even mistook him for imitating Rumpelstiltskin's limp on the way to work.

Whoever was knocking at the door wasn't letting up. He couldn't remember the last time someone came to him for a late-night therapy session.

"Red, would you mind getting the door?" He mumbled sleepily and shook her shoulder. Her legs stopped pumping, but a deep growl issued from her throat. It was never smart to stir a sleeping werewolf that was dreaming of running and on the cusp of her monthly dilemma.

"Not unless you want me to treat myself to a midnight snack," she grumbled into her pillow. Archie fumbled for his glasses. He wasn't looking forward to leaving the warmth of his bed, but he also didn't want to be responsible for Red lashing out at an innocent person. The townspeople had enough trouble with Regina hanging like a black cloud over their heads. They didn't need to worry about ending up as wolf kibble.

But what if it was Regina? It wouldn't be the first time she knocked on someone's door in the middle of the night. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to bring Red with him. If anything happened to him, at least Red would have a decent chance of taking down Regina.

"How about we answer the door together?" He suggested over his shoulder, carefully laying a hand on Red's arm. She must have heard the tremor in his voice since she did not verbally complain when she sat up in bed. Pongo lifted his head, but Archie calmed him with an outstretched hand.

"It's Emma. It's the Sheriff." The sound of Emma's voice carried through the door as Archie and Red went to answer it. Archie glanced uncertainly back at Red, but she only shrugged. Her eyes were dark and guarded as she stared at the door.

"Prove it," Archie called through the door. The Charmings had advised everyone in town not to answer the door unless they were absolutely sure about who was on the other side, especially after what happened to Belle's father. There was a chance it really was Emma, but it could also be Regina in disguise.

Her response was a harder bang on the door. If it was Emma, she probably kicked it.

"Would Regina ever admit she was happily having Rumpelstiltskin's child, even if she was in disguise?" Archie thought it over, but Red instantly shook her head. No one in town-except Emma and Belle-would be willing to say they were happy to have Rumpelstiltskin's child, including Regina. The Queen would lose her lunch first.

Archie opened the door and set his tired eyes on the pregnant Sheriff. There was exhaustion straining her shoulders, but it clashed with the fire in her green eyes. In her hand was a red silk tie and she thrust it forward, more toward Red than Archie.

"I need your help to find my husband," she said. Her tone was sharp and final, leaving little room for negotiating. Archie sensed she had neither the patience nor time for it.

"He's...not...in your bed?" Archie blushed while he spoke. It was the middle of the night. How far could Rumpel stray from his wife? Or did they have an argument? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but Emma's disgruntled look changed his mind.

"You mean the guy that froze me and Pongo in place like a couple of ice statues?" Red remarked. Pongo raced to Archie's side when he heard his name. Fortunately, it hadn't been too long before Rumpel returned to his home and unfroze Red and Pongo, but Archie had to convince her not to sink her teeth into the dealmaker. Judging from her pout, she hadn't yet gotten over it.

Emma swiped a hand over her forehead. Archie got the strange feeling that Rumpel didn't tell her about the incident.

"I'm sorry for that," Emma said to Red. She extended the tie further across the threshold. "But he went to deal with Regina in his shop. When I went there, the shop was trashed and they weren't there. I can only assume something went wrong. If Regina somehow took him prisoner, he might be with Henry. Please, help me find him."

Red's face gradually softened. Despite her annoyance at Rumpelstiltskin, she always had a soft spot for Emma, even more so after Snow and Charming informed her that she would have been Emma's godmother had things been different. She took the tie and held it under her nose. If she could pick up Rumpel's scent, she could lead Emma to his location in Storybrooke. After a minute of sniffing, she turned her head away from the tie and coughed.

"How much cologne does this man use?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and made odd snorting sounds. Archie lowered his head and sniffed the air above the tie, but he wasn't as bothered by it. Rumpel was often subtle with his cologne, but Red had the most powerful nose in Storybrooke. She forced herself to bury her nose in the tie again, and inhaled generously. Then she slipped on her shoes and kissed Archie on the cheek.

"Okay," she said as she escorted Emma out the door. The tie stayed clenched in her fist and she breathed in Rumpel's scent as much as she could. "Let's find your husband."

_My husband, my son, and Regina, _Emma hoped as she followed in Red's footsteps. If they were lucky, they'd be hitting three birds with one stone.

...

Rumpel never enjoyed traveling magically with other people. After their bodies were enveloped by violet fog, they floated together through the atmosphere until they became whole again and popped up somewhere entirely different. For that one instant, he was closer to Regina than he ever wished to be. One heartbeat lasted an eternity.

He inhaled before the smoke consumed him and took him away from his shop. In his head, he counted to thirty. He tried to forget that Regina was there with him and that he was essentially her prisoner. When he exhaled, the fog had already dissipated and they had dropped down in a new place.

"Where are we?" He demanded of Regina. The room was unrecognizable to him. It was a plain white room, containing only a handful of those ridiculous dresses Regina used to wear in the Enchanted Forest, Jefferson's hatbox, and...

_Henry..._

The boy lay on his side on a bed, his legs tucked against his chest in the fetal position, and his eyelids peacefully closed. It was only by the sound of Henry's soft breaths that he didn't assume the worst automatically. Rumpel wondered if Henry was still able to connect with Snow. The dream realm would treat him fairer than Regina.

"You remember my vault. You remember the mirror you broke. Behind the mirror was this room. A secret place where I keep my most valuable treasures." Her breath was hot on the lobe of his ear and he swatted her away like a bothersome fly. _I was close to finding you, Henry, _he thought miserably. The finding spell had not led him astray, after all. _If only I had dug a little deeper. _

"Henry," he whimpered and hurried to the bed. His leg still ached where Regina struck it with the guitar, but he bore every step without complaint. He reached out for Henry's shoulder, longing to see Henry's bright eyes.

"Ah, ah, ah," Regina sang. She waved the dagger. "There's no need to wake him yet. Let him sleep for now." Rumpel's hand hovered an inch above Henry's shoulder. That inch felt like a mile as he struggled to break through the allure of the dagger, but the chains of Regina's command were bound too tightly around his heart. His hand fell away.

Regina's heels clicked on the floor. He turned his head to watch her bend down to take the hatbox into her hands. Inside was Jefferson's hat. Rumpel wished he could set both it and her on fire right then and there.

"Carry him in your arms. We have places to be," she commanded. It was difficult to manage, what with his weak leg and Henry's size, but he scooped his boy into his arms. He felt a tightening sensation in his chest as he gazed down at Henry's innocent, sleeping face.

_I won't let her take you away from me a second time. She'll have to kill me first. _He placed a light kiss on Henry's forehead to seal that promise.

"Our next stop?" He inquired venemously. In his mind, he scrambled for a way to pass the message along to Emma, but came up empty. Without magic, it would be near impossible. His only other option was to stall Regina somehow until Emma caught up with them. Regina smirked.

"Where do you think? The heart of Storybrooke."

...

They retraced their steps to the pawnshop. Since it was Emma's estimation of the last place where Rumpel had been, Red said there were better chances of picking up his trail.

They stopped in front of the darkened windows-the one that was cracked-and Emma caught sight of her distorted reflection. Her hair was tangled, her eyes were weary, her shoulders sagged under the stress, and her hands were protectively placed over her extended belly. Beside her reflection was Red's-a tired werewolf clad in fuzzy red pajama shorts and a white tank top, whose nose kept twitching and hitching in the air every few seconds. After several drawn-out sniffs, she would reattach her nose to the silk tie in her hand. It was an odd sight, but it definitely wasn't the strangest sight in Storybrooke.

"I can't...I can't get a scent," Red said after she let a few more precious minutes slip by. Even though she'd been dragged out of bed to do this, she still looked disappointed. Her eyes were apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Emma. If they traveled magically, I wouldn't be able to track it."

Red tried to hand back the tie, but Emma didn't take it. She wasn't ready to give up the search yet. It was too much to bear, losing both Henry and Rumpel.

"No," she said sternly. "Let's walk along Main Street. You might catch something." She knew she sounded desperate. Red gave her a sympathetic look, but she held her tongue.

Together they walked along the dark, deserted street of Storybrooke, stopping every so often to allow Red to sniff the air. Emma opened and closed her fist, practicing the skill of conjuring fireballs in the palm of her hand. Each time was easier than the last. She sensed it when Red snuck a glance at her from the corrner of her eye. Red was only obeying Emma's request to humor her, because she had already lost more than anyone else in town. The more Red snuck trivial glances or yawned, the more Emma fought to keep them going.

When they reached the corner that contained the library and clock tower, Red abruptly pulled Emma up short. She twirled in circles, reminding Emma of one of those dancing ballerinas in jewelry boxes. She sniffed the tie and then the air. The tie, the air, as if she wanted to be absolutely sure before giving Emma false hope.

"There," Red pointed to the entrance to the library. "I caught his scent in front of this building. There's a chance he's in there with her. And if the Queen is there-"

"Then Henry might be there, too," Emma finished her sentence. She tilted her head back and studied the tower skeptically. Could it really be that simple of an answer? _It figures that Regina would want to be standing in the heart of Storybrooke when she finally leaves it, _she thought bitterly.

"If you want, I can stay and fight with you. It may not be a full moon, but I'm still stronger than the average person," Red offered. Her teeth flashed in the moonlight. Emma appreciated Red's show of bravery, but she wasn't about to underestimate Regina. She would go to any lengths to hold onto Henry now.

"I'll be fine," she insisted. Red didn't look too sure about that. "I know I've asked a lot from you already, but you'd be doing me a favor if you told Bae what's going on." Henry was his son, too, after all. He deserved to be aware of Regina's intentions and to be given an opportunity to defend his son.

"What about your parents? Should I tell them, too?" Their apartment wasn't far from the library. With her heightened speed as a wolf, Red could be there in a matter of moments.

Emma was on the verge of telling her to do so, but something held her back. Her parents would not hesitate to fight, but Emma didn't want to bring them into the center of danger. She had lost them once before. This was her battle with Regina-she didn't want to suffer any more casualties. So she shook her head.

"Just find Bae," she said. Red returned the silk tie to her and she stuffed it into her pocket. In the blink of an eye, Red was gone, off to deliver Emma's message as fast as possible. She approached the library's doors and drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves. She could nearly detect the aroma of apple cider that so often clung to Regina.

_This is it, _she thought as she pushed open the doors and stepped inside. _This is where it ends. _

...


	79. Chapter 79

_**A/N: I think this may be one of the most important chapters I've written for Sunshine. Therefore, I hope it turned out right and I hope everyone enjoys it. This won't be the end of Sunshine, but it's close. As always, I want to thank all those that read and reviewed lately. Your words mean the world to me. **_

Emma sincerely wished that the library's elevator worked both ways. Unfortunately, it only led into the pitch black depths below the library. It was broken, anyway. No one had gotten around to fixing it up. Even if it did work, she had advised Belle not to venture down there to investigate the dragon's corpse.

It certainly wasn't easy tackling several flights of stairs in a hurry while toting around a pregnant belly. Not only was she carrying her own weight, but she was carrying the weight of her unborn child as well. By the time she reached the top of the tower, she was severely winded. _Lady with a baby, coming up, s_he thought as she huffed heavily, unable to properly catch her breath.

At the very top, which was located directly behind the gigantic face of the town clock, she saw Regina standing tall and proud at the window, gazing out one last time over the once cursed town. Standing at the center of Storybrooke, just as she always intended when she cast that curse.

Rumpel knelt on one knee on the ground and clutched the brim of Jefferson's hat in his fingers. He must have been tasked with making it work, but Emma could tell from his nervous glances at Regina that he was stalling. He didn't look pleased to have the hat in his possession. Emma suspected that Regina was armed with the dagger. There was no way that he would ever agree to aid Regina in her psychotic quest, not even if his life depended on it. He was far too concerned about protecting her and Henry from Regina's wrath.

Rumpel's head shot up when he heard her climb the last step and she did not miss the spark of hope that ignited in his brown eyes. He was counting on her; he believed in her. Emma hoped she wouldn't let him down. Regina spun around and snarled, her blood red lips curling back from her pearl white teeth.

"I don't recall sending you an invitation to our going-away party," she hissed. Her eyelids narrowed to slits. Emma wondered if Regina was trying to set her on fire with the power of her glare. She was certainly focusing hard enough.

"Regina, you're going to..." Emma pointed an accusing finger at the Evil Queen. She bent over the railing and sucked in several breaths of fresh air. "You can't...I demand that you...give me a minute." Her cheeks were flaming, sweat dribbled over her temples, and her lungs were on fire. Rumpel moaned softly.

"Oh, sweetheart...don't tell me you climbed all those stairs." Emma used her sleeve to wipe away the sheen of sweat from her brow.

"Okay. I won't," she gasped. Now he looked even more miserable than before. His gaze wandered back and forth between her red face and her extended belly where their child was safely nestled.

"You could have simply transformed the stairs into an escalator. Or commanded the elevator to take you to the top floor," he told her. Emma's shoulders slumped.

"There's a spell for that?"

She wasn't yet fully aware of the things she could and could not do with a touch of magic. He had explained early on the rules of magic that forbade certain types of spells-never bring back the dead, never make anyone fall in love with another, never change the past-but she figured it was more complicated than that. All her energy had been focused on battling Regina and saving Henry.

Rumpel hung his head and she practically felt his exasperated sigh over her flushed cheeks.

"There's a spell for everything! Just like those silly apps you have on your phone. There's an app for that. Likewise, there's a spell for that." Emma hitched her nose at the stairwell. When they went down, she would turn the stairs into a slide. Maybe even a _water _slide.

"I stand by what I said all those years ago," Regina said, towering over Rumpel. "You may be skillful with magic, but you are a lousy teacher." He stared back at her with distaste.

"As if you would prove any better," he muttered. A bitter scowl crossed Regina's face, her vicious fingers curling into a fist. Emma swore she saw steam drifting through her fingers.

While they bickered, she scanned the floor for Henry. Her heart jolted when she saw his body on the ground, unconscious. He lay on his side, his back turned to her, and it scared her that she couldn't even see if he was breathing. More than likely, he was under some sort of temporary sleeping spell, to prevent him from stirring before Regina succeeded in crossing realms.

"Henry," she cried out and charged across the floor. Regina waved her hand and a wall of bright, burning flames burst to life, circling Henry's body and blocking Emma's path to him.

Emma reared back as the sudden heat scorched her neck. The flames writhed around Henry's body without consuming him or any other part of the tower. She guessed Regina was just barely controlling the pattern of the flames with her magic. If she wasn't careful, Henry might be hurt.

Regina boldly took a step forward, challenging Emma.

"Regina," she warned. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to be cornered. She held up her hands, fingers spread apart to emphasize how empty they were. Rumpel's eyes rolled between the two women, as if he were witnessing a tense tennis match. "Stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

She would be content with locking the queen away for the rest of her life, like the queen had done with Belle. She refused to be like Regina in the ways of magic and take her life, but if Regina forced her hand...She vowed to protect her family first.

Regina tossed her head back and laughed. The sound echoed in Emma's ears, ricocheting off the walls of the tower.

"Isn't that adorable? You honestly believe you can," she taunted. She spared Rumpel a scathing look when she passed him by. "Not even your imp of a husband can protect you."

From somewhere inside her classy black business suit, Regina produced the dagger. Emma had feared it and there it was, grasped in her hand. When the moonlight streaming through the windows hit the blade just right, she saw Rumpelstiltskin's name etched into the rippling silver blade. Panic rushed through her husband's eyes, every muscle in his body stiff as he awaited Regina's formidable command.

Regina resembled a selfish child that had been granted every last wish on Christmas Day.

"If I wanted, I could command Rumpel to kill you. Slowly, mercilessly. Imagine it: a battle of wits and magic between two torn lovers. How entertaining does that sound?"

It made Emma sick to her stomach to witness the intense glee on Regina's cold face. Her lips were split into an eerie grin. She looked like she had every intention of making that frightening fantasy come true.

"You won't do it," Emma declared. Regina's smile froze. Rumpel drew in a sharp breath. His fingers clutched the hat until his knuckles turned white. Emma hoped she hadn't made a grave mistake. If she knew Regina..."It's true you enjoy ripping apart the happiness belonging to other people, but that's the thing...If you order Rumpel to kill me, you'd deprive yourself of the satisfaction of fulfilling that deed yourself. You'll regret it."

The dagger lowered slightly. Emma watched Regina closely, trying to detect any sign of what the Queen was about to do. It pained her to consider fighting off her own husband if Regina ordered him to end her then and there. The eerie smile returned.

"Unfortunately for you...you're right." Regina slipped the dagger back into her suit. The next thing she knew, Regina was coming straight at her with a ball of fire crackling in her palm.

...

Bae was deeply submerged in a dream about Ariel. The dreams had only started recently and they were so vivid that he swore he tasted the salt of the ocean on his lips. He was underwater, rocking rhythmically on a current, though somehow he was not struggling for air. His hands pushed through the water, feeling for something, anything in the murky depths.

In most of his dreams, a muscular green tail, shiny with thousands of scales, sliced through the water just beyond his hand. From the shadows would emerge Ariel's halo of red hair, her ivory face floating in front of him. She stretched out her hand and he planned on taking it. The desire to swim with her, to drift and dive endlessly, was overwhelming.

All he had to do was take her hand...

Something held him back.

Water pulsed through his ears and with it came the muffled sound of his name. It was a scream. He whirled around and there was Emma, her emerald eyes pleading, her blonde hair willowy and pale as the water carried it. Her hand was outstretched like Ariel's, her fingers wriggling as they sought him out.

Old memories flooded his brain, memories of times they had spent together all those years ago. Deep in his heart, he knew there would be a part of him that would always love her. How could he walk away-or swim away-without giving her so much as a thought?

His hand started to change direction and seek out Emma's.

_Bae..._

Now Ariel was the one calling his name. Both women were reaching for him. It frightened him to have to choose one over the other. It was a decision he felt he could never make, even in a dream. Two pairs of eyes vied for his attention, two hands flailed for his.

His heart was knocking in his chest. It was so loud that he could hear the intense rhythm it was making. _Knock-knock-knock, knock-knock-knock, knock-knock-knock..._Finally, he made a decision and his hand reached out to take-

Ice cold water drenched his head. It filled his nose, his mouth, his ears. His brain kickstarted and his eyes opened wide to see only blackness above his head. He sat upright and gasped for air, snorting out water through his nostrils. Eventually he realized he was wide awake in the room that he had rented in Granny's inn. The sheets were soaked through, the pillow dripped water when he lifted it up from the mattress, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

A lithe figure by the bed made him jump out of his skin. Switching on the bedside lamp, he recongized the figure instantly. Red was standing beside the bed with an empty plastic bucket in her hands.

"Glad to see you're awake," she said coolly. He rubbed the water and sleep from his eyes. The clock on the bedside table claimed it was way too early in the morning. The numbers blurred as sleep threatened to overtake him again.

"What the hell was that for? Do you always personally bathe your customers? You should put that on a sign in the foyer," he grumbled drowsily. Red set down the bucket.

"You weren't answering when I knocked, so I did the only thing I could think of to wake you up," she explained. He kicked back the damp covers and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table to wipe the water from his skin. Red urgently latched onto his arm and half-dragged him to the edge of the bed. "You need to go to the clock tower. Emma is there and she's fighting Regina. I think Henry might be there, too, and she has your father under her control-"

Bae was already on his feet and changing into a dry shirt before she was finished speaking. If Emma, Henry, and even his father were in trouble, he wasn't about to doze off again and sit on the sidelines. He had to fight for his family or else risk losing them all.

He decided he would stop at his father's shop on the way there and get one of the swords he stored in the back. He had a feeling he would need it.

"Just do me one favor," he asked as he shook the water from his hair. Red's eyebrows arched as she waited for his request. "Don't ever do that again."

...

Red stepped into the hallway to give Bae the moment of privacy he needed to get ready. With her palms pressed against the wall, she tried to calm her rapidly beating pulse and sort through her tangled thoughts.

She worried for Emma and Henry's safety. Maybe even a little for Rumpelstiltskin. Regina was not one to be underestimated and if she somehow subdued Rumpelstiltskin, they were screwed. If the Evil Queen controlled someone as powerful as him, then she had the advantage. Red would help Bae reach the clock tower. It would be easier and faster if she ran with him. And then...and then...

If only it was a full moon that night. She would gladly transform into the wolf and rip the Queen to shreds if it meant protecting those she cared about. Emma was practically her godchild and the sense to protect her ran deep.

She considered running to Snow and Charming again. Their daughter and grandson might be in danger, and she felt they had a right to know beforehand. They deserved this fight as much as Emma and Bae did. After she delivered Bae, she would tell them what was going on.

_I'm sorry, Emma, _she thought solemnly as Bae stepped out of his room, fully dressed and dry. He nodded to her quietly and together they descended the stairs. _I'm sorry, but they can't bear to lose you again. _

...

Emma barely had time to think before Regina rushed toward her, a fireball surging in her palm. The only thing she could do was act on instinct.

In her mind, she envisioned a black rain cloud over Regina's head, drowning out the fireball. She channeled the magic coursing through her veins. She glanced at Henry's unmoving body, the flames continuing to dance around him, and she longed to keep him safe from harm.

Thunder rolled over their heads. Just as Regina prepared to launch the fireball and reduce Emma to a pile of ashes, an ominous cloud swirled near the ceiling and opened up to unleash a harsh downpour unlike any Emma had ever seen. Rumpel jumped back to keep from getting caught in the flood. The flame in Regina's hand sizzled out, as did the ring of flames surrounding Henry. As soon as it was clear, Rumpel scurried over to Henry's side and cradled his body in his arms. The floor became slick with water, which then overflowed and rained over the stairway.

Regina was soaked to the bone in seconds.

It was too bad she was the Evil Queen and not the Wicked Witch of the West. Otherwise, she might have melted into a black puddle by now. Instead, she looked cold, wet, and grumpy.

"Your plan to defeat me...is a puny rain cloud? Or were you hoping I'd catch a cold?" Regina spread her hands wide by her sides and tilted her head back to let the rain spray her face. When she lowered her head again, her lips formed a maniacal grin. "You have a lot to learn."

The rain stopped. Regina pushed her hands toward Emma and a torrent of rain and wind slammed into her chest.

Emma was propelled off her feet, crashing backward into the railing. Her hand gripped it tightly as she tried to regain her balance. Regina's fingers curled as if she were twisting a doorknob. Her hand rotated and Emma's heart accelerated as she felt the railing start to give way beneath her. She struggled to push away from it, but her boots slipped on the flood of water on the floor.

"No," Rumpel screeched.

Setting Henry down gently, he dashed at Regina, knocking her off her feet. He attempted to pin her down by the wrists, but she was swift enough to dig out the dagger again and sliced the skin of his cheek. He howled and recoiled, a line of red already dripping near his jaw.

The distraction had come too late. The railing splintered and broke apart under Emma's weight. Suddenly it wasn't there at all-she tumbled into open air.

"Emma," Rumpel exclaimed. He stopped dabbing the stream of blood covering his face and reached out his hand to where his wife had previously stood. He summoned her back to safety, but Regina commanded him to stop. His hand fell flat on the wet ground and he stared dismally at the gap created by the missing railing.

Emma had fallen...over all those stairs...no matter which way she landed, she would be injured or the baby would be harmed...

He was going to murder Regina. Somehow, some way, even it took him three hundred more years, he vowed to watch the light leave Regina's eyes.

"Now about that portal..." Regina snapped her fingers, her body language warning him to get to it or suffer the consequences. But still he ignored her. What more could she do to him now?

Her demand was interrupted by a _whoosh _of air. Miraculously, a mass of blonde waves rose into view. Emma was using magic to float on the section of broken railing. Rumpel never felt so weak with relief. Regina growled once more.

"Apparently, I'm not the only one who could benefit from a lesson or two," Emma remarked and hopped onto stable ground once more. She smiled victoriously at Rumpel, though concern added to the mix when she saw the gruesome gash on his face.

"You and those two idiots never know when to quit and die," Regina snapped. Emma planted her feet firmly on the ground and readied herself to fight back.

"Emma?" A voice rang up along the stairwell. Her body tensed when she heard feet mounting the stairs. She had forgotten...

"Bae?" Rumpel slumped forward, his face stricken with grief. The last thing he wanted was to have his loved ones in Regina's path of destruction. Bae reached the top step only to stagger from exhaustion. There was a valiant silver sword in his hand, but it didn't look like he had the energy to wield it.

"Someone should consider installing an elevator that goes up instead of down...Preferably one that works..." he panted. Regina rolled her eyes. Bae stood up straight, sucked in a deep breath that puffed out his chest, and pointed the blade of the sword at Regina. "You're done hurting those I love. I'm here to defend my son, my father, and Emma."

"Duly noted," Regina replied briskly. With a flick of her wrist, the blade of Bae's sword dissolved into dust, leaving only the hilt in his grasp. Bae gazed down at it in dismay. He even waved his hand in front of the hilt, as if it might have been an illusion.

"Well, that was a bit of a letdown," he mumbled. His only option left was to chuck the hilt at Regina, but somehow Emma knew that would only make her angrier. It would be like poking a dragon and expecting it not to roast you like a marshmallow.

Emma began to realize how dire a mistake she might have made in bringing Bae to the clock tower to fight. Given the chance, Regina would add his name to her long list of victims, using Rumpel as the murder weapon. It was even worse when she saw the pain and plea in Rumpel's face. If he lost Bae again, she feared he would fall into a downspiral of depression that even she could not drag him out of.

"Bae," Emma cautioned without taking her eyes off Regina. "You deserve the chance to fight, but you can help just as much by getting Henry out of here."

Regina's eyes switched to Henry's body. She took a careful step toward him, as though ready to prevent Bae from following Emma's advice. However, Bae remained at her side, confident as ever despite the broken hilt in his hand. He was either very brave or very foolish.

"No. I'm not running away. I will stand and fight," he said, though the slight tremor in his voice told Emma that he knew how slim the chances were of making it out alive. To him, there were only two options on the table: dying a hero or running away like a coward.

"I'm proud of you, Bae, truly I am...but please..." Rumpel pleaded, with all his heart by the sound of it. Bae grimaced and Emma wondered if Rumpel was getting through to him. "Swords are meaningless in this fight. Emma and I will handle this. Bring Henry to safety. Do what is best for your child first."

Bae's fingers loosened around the hilt.

"I'd do what your dear daddy says," Regina said coldly. "And if you were smart, you'd leave empty-handed. There's nothing wrong with preserving your own life. Why suffer with the rest of them?"

Bae looked to Emma uncertainly and she gave a shallow nod. The hilt of the sword clattered on the ground. Then, with determined strides, he made a beeline for Henry's limp form. Fury flared in Regina's ebony eyes and she turned to Bae with every intention of stopping him in his tracks. Emma side-stepped, reclaiming her attention.

"Your fight is with me, not him." Regina's lips pursed.

"No, my fight is with anyone who dares to take my son from me." Regina raised the dagger. "Rumpel, do me one little favor...and restrain your son. Lift him in the air and hold him there."

Rumpel extended his hand, aiming for Bae. Even from where she stood, Emma noticed the way his hand trembled. He gritted his teeth and struggled for control of his own power, but he was forced to obey Regina's command. Before he could take Henry into his arms, Bae was swept off his feet and left to squirm in midair. He thrashed his arms and legs, but the spell remained unbroken.

"Regina, no!" Emma panicked and darted forward to confront the Evil Queen, but the dagger waved in warning. One word and Rumpel could be forced to do something truly regrettable to his son. It took all of Emma's common sense and strength to keep from throwing a punch at Regina's smug face. "Don't do this."

"You're giving me an order?" Just then, Emma's hope for Bae weakened. There would be no arguing with Regina, no convincing her to stop this madness. "Rumpel, be a dear and toss this intruder out the window." She motioned the dagger to Bae's floating body.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. She summoned her magic and used it to try to free Bae from Rumpel's power, but it wasn't enough. Her resolve hardened when she saw how hard Rumpel was fighting to disobey Regina's command.

"Never," he shot back. Emma concentrated harder and she felt relief when Bae's body began to drop to the floor. As long as Rumpel kept fighting it, there might be a chance of stopping Regina from winning. "I...have hurt...my son enough. I refuse to do this."

Regina did not look pleased to hear it.

"Excuse me? Who is holding the dagger here? You or me?" She ran her finger across his name on the blade, just to rub it in. "Toss him-_now!" _

Rumpel cringed. Bae's body stopped descending. Emma understood that Rumpel was pushing himself to the limit to betray Regina's order-and failing. As the Dark One, he was forced to obey whoever controlled the dagger. Tears welled up in his eyes as he studied his son.

"I love you, Bae," he whispered. Emma thought she heard Bae murmur _Papa_. She worked harder to gather her magic, but she was feeling the drain of energy already.

Rumpel closed his eyes and abruptly flung his arm toward the face of the clock, as though pitching a baseball. To her shock, Bae was ripped away from her hold, her magic rendered useless as Bae soared into one of the windows beneath the face of the clock. There was the sound of glass shattering and Bae fell through.

"No," Emma shouted and pictured Bae landing safely on a massive bed. She had to save him...

Rumpel limped to the window that contained a Bae-sized hole and peered down. She waited to hear the sound of Bae's body hitting the pavement, but it didn't come. Rumpel whimpered and gave a sigh of relief.

Far below the face of the clock, Bae whipped through the air and plopped down on a bed that had been conjured out of thin air. The collision made the bed break on all four legs, but Bae was relatively unharmed. His ankle throbbed and the warmth of blood came from multiple cuts on his face, but he would live. _I hate magic, _he thought bitterly and stared up at the empty night sky as his pulse thundered in his ears.

In the clock tower, Rumpel's nails scraped over the wall as he struggled to contain his rage. Emma didn't blame him if he found a way to take Regina down for what she did. Or nearly did.

"I hope you rot in the lowest circle of hell for the fate you've nearly declared for my son," he spat, his voice brimming with hatred. It would not be easy for him to get over the fact that he had almost thrown Bae to his death. _This ends now, _Emma thought and started for Regina. No more games.

There was a dull groan from her right. It was the best sound Emma ever heard. Her eyes immediately found Henry, whose eyelids were fluttering and whose elbows propped his body from the floor. He looked right at her and smiled.

"Mom?"

Her lips began to mirror his, the corners soaring. The spell must have worn off. Or had Bae actually succeeded in waking Henry before being thrown from the tower? It didn't matter; all that mattered now was that Henry was awake and that he had a chance of escaping this place. He wouldn't want to go without her and Rumpel, but she was going to have to convince him of it. She had to do what was best for her son.

"Henry," Emma sighed happily. Her feet began to carry her to him, all the while oblivious to the mistake she had made. She had taken her eyes off Regina, who was still dangerously armed with the dagger. "Henry, listen to me. You need to run-"

Before she could finish, the sound of rapid footsteps on the floor forced her to turn back to Regina. Emma had been distracted by Henry's awakening and that distraction, however brief, had offered Regina an opening to strike. She had no time to react and that jagged blade was heading straight for her heart.

"Mom!" Henry shouted. Emma scrambled back to avoid the dagger, but Regina's steps were swift. Just as she was sure the blade would sink into her chest, something leaped in front of her and took the blade in her place. Or, rather, some_one_.

Emma's palms pressed against her husband's suited back, his muscles rigid and shuddering underneath her fingers. He had jumped in front of her, had protected her even if it meant the blade struck his heart instead. Even Regina's eyes were wide with disbelief.

The dagger slid out of his chest with a moist sucking noise. His legs crumpled, unable to support his body any longer. Emma fell with him. She tugged him into her lap, her arms cradling his head. Already it seemed to be a challenge for him to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds. A dark stain spread across his shirt, his life force slipping away. His blood coated the dagger.

Emma shook her head, refusing to believe what just played out before her. She wasn't aware that she was on the verge of crying until a drop fell over his cheek. The warm tears stung her eyelids and blinking only seemed to make it worse.

"No," she murmured. She kept looking back to that growing stain, as if expecting it to miraculously vanish. It never did. "No, don't do this to me."

His breathing grew labored. His body jerked once or twice in her arms. There was enough energy left in his limbs to let one of his hands caress her jaw. A weak smile flitted over his lips. Oh, he was so pale...

"I promised...I would protect you." His hand fell from her face and landed on her belly. His head rolled until he was looking at Henry, who was currently frozen in fear. "All of you. I never...break my promises."

A thought occured to her, born out of desperation.

"I can fix this," she said and started peeling open his shirt. It was drenched in his blood. There was too much oozing out for her to find the wound. "I have magic. I can heal you. Tell me how."

But Rumpel gave a short shake of his head. It might have been because he knew how little time there was, or that the price would be too great for her to pay. It might have been because he wanted his death to be meaningful. Emma didn't know and she feared she never would.

Maybe if she probed around for his wound and willed it to close...Maybe if she opened herself up fully to the love she felt for him...

There was the sound of marching steps again. Regina flew toward her, greedy for round two. This time, Emma's anger and heartache fueled her magic. All she did was hold up her hand, as though warning Regina to stop. The result was instantaneous. The dagger dropped from her hand and she was blasted backward, falling through the broken window.

_Did I just...kill the Evil Queen? _Emma laid Rumpel's head on the wet ground. The dagger still bore his true name, but it only read _Rumpelstilt-. _The rest was fading away, an indication that he was really dying.

She handed the dagger over to Henry-just in case-and ran to the window. She expected to see Regina's body on the ground far below, but the queen had gotten lucky. There was a narrow ledge below the window and Regina's fingers gripped it. She was already slipping.

It would be so easy to let Regina fall to her doom, to have her brand of evil cast out from this world forever, but the honorable side of Emma's personality wouldn't allow it. She never wanted to be like Regina. A life for a life-revenge-would not bring her peace. She wouldn't forgive herself for it.

"Give me your hand," Emma yelled down to her and she stretched out her hand.

For a minute, Emma was sure the stormy look in Regina's eyes meant she wouldn't take her up on that offer, but then Regina clasped her hand. Emma began to scoot back into the tower and pull her up, only to be taken by surprise when Regina yanked on Emma's arm, bringing her closer to the edge of the window.

She was trying to pull her down with her.

_If you're going down, you're taking me with you. Is that it, Your Majesty? _

Emma dug Jefferson's black bracelet out of her pocket and slapped it on Regina's wrist. Regina's nails scraped it, but it melded to her skin. Emma scratched Regina's hand and tore free from her grasp. Before Regina could fall, Emma guided her back to the ledge. Quickly, she ran to the hat and snatched it up. _I won't kill you, but I am going to make sure you leave this place for good. _

"Bae, move," she hollered through the window, just in case he lingered at the bottom of the clock tower. She watched as his figure climbed off the bed and hobbled a good distance away. With Regina's furious eyes on her, Emma dropped the hat into the air. It spun all the way down to the ground and already she could see the purple smoke rising from it. When it hit the ground, it continued to spin violently until a portal opened, the purple smoke rising along the base of the clock tower.

Emma caught Regina's hand again. This time, the queen seemed too confused about her intentions to try to pull her down.

"Say hello to Hook for me," Emma said. She needed the thought to be in Regina's head for this to work properly.

Then, quite deliberately, she let Regina go. The queen's fingers scrambled for the ledge, but she slipped. Her body was a black shadow spiraling toward the vortex. She and the massive bed were sucked into the center of it and the portal closed, leaving only the hat behind. The hat stopped spinning and the smoke dissipated.

Regina was gone.

Finally.

"Emma," Henry called. He sounded scared. His eyes were trained on the dagger. When she crossed to his side, she understood the reason for his fear. Rumpel's name was nearly gone now. All that remained was _Rum. _"You asked how to save him. Try true love's kiss."

Emma knelt by Rumpel's side. She took his face in her hands, but it was impossible for him to keep his eyes open or recognize her hovering above him.

"I don't know if I'm his true love," she said mournfully. It was a debate she often had in her mind. She always assumed that Belle was his rightful true love and that what she had with him was not perfect, but close enough. The way Rumpel looked at her, especially when he thought she couldn't see...and the way he kissed her when he held her at night...Did _he _think she was his true love?

What if he was proven wrong and the kiss didn't work?

"It doesn't matter," Henry argued. "You were a baby born out of true love. You're the savior. It worked for Graham-you restored his true memories. It might work for him, too. Do you love him?"

It was a question Emma answered in a heartbeat. Perhaps less.

"Yes." Her hands steadied Rumpel's head. Was he still listening? _No more running, _she thought. "I love you. More than I've loved anyone in a long time. Please don't leave me."

Emma bent her head and kissed him with all the passion she could muster. She thought back to the times they had spent together, starting from the morning she woke in his bed. She thought of saving him, of how everyone he cared about still needed him. Her lips parted from his and she waited for him to take a fresh breath of air.

She waited...

Waited...

It wasn't working. Emma felt her heart split in two when Henry turned over the blade to show her that both sides were now blank and sleek. There was no name, no Dark One anymore.

She nuzzled her head on Rumpel's shoulder and allowed the grief to come. Her fingers clutched fistfuls of his blood-stained shirt. He had sacrificed himself so she could put an end to Regina's reign of terror. Sacrificed himself so that those he loved could see another day.

_You never thought you were brave or good enough to do the honorable thing, _she thought sadly as the moisture leaking from her eyelids soaked his neck. _Now you have. _

It must have been a trick of her imagination, but she swore she felt his chest rise beneath her hands. It was only when his head rotated and his lips brushed her ear that she picked up her own head in alarm. Did she dare to hope? Yet there he was: awake, alive, alert. She ripped open his shirt wider to see the blood caked on his skin, but there was no sign of an open wound. The dagger remained blank.

His curse was broken.

He was alive.

He had the audacity to snicker.

"What did I tell you, _Em-ma?_ You're more powerful than you think." It was nothing short of blissful to hear his rich accent again.

"You're alive," she breathed in wonder. Then she slapped him hard across the face. His cheek instantly reddened, with a white outline of her hand imprinted on his skin. "Don't _ever _do that to me again!"

"I suppose I deserve that," he said, rubbing his burning cheek. Emma started to feel guilty. Later on, when they were safe at home, she would make sure to tell him how proud she was of him. "Regina?"

"She's gone," she assured him. "Jefferson made me a bracelet, one that would null her magic if I used it on her. I sent her through the hat, to the Infinite Forest with Hook. Those two can spend a long time together thinking about what they've done." Rumpel chuckled and patted her hand approvingly.

"Good girl. My death would not have been in vain." Emma winced. She didn't want to mull over the implications of his death. That was far too painful.

Now that the fight was over, she began to realize how exhausted she was. Tomorrow morning she would deliver the good news to the town. For now, there was a bed with her name on it and she intended to snuggle with her husband until morning came. After he washed the blood off first.

"Let's go home," she proposed. She stumbled to her feet and her husband quickly rose to steady her. His hand stayed on her belly and she held it there. It was comforting to know that their baby would not be born without its father.

"Mom, look," Henry said, tugging anxiously on her arm. He pointed to the window.

A cloud of white fog blanketed the town, but it hadn't been there moments before. It flooded the houses, the trees, everything in sight...and then it reached the clock tower. It wrapped around the heart of Storybrooke and they watched as the fog swept over the face of the clock.

Several tendrils of fog seeped through the broken window. She pulled Henry close to her and looped her arm through Rumpel's. There was no telling what the fog would do once it enveloped them and there was nowhere to run.

_What the hell is this? _

...

Jefferson never slept through the night without waking up at least once. When he had been abandoned by the queen in Wonderland, it was because he suffered nightmares of losing Grace over and over. The nightmares had eventually faded after he got Grace back, but his biological clock still deemed it appropriate to keep him awake during the night.

It eased his mind to wake and find Belle cuddled in a ball beside him. They hadn't yet reached the stage of their relationship where they...did it...but he liked the rate at which they were going. Not too slow, but not too fast, either. Some nights he would wake to find Belle dozing with her head on his chest. The one morning that he got up the courage to ask about it, she admitted that she was restless at night as well, a side effect of being locked up by Regina for so many years. Being physically close to him at night brought her peace and so he did not complain.

As usual when he woke during the night, he ventured out of bed for a quick midnight snack. He crept past the closed bedroom doors so as not to stir the people that had taken up residence in his guest bedrooms. It felt good to grant the people of Storybrooke safety while Regina roamed free, but he longed for the day when the house would belong to him, Grace, and Belle again.

He stuck his head into Grace's room before heading downstairs. At least she was blessed with uninterrupted sleep.

He headed for the kitchen where he could fix himself a soothing cup of tea. Then he could work on getting back to sleep. He passed through the living room, his feet shuffling over the white carpet. His eyes briefly traveled to the window, with the town sleeping soundly beyond it...

He stopped in his tracks halfway across the room. Was he so tired that his mind played tricks on him?

Forgetting about the tea, he hurried over to the telescope that was set up by the window. Peering through it, all he could see was white fog. The entire town was submerged in it until he could not pick out a single building. It was coming this way, drifting over the hill and creeping ever closer to his house.

_That isn't ordinary fog. It's magic, _he thought, suddenly wide awake. He raced back up the stairs in search of Grace and Belle, not caring who he woke in the process. All the while, his thoughts turned to Emma and the possibility of her victory. _I can't believe it. She's finally done it. _

...

The only thing Red had to say when she knocked on their door in the earliest hours of the morning was "Emma." After that, they agreed to go wherever she would lead. It didn't matter if the sun hadn't yet risen in the sky or that they were dragged out of a sound sleep. If Emma was in trouble, they would do everything in their power to protect her, no questions asked.

Of course, they would have left the apartment sooner if not for one small mishap.

"Snow, do you have any idea where my sword is?" Charming had just finished throwing on a fresh pair of clothes. He rushed around the apartment, frantically looking for his sword. It was one of his favorites, second only to the one Emma used to slay the dragon under the library. He usually kept it nearby, in case of emergencies like this one.

"Sorry, Charming, I haven't seen it. Try retracing your steps," she answered patiently while stifling a yawn. From the space under the vent in their room, she gathered a series of sharpened knives and tucked them away on her body. It never hurt to be prepared for the worst possible outcome.

Charming checked every place where he might store the sword-by the door, under the bed, on the table-but came up with nothing. He pounded his fist on the table in frustration. Where could it be?

"Guys, I'm not sure how long Emma can hold off Regina..." Red signaled for them to pick up the pace, moving her finger in a circle. Her eyes kept flying to the clock on the wall.

Charming was abruptly hit with an idea about where the sword might be. He took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to the loft that was reserved for Henry during his overnight visits. He went to the single-size bed and pushed back the covers.

"Alright, who let the kid have my sword the last time he was here?" It certainly wasn't him. He only let Henry handle the sword under his supervision and during the occasional lesson.

He grabbed the sword by the hilt and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. The kid had been so excited to learn the skill of swordfighting ever since the curse officially broke. After they got Henry back, he would continue teaching Henry how to handle a sword. It might come in handy for him one day. He would have made a worthy knight in the Enchanted Forest.

Maybe Bae could join them, if only to watch. It was about time they got to know Henry's father for being more than just "Henry's father" or "Rumpelstiltskin's son." He was part of the family, after all, though Charming never really wanted to linger over the details of how that came to be.

With Red's help, they got to the clock tower in time to see someone fall from the highest window. Snow gasped loudly and clamped a hand over her mouth in shock. She quickened her steps to reach the tower, but Charming held her back when he saw a portal directly in front of it. His heart sank.

_Please don't tell me Emma or Henry fell into that portal. _If they did, he wouldn't hesitate to jump in after them. There was no way he was losing his daughter a second time.

In a matter of moments, however, the portal closed. Jefferson's hat sat motionless on the sidewalk. Snow twisted out of Charming's arms and stormed to the library doors. Instead of entering, she approached a half-bent figure standing in the shadows close beside it.

Charming followed after his wife, giving the hat a wide berth as he did so. When he got close enough, he realized that the figure in the shadows was Bae. He leaned heavily against the side of the building. There were lacerations covering his face and he was limping badly on one ankle.

"Where is my daughter?" Snow demanded. Charming feared that Bae would point to the hat, but instead he tilted his head back to stare up at the tower.

"She's at the top of the tower. So is Henry, though last time I was up there, he was unconscious. It was Regina that fell through the hat," he explained, holding up his hands in surrender. Charming placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder and felt pride overwhelm him. Their daughter had fought Regina and drove her out of Storybrooke.

"One problem solved, but it looks like we have another one on the way," Red said.

Charming and Snow turned around. Red's back faced the clock tower. She gazed into the distance, to a mysterious white fog that swarmed the town. It looked like the one that had passed over Storybrooke when magic was brought to this world. The only difference was the color. White, not purple.

_Not again, _Charming inwardly groaned and hugged Snow against his chest. He shielded her face, allowing her to bury it in his shoulder. She reached for Red's hand and Charming grabbed ahold of Bae's sleeve, just in case they were separated once the fog came down over them.

_Even if we are separated, _he mused just as the white cloud rolled over their heads. _I will always find those I love. I will find you, Emma. _

...

She didn't know what to make of the white fog as it covered the floor and inched toward their feet. It was not natural, that was for sure. Only powerful magic could have caused it.

The last thing she recalled feeling was Rumpel's breath tickling the lobe of her ear.

"You did it," he whispered. It wasn't an accusation. It was praise. She wanted to ask what it was she had done, but there was only one possible answer. _There's no place like home, _she thought lastly before the wall of white fog finally consumed them whole.

...


	80. Chapter 80

There was only one way to get in or out of the Infinite Forest: magic.

Regina was acutely aware of the black bracelet squeezing her wrist as she fell headfirst onto a patch of dry soil and crumbling leaves. Emma's final words circled her brain relentlessly-_say hello to Hook for me_. At first she was confused. What did Hook have to do with any of this? Then she picked her head up from the ground and took in her new surroundings.

Every way she turned, there was nothing but trees, towering high above her head. An endless forest where those imprisoned here were doomed to run in circles until they gave up hope or dropped out of pure exhaustion. The only thing out of place was the massive bed Emma had conjured to save Rumpel's son. It had been sucked into the portal before her. Currently, it was lodged between two thick trees.

"Finally someone's come to rescue me," an accented voice called out from somewhere close by.

Scrambling to her feet, she whipped around to face Hook. He was stretched across a fallen tree, his arms folded behind his head and his feet propped up on the trunk. His dark eyes, rimmed with more makeup than she ever used, seemed to be glazed with hunger, exhaustion, drunkenness, or all of the above.

No.

This could not be happening. Not to her.

"I see you've brought some luggage," he continued, using his hook to gesture toward the bed. It could easily fit two people, a detail she did not wish to linger over at the moment. "Mind if I test it out? I've grown tired of dozing on trees and the cold ground. I tried sleeping in a tree once, but I kept falling out whenever I rolled over."

Without awaiting her reply, Hook stretched like a cat waking from a wonderful afternoon nap and hobbled to the bed. She wondered how many bruises he had from falling out of trees. He crawled atop the white covers and didn't hesitate to put those dirty boots on them.

Regina scrutinized him with a combination of disgust and dread. There was absolutely no way that she was spending another minute of her time in this forest with someone like Hook, much less a night. If Emma was aiming to trap her in here forever, she clearly underestimated the Evil Queen. _Big mistake, _she thought wickedly.

Turning her back to the bed and that loathsome pirate, she closed her eyes and pictured the interior of her castle. Black stone, a fresh fire roaring in the hearth, her hall of mirrors, a wondrous view from her tower where she could look over the forest. She would go there first, gather her strength, and then she would return to Henry. Then she would see to it that every fool in the Charming-Stiltskin family suffered.

The strap on her wrist burned against her skin.

Regina opened her eyes, expecting to be swallowed up by purple fog and transported to her castle in the Enchanted Forest. Instead, the only thing she saw was trees, trees, and more trees. She hadn't even moved an inch. _What the hell? How can my magic fail? It's never failed me before. Not in this realm, anyway. _

Maybe she wasn't concentrating hard enough. She put Hook and the Infinite Forest out of her mind, clenching her eyes shut, and once again picturing only her castle. The bedroom that she and Leopold never really shared, the courtyard where her beloved apple tree grew, the place where she'd witnessed Snow White grow into the fairest of them all while her own heart rotted with hatred.

The black strap scalded her skin even worse this time, so much that she couldn't help but cry out in alarm. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment when she realized nothing had changed...again. When she turned around, Hook still dominated the bed, his head bobbing to a tune only he could hear.

She knew how to escape the Infinite Forest-her magic. She knew the Enchanted Forest still existed, including her castle. It was just empty of all human life. _So what's the problem? _

Her eyes instinctively soared to the black strap Emma had slapped on her wrist. That must be it. She must have infused it with her magic and intended it to temporarily null Regina's. If she could get it off, then she would have access to her magic again. That should be easy.

Regina scratched at the bracelet, trying to get her nails underneath it. It proved to be impossible since the bracelet had welded itself to her skin. She pushed on it, pulled on it, even gnawed at it with her teeth. Nothing happened-she was only left with a foul taste on her tongue. She picked up a twig from the ground and snapped it in half so that she had a pointy end to work with. She attempted to wedge it against the bracelet, but only succeeded in drawing blood by scraping her skin.

What did she have to do to get this thing off? Cut off her hand like Hook? If she was desperate enough, it would come to that, but she had nothing sharp enough to accomplish the deed.

"I need to borrow your hook," she announced to the pirate.

"You know, love, you could always try asking nicely-hey!"

He was taken by surprise when Regina leaped on the bed, straddled his hips, and grappled with his hook. She twisted it this way and that while he flailed beneath her. It had to come off somehow. With a tiny click, the hook came apart from Hook's squirming limb and she used that to try to pry the bracelet off. The hook might have worked to sever her hand, but it wouldn't be a very clean cut.

The hook might as well have been dull as the twigs scattered on the ground. Frustrated beyond belief, she hurled the hook back at him and climbed off the bed. The hook hit the pirate on the jaw and he rolled over to spit out blood.

"What did I ever do to deserve the scorn of the female population?" He moaned mostly to himself. The click notified her that he had replaced his hook on his arm. "Just once, can't I find a reasonable, young, attractive woman that likes me for who I am? Oh, that's right-she died."

Regina ignored Hook's woes. She wrapped her arms around herself for comfort as she contemplated her fate. If she couldn't get the bracelet off, which wouldn't happen unless a miracle fell from the sky, then that meant...

No.

No, no, no.

She would never see Henry again. Without her magic, she was trapped in the Infinite Forest. Trapped...with Hook.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Hook sighed, still rubbing his jaw. His movements were slow as he settled back on the bed, a sign that exhaustion was taking its toll. "So, which side of the bed do you prefer?"

If anyone else had inhabited the Infinite Forest, they would have heard Regina's cry of anguish for miles off.

...

Emma didn't know what she expected to happen if she brought everyone home to the Enchanted Forest. When she thought about it in her head, she saw herself being spat out of a portal and taking a rough tumble or two. Instead, the white fog that had concealed her vision simply...cleared.

She was standing on a golden bridge that led to a magnificent castle she was positive she had seen in Henry's storybook. At least a dozen times, actually. Snow White and Prince Charming's castle, if she recalled correctly. The glorious structure sat in the center of a lake, the blue water smooth as glass and reflecting back the image of the castle.

This was meant to be her home, once upon a time.

Someone lightly touched her arm and her gaze broke away from the beautiful castle, landing on her mother's pale hand first and then the pair of green eyes she inherited. Her father stood close behind her, admiring the castle where he held his daughter in his arms for the first and last time. Henry appeared by her side and smiled proudly up at her.

"You did it! You finally brought everyone home," he exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. She had done everything he hoped she would, everything he once swore up and down she would someday accomplish.

She turned to find her husband, only he wasn't there. He should have been standing by her side, where she last saw him before the cloud swallowed them, but he was nowhere to be seen. In the white fog, she remembered the feeling of him slipping away, of them falling away from each other.

Had he been transported somewhere else in the Enchanted Forest? _Please, don't tell me he landed in the water, _she thought, scanning the surface of the water surrounding the castle. There wasn't so much as a ripple. _If he did, I'll have no choice but to send Charming in after him. _

"Looks like I may have my work cut out for me. I can't find my husband," she moaned. Snow and Charming glanced around to verify that she was right-there was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin. Henry's glee vanished, melting into concern.

"Perhaps some people returned to the place they last inhabited before the curse broke. If that's true, he might have dropped into his cell...in the mines," Charming suggested, apologizing with his eyes.

It was so long ago, when the land feared the power Rumpelstiltskin held in the palm of his hand. They still feared him, but dealing with Gold's behavior for twenty-eight years seemed to dull their anxiety a bit. Emma hoped his theory wasn't true, otherwise she would have to reassure her husband that he wasn't being sentenced to confinement again. He always got a little strange when he was locked up in tight spaces.

Bae lingered not too far away, talking softly with Ariel. She had dipped her feet in the water and spawned a sparkling green tail, a sight not so startling in the Enchanted Forest. A little further down the bridge, Jefferson, Belle, and Grace huddled together and celebrated the fact that they were home at last. The dwarfs cheered loudly and made plans to go to their favorite tavern for a celebratory drink, once they could locate their favorite mugs.

In that case, Charming's theory couldn't have much truth to it, unless these people were rallying outside their castle at the time the curse struck. Belle had been locked up in Regina's castle, Jefferson had been trapped in Wonderland without his daughter, Bae had fallen into a world without magic...but the dwarfs never strayed far from Snow White's side.

"You could always try his castle," Snow chimed in. That seemed like a more reasonable place to start. Snow and Charming led her into the grand hall of their castle so that they could lend her a map. Bae entered behind them, offering Emma moral support with one of his half-smiles.

"So this is your castle," Emma mused. She tilted her head back to stare up at the vaulted ceiling. It was everything a person born of royalty could hope for and yet she didn't know how she felt about living in one for the rest of her life. Henry, however, had no problem with it. He took an instant liking to the castle and received permission from his grandparents to explore it to his heart's content.

"Our castle," Snow insisted. She made it sound completely obvious, but it wasn't that plain to Emma. When she looked at that castle, she didn't associate it with home. She saw it specifically as her parents' castle. There was a difference in her mind, another wall she'd have to tear down.

She shrugged loosely, much to her parents' dismay.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to call this place home yet. Storybrooke became my home after I've been searching for one my whole life. This will take some getting used to. I need time," she explained. As long as her family stayed whole, not torn apart by psychotic queens, she figured she would learn how to live in this new world.

"Maybe one of these days, we can give you the grand tour of the place. Let you see where you were born," Charming said. She knew it was an effort on his part to make her feel comfortable here. This was the place where she would have learned to walk, to talk, to attend her first ball as a royal princess, to fall in love. She considered agreeing to the tour, but then she thought of her husband, somewhere out there in the Enchanted Forest and waiting for her.

Snow's motherly instincts must have kicked in, for she clasped Emma's hand and smiled with understanding.

"Emma, go to your husband. The tour can wait. Find him first and be happy for all you've fought for."

She rolled up the map and extended it to her. It would certainly lead her to the Dark Castle and, with any hope, her husband would be lurking there. _Probably going mad with wondering where we are. Pacing around his room, spinning furiously at the wheel..._

"Hold on, now. Our daughter isn't making that journey alone, especially when she's carrying a child," Charming interrupted her wonderings about her husband, his commanding voice booming through the hall of the castle. It seemed his parental instincts were tingling, too.

Snow shared his growing concern, exchanging worried glances with him. This was a new world to Emma; she wouldn't be prepared for the dangers that dwelled in it. Ogres, trolls, dragons, the occasional group of desperate thieves on the road.

Before her father could offer his help to get her to the Dark Castle, Bae stepped forward.

"I'll do it," he said confidently. Her parents regarded him uncertainly. They hadn't known him for very long-they were still getting over the fact that this was the man that broke their daughter's heart. Bae took another step forward to plead his case. "I need to see my father anyway. Or rather, he'll be more at ease with himself if he sees that I'm alive and in one piece. I will do everything in my power to make sure Emma is safe until she reaches the Dark Castle."

"I trust him," Emma added. She read it in his face while pleading with her parents: it was the least he could do for her, after all the hurt he had caused her and his father. It was something he felt he needed to do and there was no convincing him otherwise. Snow and Charming must have understood it, since they approvingly bowed their heads.

"If anything happens to my daughter or her child-" Charming warned, thrusting a finger in Bae's face.

"I'll get the sharp end of that pointy stick on your hip, I know," Bae half-joked, motioning his head to the gleaming sword that Charming carried. "Believe me, I would never forgive myself if I let anything happen to Emma." She, at least, recognized the truth in his voice.

For a moment, Emma turned toward the stairs, wondering if it was right to leave Henry to his blissful exploring.

"Henry will be safe," Snow reassured her daughter. "It will take him hours to finish exploring our castle to the fullest. Charming will bring him along to the Dark Castle when he's ready." Emma thanked her parents with a meaningful hug.

It was decided. Emma and Bae walked side by side, through the doors of Snow and Charming's castle, along the bridge that led to the deep forest.

"Wait," Emma called out to Bae, signaling him to stop. Her attention was drawn to his leg, to his ankle specifically. He must have twisted it when he fell from the clock tower. He was limping slightly as he walked and the occasional wince suggested it brought him pain. "Let me heal your ankle."

Emma knelt down carefully to do it-and she was interested to see if she even could-but Bae pulled back. When she glanced up at him, she saw that he was debating whether to allow it to happen. It wasn't news to her that he wasn't fond of magic.

"You don't have to do that. I'll be fine," he insisted. The next time he took a step, he tried to make it look like it didn't bother him that much. Emma could guess why he was reluctant. Either he was worried about what the magic would do to him, or he was worried about what it might cost her to use it.

"The journey will be easier for you if I heal it now. It looks like we have a long way ahead of us. If it's the magic you're afraid of, I'm pretty sure mine is the good kind." If there was black magic in this world, white magic had to exist, right?

Bae thought it over, heavily weighing the pros and cons before he settled on a decision. Then he stuck out his foot like he was doing the Hokey-Pokey. She rolled up the hem of his pants to expose his flesh. It looked swollen, but nothing too serious. Gently, she placed her fingers over his ankle and closed her eyes, imagining his ankle to be healed and healthy. She heard Bae's sigh of relief as the discomfort eased. Even the lacerations marring his face were gone.

"How does that feel?" Emma fixed the hem of his jeans and staggered to her feet. Bae rolled his foot in the air, testing out the muscles in his ankle. He looked far more relaxed than before, now that his ankle wasn't bothering him.

"Perfect," he said with a grateful smile. Emma eyed her fingertips in wonder. This was proof that her magic could be used for something good, not something damaging. Was there a chance she could have healed her husband in the clock tower? She supposed it didn't matter now. He was alive and out there somewhere. She needed to find him.

She took a determined step forward, only to sway uneasily when a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. Bae caught her by the shoulders before she could lose her balance. The dizziness didn't last long, but she had a feeling it was connected to her magic. Trying something new, something major like healing Bae's ankle, had worn her out. It didn't help that she was both physically and mentally exhausted after the battle with Regina in Storybrooke.

"You okay?" Bae grasped her shoulder and peered closely at her face. Emma shook off the rest of the dizziness at the same time that she stepped beyond Bae's reach.

"I'm just tired," she said. It was obvious from the way he kept examining her face that he wasn't entirely convinced. "Let's go." Without another word, they moved on across the bridge. Together they set out on their journey to find Rumpelstiltskin.

...

The journey to the Dark Castle was a long one from her parents' castle, but thankfully not very rough.

They had located a stray horse and Bae allowed Emma to ride it due to her delicate condition while pregnant. It was generous of him and she knew he didn't want to place too much stress on her while she was carrying the baby. A part of her still felt bad that he was forced to walk and lead the horse. More than once, she offered to stretch her legs on the path and let him take the horse, but each time he modestly declined, insisting she needed the horse more than he did. She even offered to ride with him, sharing the horse, but he negated that as well. According to him, she would be far more comfortable if it was just her riding.

And so they trotted along at a steady pace through the vast land of the Enchanted Forest. Most of it contained small villages, open fields, and glimmering lakes, but Emma stared in wonder like a child visiting Disneyland for the first time. It was all new to her and a bit exciting to behold. _So this is...home, _she thought now and again. It made her wonder what her life would have been like had she grown up with her parents in this world.

Along the way, they were greeted by many of the people that Emma had come to know in Storybrooke. They were spread out across the land and were seeking their way back to their villages, castles, and houses. They were happy for the most part, now that they were reunited with their loved ones in the land they felt was their true home.

"It's all thanks to you," Bae told her over his shoulder as they continued on their way. "Everyone is grateful for the fact that you finally brought them home. If you ask me, it's something they'll remember for a long time."

Emma was practically a hero in their eyes and yet she wasn't sure how to handle all that gratitude. The most meaningful thing she had ever done in her life before breaking the curse was give life to Henry. Whenever they met someone on the road who thanked her profusely, all she could do was try to smile and murmur "you're welcome" and "no problem."

It was even stranger when some people extended her small gifts to prove the length of their gratitude.

With so little at their disposal until they got back on their feet, most of the gifts consisted of shelter and hot food, should she ever require such comfort. While passing through Cinderella's kingdom, the princess offered her one of the finest gowns that had been left behind in the Enchanted Forest. It was made of sparkling blue silk and golden laces adorned the bodice. The only reason she accepted it was so she wouldn't come off as being rude. With a baby on the way, she wouldn't be able to fit in it until after childbirth. _Maybe I'll try it on for Rumpel after I pop this kid out, _she thought and folded the gown over her lap.

Granny would have allowed them to stay in her humble cottage, but she claimed Red and Archie were taking up most of the room already. To hear her tell it, Archie had deliberately chosen to stay human when he returned to the Enchanted Forest, so that he could be with Red.

Emma was relieved when they began the slow trek up the mountain where the Dark Castle resided, even more so when it rose into view. It was an impressive castle, isolated from the rest of the Enchanted Forest. She gazed up at the tallest tower and wondered if Rumpel was there, awaiting her arrival.

The horse came to a stop in the center of the gardens. Unfortunately, all plant life was dry and dead, but Emma had a feeling it would have been a beautiful sight if there were fresh roses or some other alluring flower.

Bae helped her down from the horse and together they pushed open the wide double doors of the castle. They stumbled into what looked like a dining hall. There was a long wooden table in the center, where Emma deposited the silk dress from Cinderella. Several pedestals lined the room and she suspected they must have once held unique treasures. It was a shame to see that even the Dark Castle showed signs of wear, what with the curtains piled on the ground, the glass cabinet at the far end shattered, and dust hanging heavily over every surface.

Emma closed her eyes and imagined the castle returning to its beautiful state once more. There was the sound of objects shuffling around the room and she was glad to see that everything was in place when she next opened her eyes. Bae gave her an amused look in light of her handy cleaning.

"What? I thought the place could use a bit of sprucing up," she said, shrugging. She closed the doors to keep the cool air from blowing in.

"Thank you, dear," the familiar sound of her husband's voice drifted from somewhere near, making her spin around. He appeared in a doorway that she had not yet realized was there. He had exchanged his bloody clothes for a fresh white shirt and...were those leather pants? She had to bite her tongue to keep from requesting a full rotation on his part so she could view them from all angles.

From the looks of it, he was pleasantly surprised to see the castle in working order again.

"I would have done the work myself, but my curse is forever broken. No curse, no magic." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

Emma didn't care whether he had magic or not. She only cared that he was safe. To prove it, she crossed the room and threw her arms around him. He eagerly returned the embrace and then extended the same warm welcome to his son. The last time he had seen Bae was when Regina forced him to toss his son through the window of the clock tower.

"I know it'll be a hard transition for you, since you've depended on magic for centuries," Bae said as he accepted his father's welcome. "I'm here for you, Papa."

"Truthfully, I have very little desire to use magic again," Rumpel admitted. He pulled back to study his son's face. It was easy for Emma to recognize the love he felt for Bae, radiating from his brown eyes. _Love is the most powerful magic, s_he remembered. "I don't want it, not after I nearly..."

It was a thought he could not finish, though they were all thinking of what transpired in the clock tower. Due to his curse and Regina's control of the dagger, he nearly took the life of someone he loved dearly. That alone frightened him into not wanting to have anything to do with magic again.

"I refuse to let it control me again," he reassured Bae. She didn't know whether he meant the curse of the Dark One or the magic it previously instilled in his veins. Perhaps both. His eyes roamed around the room, his face becoming pinched with rising concern. "Where is Henry?"

"He's safe," Emma immediately calmed him. "He's being given a personal tour of his grandparents' castle." Rumpel smiled fondly. At that rate, it would be a day or two before Henry moved on to exploring the Dark Castle that belonged to his mother and stepfather.

"Speaking of tours...would you care for one? You are, after all, the lady of the Dark Castle." Rumpel gave her a sweeping bow and requested her hand. When she placed her hand in his, he kissed it and guided her into the security of his arms again. _Lady of the Dark Castle..._It sounded so...formal. Something else worth getting used to in this land.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Bae said amidst a wide yawn. He wandered out of the room, probably in search of some place to rest his head. When he was beyond earshot, Rumpel kissed her passionately. She could tell he'd been holding back since he never felt comfortable with flaunting their intimacy when Bae was in the room.

"I was worried when you weren't there with me," she said after the kiss had ended. She reached up and caressed the closing wound on his cheek. It would form a noticeable scar later on.

"When you fell away from me in that cloud, I was worried for you and Henry, but not for myself. I'm fortunate I didn't end up back in that cramped prison your parents arranged for me. I knew you would be able to find me."

This time, it was Emma that gathered the courage to kiss him, letting all her emotions spill forth. She was happy they were together and she never wanted to face losing him again. Maybe, just maybe...they would find some sort of peace.

"So, about that tour..." He whispered in the shell of her ear.

"Something tells me our first stop will be the bedroom," she replied back between kisses. She felt him grin impishly against her lips and she let him lead her from the room. They had a bit of catching up to do.

...

Emma laid her head on her husband's chest and listened to the sound of his heart beating. It was the most soothing sound in the world. It was a gentle thrum beneath her ear, lulling her into the peaceful abyss of sleep.

"I've been thinking," he announced, abruptly pulling her back from the edge of that abyss. His skillful fingers delved into her golden hair, pleasantly stroking the strands. If he was trying to ease her irritation, it was working. She propped her chin on his chest and stared up at him questioningly.

"That's always been one of your most dangerous weapons: thinking," she quipped. There was barely a hint of a smile in return. He was completely serious. Whatever matter was on his brain, it was trivial and important. "What are you thinking?"

He inhaled softly and released it with a sigh.

"This is a new land for you, and a fresh start for both of us. It wouldn't hurt to start out on the right foot. You loved me enough to save me from almost certain death. I want to return the favor and prove my love for you as we anticipate the future that lies ahead of us." To Emma's surprise, he took her hand and slipped off her wedding ring. He let it hover over her finger and he kissed her bare knuckle. "Emma Swan, beloved daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, savior of the Enchanted Forest, mother of my children...would you do me the honor of marrying me a second time?"

Emma's eyebrows perked. For a good minute or so, she was struck speechless. This was the last thing she had expected. It was no wonder he took it seriously.

"We're already married," she pointed out while her brain tried to process this proposal. "Everyone knows we are. Everyone has more or less accepted it." It was true that some couples were making plans to marry and remarry, especially those who had been married to the wrong people during the curse. She never imagined she might be one of them.

"Yes, but you have no memory of the night we came together as husband and wife. That was Storybrooke; this is the Enchanted Forest. Why not make our marriage official here? You'll be the wife of Rumpelstiltskin, not...Mr. Gold. You deserve to cherish the memory of our wedding...don't you agree?"

The more she stalled, the more uncertain he became. It wasn't that she didn't favor the idea of having a wedding she could remember. She did. It just took her by surprise, something he did quite a lot during the span of their marriage.

She began to think of the benefits of a wedding in the Enchanted Forest. They would be officially husband and wife in this land. Her name would no longer be tied to that of his cursed persona, though she would keep the memories of the time they'd spent together in Storybrooke. Her family could be there to celebrate it with her: her parents, Henry, Bae, the people she had come to know and appreciate having in her life. It would be a moment she could remember the rest of her life, marking the beginning of a period of happiness.

Emma took the ring from his fingers and slipped it on. For those brief seconds she had been without it, her finger had felt naked and missing something. Now, it felt right. She admired the way it glowed when the light hit it just right.

"I do," she said and bent her head to kiss him. He gasped with relief and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close and returning her kiss. Afterwards, she smiled as she studied his face, her thumb tracing the wound on his cheek. "Earlier today, I healed Bae's ankle. If you want, I could heal that wound-"

Before her offer was completely on the table, he gently caught her wrist and placed her hand over his heart instead.

"No. I'd rather you didn't do that," he said sheepishly. She wondered if it had anything to do with the price of magic. "I'm proud to bear that scar. It is a reminder that I had the strength to protect those I love."

Suddenly, Emma saw the scar through his eyes. For so long, he struggled to make the right choices and gather the courage to protect what he truly valued. She recalled the way he fought back against Regina despite the fact that she held the dagger. He had been brave and strong in that clock tower, someone his family could be proud of.

"Okay, I won't heal it. Come to think of it, the scar gives you a bit of a rogue charm."

A smile finally split across his lips and he tilted his head into the pillow, giving her a better view of his battle scar. She rolled over onto her side, her back flush against his chest, and he tucked the blanket around her to keep her warm. There was so much left to process and anticipate, but her body was swaying to the demands of exhaustion.

Tomorrow she would brace herself for all the challenges that came with adapting to this world. The only thing she would never do was fit into a corset.

"Just so you're aware," Emma declared before sleep could numb her brain. She nudged her elbow into his chest to make sure he was listening. "I'm magically installing indoor plumbing in the morning." There were some things she would miss from Storybrooke, things that were far too necessary to her comfort of living.

"Be my guest," he said agreeably. "Be careful you don't spoil us too much. First it's indoor plumbing, next it will be a plasma screen television in front of my spinning wheel. I would have to find a daily show that I can watch and spin at the same time."

Emma instantly got a mental picture in her head of Rumpel spinning at his wheel while absorbed in _All My Children _or _General Hospital. _Those would be the hours of the day she would end up talking to a brick wall instead of a loving husband who would do anything for his wife.

Her euphoria over such a mental image was interrupted with a pattern of knocks on their door. There was only one other person in the castle: Bae. She looked to Rumpel anxiously and he draped the blanket up to their chins. They laid flat on the mattress, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling so as not to be entangled in an intimate way.

"Come in," Rumpel hesitantly called out.

The door edged open and Bae strode in. When he saw them in bed together, covered though they were, he paused to gape awkwardly and squirm uncomfortably. Even though he hadn't been subjected to any bare flesh, she doubted the image would leave him for a long time. He took something from under his arm and held it out in front of him, almost like a shield.

"This little ball of fur has every intention of stealing my pillow and eating my boots," he complained. He dropped the golden-haired pup on the bed. Henry would be pleased to know that Goldie had safely made it to this land with them. At the moment, Goldie locked eyes with Rumpel and crawled over the blanket to sit squarely on his chest.

Bae quietly padded out of the room, leaving them with the golden devil that ruled the place. While Rumpel was contemplating how to remove the dog from his chest, Emma patted Goldie on the head.

"It's starting to feel like home to me."

...


	81. Chapter 81

__Many weddings took place in the following weeks, probably more than the Enchanted Forest had seen at any given time. There was only one that Emma really looked forward to other than her own, so much that she even convinced Rumpel to accompany her and Henry. Well, technically, there were _two _weddings she had in mind, but the second one was a little...unconventional.

The first wedding they attended with some enthusiasm was Red and Archie's wedding. They chose to have a big celebration not too far from the forest of Granny's cottage and had invited everyone they knew in the Enchanted Forest. It was strange to see Red in a white gown, but Emma still thought she looked exceptionally nice. Unlike Ruby who caked on makeup in Storybrooke, Red had a healthy, nautral glow.

Everyone looked on in awe at the pair, but most especially when they were ready to exchange their vows.

"Ruby may have been on a first-name basis with most of the men in Storybrooke," Red started nervously.

As she mentioned Ruby's promiscuous behavior, several women in the crowd turned to give the evil eye to their guilty-looking husbands and boyfriends. They had been cursed at the time, but they still bore that burden on their shoulders. Only Whale looked completely satisfied with himself. Emma wrapped her arm around Rumpel's, fully reassured that he had nothing to do with Ruby.

"I, on the other hand," Red continued, "have not been so lucky in love. The only other person I every truly loved was my childhood friend, Peter...and then I made the mistake of eating him. Part of me has never gotten over that tragedy. I never thought I would find someone that could accept all of me, both the wolf and the girl. Then I found you. You have supported me for so long and I vow, here and now, to do the same for you. I promise with all my heart to love, honor, and support you, through good times and bad, for the rest of our days. I also promise not to eat you when that time of the month comes."

She smiled shyly at Archie. He fumbled with his tie and cleared his throat. It was his turn to say his vows. Even from where she stood toward the back of the crowd, Emma noticed how red he was. _Almost as red as his hair, _she thought.

"Red, you are brilliant, beautiful, confident, and kind-hearted...I never thought in a million years that I would be lucky enough to have someone like you to stand by my side. When the curse came and swept everyone out of this land, stealing our happy endings, I was cursed to be a human again. That alone was enough to make me unhappy. The reason I longed to be a cricket in this world was because they always seemed so free and happy. My life as a human was never that way-I wanted so much to escape it. Now, I have a reason to be human again. Not because of a curse, but by my own choice. You have made me happy and free. I wouldn't wish it away for the world."

Shortly after that, they were pronounced man and wife, sealing the promise with a chaste kiss amidst a roar of applause from the crowd. Emma couldn't help but shake her head quizzically as she clapped.

"Only in this world would a cricket and a werewolf be able to marry without anyone batting an eye," she noted. Rumpel smirked.

"Some still find it unnatural. Me, for example. I may have been cursed with scaly skin and an impish nature, but even I cannot fathom how a cricket and a werewolf would..." He didn't have to finish that sentence for her to catch on to his meaning. The way he crossed his fingers implied it enough. "Just imagine the brood those two would unleash on the world."

She nudged him in the ribs before anyone, specifically Granny, overheard. After all, that was her granddaughter and grandson-in-law he was talking about. She didn't need to risk having the groom vanish before her wedding.

The second wedding, the unconventional one, was dedicated to none other than Goldie and Pongo. Archie once claimed that Goldie and Pongo were experiencing puppy love, after that first time Rumpel walked Goldie and found her to be attracted to Pongo on the street. Likewise, the former cricket argued that the two dogs deserved their own happiness.

Unlike Archie's wedding, this one was more private. Only Emma, Rumpel, Archie, Red, Grumpy, and Henry attended it. Henry had liked the idea of Goldie finding happiness as soon as the idea popped out of Archie's mouth. Rumpel only grumbled about being sort-of related to Archie through this odd marriage.

Emma suspected he was less concerned about the family ties than sharing Goldie with someone like Archie. He may not shout it from the rooftops, but he often treated Goldie like his own child. He was the one that walked her, fed her extra scraps at the table, and had come to like the way she snuggled on his pillow at night.

"Remember what I said about the wolf and the cricket producing abnormal children?" He whispered into her ear. They walked behind Henry, who was leading Goldie to Pongo. Emma turned her head to show she was listening, though she hoped Red wouldn't pick up their conversation with her acute sense of hearing. "I take it back. I find it harder to imagine what Goldie and Pongo's babies might look like."

That was, if they even figured out how to have babies. _If those two end up having one hundred and one babies, I fear for Rumpel's sanity. Goldie is a handful already. _

With Grumpy belting out "Amazing Grace" in order to provide some sort of entertainment for the occasion, Goldie and Pongo came nose to nose. They spent a good deal of time circling each other and sniffing. Eventually, Pongo just plopped down on the ground. Two times Rumpel had to set Goldie down when she got it in her head to jump up on Pongo and attempt to hump him. Grumpy's heartfelt chorus was discontinued, his brewing laughter echoing through the gardens outside the Dark Castle. Emma whipped her head around and saw that the dwarf was bent over, slapping his knee, his face resembling a fresh tomato.

It was then that Archie quickly finished up the awkward ceremony. Just as he was about to pronounce the two dogs bound together, Goldie succeeded in leaping halfway up on Pongo's back, inching toward his head with her hips thrusting wildly.

"Would you quit humping his head?" Rumpel bellowed and pulled Goldie off Pongo once more. Pongo had simply laid there on the ground and accepted it. "At least wait until _after _the ceremony!"

Archie declared them wed, much to his own happiness and everyone's relief.

And then Goldie jumped on Pongo again.

...

Just like that, it was Emma's turn.

Their wedding would be held in the gardens of the Dark Castle at sunset. She used magic to help the flowers bloom anew. She and Rumpel opted for a small wedding since neither one was comfortable with having an overwhelming amount of people surround them. They only cared to have their closest friends and family by their side: Snow, Charming, Henry, Bae, Belle, Jefferson, Grace, Archie, Red, the dwarfs, and Granny. Even so, Rumpel still looked anxious about having so many people at the Dark Castle at once.

Emma definitely didn't want everyone in the Enchanted Forest to witness her walk up the aisle with a pregnant belly. It reminded her too much of her fear back when she was alone on the streets, that she would be doomed to get knocked-up by someone she hardly knew and elope.

Snow and Charming had assigned Granny to help her with the wedding dress, even though it ended up taking time away from the baby blanket Granny was making for Emma's unborn child. Emma appreciated it after learning from her parents that Granny was the one to make Emma's baby blanket.

For the past week or so, Granny went to work on fixing up Cinderella's blue gown so that Emma would fit into it. It was the only gown available to her at the moment unless she wanted to borrow one from her mother. She had seen her mother's wedding dress in the book and couldn't picture herself wearing it down the aisle. Feathers weren't exactly Emma's style. Moreover, she had to stop and question how many birds got their feathers plucked in order to make that dress.

On the afternoon of the wedding, Granny presented the final result to Emma, though there were still some adjustments to be made once she tried it on. Unfortunately, Emma didn't learn fast enough not to fidget while the needle zoomed in and out of a few loose pieces of the fabric.

"Ow. _Ow!" _She tried not to complain too loudly, but that needle just poked her sharply in the rear. She heard Granny huff behind her, more than a little annoyed.

"If you quit wiggling your ass, you wouldn't get the needle!" It was times like these that Emma and the ornery old woman didn't see eye to eye. Emma tried very hard not to move as Granny pinched and poked, the needle swishing in and out as she put on the final touches. "There. You're done. Now, was that so bad?"

Emma didn't answer that question. She was afraid she might say the wrong thing, especially with these pregnancy hormones controlling her brain lately. Granny let her wander to the mirror, where she could view the outcome of her handiwork.

It was the same sparkling dress, of course, but now it fit Emma nicely. It wasn't too tight over her baby bump and the skirt flowed to her ankles. The bodice was laced almost to the top, though it was low enough to expose the swell of her breasts. Granny had done away with the sleeves, leaving two thin blue straps hanging off her shoulders. She rotated several times, trying to examine it from all angles.

Overall, Emma approved of what she saw, especially when compared to what her imagination had supplied previously. She smiled appreciateively at Granny.

"Thank you," she said. Granny nodded and pocketed the needle. A soft knock at the door demanded their attention. Granny's terse demeanor snapped back into place as she swiftly looked toward the closed bedroom door.

"If it's that no-good husband of yours, he should know that overpriced pickles will seem like a blessing compared to what I'll do if he walks in this room," Granny growled, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear. Emma could only hope that the threat wasn't real, but she knew how friendly Granny was with her crossbow. There was also the fact of her complicated relationship with Rumpel, something her husband still would not explain fully to her.

Whoever the visitor was, it was awfully quiet behind that door now.

"It's Charming," the answer finally came, carrying with it a hint of alarm. Granny's face softened immediately. Apparently, she liked _Snow's _husband.

"In that case, come on in," Granny granted her permission, singing an entirely different tune than she had a few seconds before. Charming pushed open the door and slipped inside the room. He was elegantly dressed in what Emma could only define as princely clothing, standing head to toe in white. It must be nearly time for the wedding to start. Orange light flooded the floorboards from the window.

When Charming's ocean-blue eyes fell upon his daughter, they lit up with amazement and also a tiny stroke of sadness. He had missed out on her entire life, but he would not be denied the chance to walk his daughter down the aisle.

"Emma, you look so beautiful," he gasped. Emma splayed her fingers over the round swell of her belly. The dress fit her well, but she always saw her baby bump first when she peeked at her reflection in the mirror.

"Are you just saying that or...?" Charming actually looked offended.

"I never say anything I don't mean," he said and she believed it to be true. He was much too honorable for even the slightest deception. He and Snow shared everything, both good and bad; there was no need for lies or secrets between them. "You should also know that your mother and I are proud of you."

He crossed the room to embrace his daughter. His hand flew up to cradle her head, as it often did. Emma snuck a glance at Granny, but the old woman had briefly returned to working on the baby blanket and pretended not to hear.

"Ready?" Charming extended his arm to Emma. Her heart picked up its pace as she looped her arm through his. Even though this was simply her second wedding with Rumpel, it was a brand new experience for her. Something she could remember for a long time coming.

Before Charming could escort her from the room, to the gardens where the sun was sinking and Rumpel was waiting, another knock interrupted. Granny paused in her work, her steely eyes flying to the door again with a spicy threat on her disapproving lips. Charming frowned thoughtfully.

"Rumpel?" He called out, taking a wild guess of the identity of the visitor. Granny's eyes narrowed behind her glasses and the needle was tightly clenched between her knobby fingers. _Come in, I dare you _was written all over her face.

"No, it's only Belle," the muffled reply came at last. Charming hurried over to the door to open it widely for Belle. _What they don't seem to understand, _Emma thought as she registered the relief passing over Charming and Granny, _is that Rumpel would never do anything to curse this wedding. That includes seeing the bride before the wedding. _

Belle gracefully swept into the room, clad in a modest, knee-length white gown. Her dark hair had been tied back with a blue ribbon. She smiled as she gave Emma a generous once-over, admiring Granny's handiwork on the blue dress.

"May I have a moment alone with Emma?" Belle looked to Charming and Granny, awaiting their permission for privacy. Charming's gaze deliberately moved past Belle and settled on Emma. She could see how uncertain he was. The wedding was set to start. "It won't take long," Belle promised.

"You can't have a wedding without the bride," Emma pointed out. "I'm sure everyone can stand waiting another minute."

Her only worry was reserved for Rumpel, who was bound to get antsy if the wait dragged on. Charming nodded respectfully and stepped outside to give them a moment alone. Granny gathered the baby blanket in her arms and followed Charming out. No doubt she would be standing guard, in case any soon-to-be-wed-again imps attempted to sneak a peek.

"Your dress is lovely," Belle said after the door closed behind Granny. Emma glanced down at the flowing folds of her dress and smoothed her palms over the skirt. It was certainly more magnificent than anything she had ever worn or owned before.

"Yeah, it seems Granny is the female Jack of all trades." Belle cocked her head to the side. Emma realized she must not be familiar with the phrase that was so common in the land without magic. For one thing, Belle never had any predetermined false memories to fall back on-she had been more or less a blank, impressionable slate. "She's good at everything," she clarified.

Belle stepped further into the room. As she did, her hand flew to a delicate golden chain around her neck. Swinging at the base of her throat was a single golden drop, shaped almost like a tear.

"It's been nearly thirty years since I've been in this castle," Belle said. She tilted her head back to stare up at the high ceiling. _Time sure does fly by fast, _Emma thought. Somehow, she didn't think Belle would take that notion lightly. "I explored it earlier this afternoon, to get reacquainted with old memories, and I found this necklace among Rumpel's belongings. It was the necklace I wore the night I first came here. I decided you should be the one to wear it for your wedding. You're already wearing something blue, so it'll have to be _something borrowed, something gold, _then."

To Emma's surprise, Belle unclasped the necklace and let the chain dangle from her fingers. She held it out to Emma in offering, but Emma did not make any move to take it.

"Belle, you can't expect me to take something like this from you," Emma protested. Nostalgia had accompanied Belle's words. It was easy to see that the necklace was a precious piece of her past.

"Why not? Consider it my personal blessing for your wedding." Before Emma could make any further protests, Belle stepped behind her and draped the necklace over her throat. The golden drop shined in the sinking sunlight. It matched the laces and slippers on Emma's gown and feet. "You've been a good friend to me in Storybrooke. I wanted to do something to show my gratitude."

"Thank you," Emma said, just as sincerely as when she thanked Granny for the hard work she put into the dress. She reached up to touch the golden drop. It was warm against her skin, a reminder of Belle having worn it only moments ago. After the wedding, Emma would find some way to return it to its proper owner.

Even though the Enchanted Forest was massive, it wouldn't be hard to find Belle. As a token of friendship and respect for everything Belle and Jefferson had done, Snow and Charming offered her father's castle to the couple. It was empty now that Regina wasn't there to haunt it. Emma's parents had no use for it since they had their castle on the water. It would certainly be more comfortable than the shabby hovel where Jefferson and Grace had once resided.

Bae currently stayed in the Dark Castle, in the wing opposite the one where Rumpel and Emma's bedroom was located. Lately, however, he expressed some interest in finding the small village where he used to live with his father. According to him, he was fond of the simpler times he had known there and hoped that he and Ariel could live a comfortable, peaceful life. _Together, _though not spoken aloud, had been implied.

Emma was thankful that things were slowly working out for everyone in the Enchanted Forest.

"How do you feel about this?" Emma suddenly asked Belle, gesturing to her wedding gown and everything else around them. She hadn't ever thought to ask it before. "I mean, there was a time when this could have been you. Had things been different, anyway."

She had come to accept that Belle would forever hold a special place in Rumpel's heart, one that Emma could not reach. Likewise, she loved Rumpel in a way that Belle could not reciprocate. There was room in Rumpel's heart for both of them and they each had made progress in bringing Rumpel back into the light, away from the darkness that had corrupted his soul.

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. I don't regret the way things turned out. Rumpel chose to be with you because of the love he had discovered with you when he believed that I was dead and I respect his decision. I'm happy with Jefferson and I'm happy Rumpel found someone to take care of him. Promise me you will."

"I promise," Emma readily agreed.

She had heard Belle's tale of the time she had spent with Rumpel in this castle-she knew that he had been deprived of love before Belle came along. The women he had fallen in love with in the past had taken him for granted and had crushed any hope he had of finding true love. If it wasn't for Belle, he might not have believed in love at all. _I might not be standing here, about to wed him a second time, _Emma thought. For that, Emma could never condemn the role Belle played in Rumpel's life.

"I think you've kept him waiting long enough," Belle said and hugged her one last time. She slipped out the door to resume her place at the wedding.

A few moments later, Charming returned and once more offered Emma his arm. This time, he managed to lead Emma from the room, down the grand staircase, through the dining hall, and finally stopping short before the double doors that would open up to the gardens. Emma's heart was pounding the entire time and she breathed in slowly to calm her nerves. _If I wasn't pregnant, I would have taken a shot of whiskey. _

Charming sensed her growing nervousness and patted her hand.

"You've slayed a dragon, broken a curse, saved the entire town of Storybrooke, and did away with Regina. You'll be fine. Your mother and I married twice as well," he stated. Emma was bewildered. Charming shrugged. "The first wedding was for the sake of my mother, who had died shortly after. The second was the one you saw in Henry's book. Your mother was already pregnant with you at the time, though no one in the kingdom could tell."

Emma gaped incredulously at her father. _Seems I have more in common with them than I thought. Except I don't think anyone is doubting the fact that I'm pregnant. _

It was time. The doors opened and the orange sunlight struck Emma's face. The first thing she noticed was the crowd of familiar faces lining the aisle. Snow, Henry, Bae, Belle...they were closest to the front. She looked past them, to the end of the aisle, and then her heart skipped a beat.

There, waiting for her at the very end, was Rumpel. Emma was unable to take her eyes from him as Charming graudally walked her down the aisle. When Rumpel turned to accept Emma's hand from Charming, his eyes widened and he looked upon her as he might an ethereal goddess. Recognition flashed through his eyes when he saw the golden necklace hanging from her throat. He, too, must have taken it as a sign of Belle's blessing, for he sighed with relief.

His happiness overflowing, Rumpel brought Emma's hands to his lips and he gently kissed the back of each one.

"You're not really...supposed to kiss the bride before the wedding," Archie leaned over to whisper to Rumpel. Having taken on the role of a conscience in the past, Archie seemed like the most qualified person to marry them. Also, Rumpel wasn't popular among those who were able to marry people in this world.

The light in Rumpel's eyes dimmed, replaced with mild annoyance.

"I shall kiss my wife whenever I feel the need. Unless, of course, she has reason to object." Archie still looked conflicted.

"But..." Rumpel's gaze hardened and he might have argued his case if Emma didn't step in to add her two cents.

"It was your idea to have a second wedding. It won't kill you to play by the rules." Rumpel pouted. She was possibly one of the few people in this world that could restrain him. Many of the people in the crowd found it amazing when Rumpel let go of the matter without further argument.

"Yes, dear," he mumbled.

The ceremony commenced. Emma was pleased to see Rumpel relax beside her. Everyone listened as Archie professed the virtues of love and hard work that went into a marriage. At last, it was time for the vows and Emma's nerves tingled again. She let Rumpel go first since he looked anxious to get them off his chest.

"I must have rewritten these vows at least a dozen times," Rumpel said. Emma recalled the days he spent scratching his head and scribbling on scraps of paper, though he never showed her what he wrote down. "I've been trying to find the right words to say to you in anticipation of the moment when I would stand here before you, but I've decided to depend on what my heart is telling me. Emma, you are everything I have ever strived to be: you are smart, strong, brave, honorable, confident, and selfless. My life has always been an ocean of darkness, full of misery, disappointment, and loneliness. At first, you were only my savior, the means of finding my son. Now, you mean so much more. You are my wife, the mother of my children, my source of support, and my pillar of strength. You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. You have accepted both the good parts of me and the bad. You saw my flaws and you improved them without even meaning to do so. You see, I wanted to try to be the man you deserve and I wanted to be the kind of father my children could one day be proud of. There aren't enough words in the world to express the love I feel for you in my heart nor to thank you for entering my life in the first place. From this moment on, may we never be apart and may we conquer every obstacle together."

He wove his fingers through Emma's. It was her turn to speak her vows. Like him, it had taken her every second of these past couple of weeks to decide on what to say.

"A troubled past seems to be one of the things we have in common," she began and took comfort from the feel of his hands joined with hers. "For so long, I hid behind thick, impenetrable walls. Walls that were so high, they could not be scaled and I forgot what was waiting for me on the other side. Somehow, you chipped my walls and I haven't relied on them since. When I tried to form my vows toyou, I remembered the reasons I gave to Gold for loving you. You say that I am your strength, but that is also what you are to me. You helped me move past those walls and you helped me reunite with my son and my family. I never believed I could find a happy ending. I never thought I'd find a home. That's the thing: you gave it to me without expecting anything in return. You are my home, my heart, my happiness. So I vow to provide the same for you. A special place in my heart where you will always belong, no matter what."

Rumpel had been astounded by her vows and the truth that was woven into them. She saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes and his hand rose to cup her cheek. It had never been easy for Emma to open herself up to anyone, but this time she had done it with ease.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the-"

Archie hadn't been given a chance to finish. Rumpel immediately pulled Emma into his arms and kissed her passionately. Emma didn't hear the eruption of the crowd. All she felt was his mouth moving over hers and his palms on her belly. An unstoppable emotion surged through all ten fingers and toes, an emotion Emma Swan hadn't experienced very often in her life.

Happiness.

...

One of the benefits of having a wedding at sunset was that she and Rumpel didn't have to wait too long to consummate their second marriage.

As soon as the wedding had ended, most of the guests filed out to make the long journey home, led by Granny and her bow. Some, like the dwarfs, were a little hesitant to stay in the Dark Castle overnight. Emma offered her parents a guest room in the East Wing, the same wing that hosted Bae's room, and they kindly accepted after she reassured them they wouldn't be forced to listen to anything disturbing coming from her end of the castle. Emma had experimented with making her bedroom soundproof earlier in the week, for exactly this purpose. She and Rumpel could be as loud as they wanted and everyone else in the Dark Castle would remain blissfully unaware of their mounting passion.

Emma tucked Henry into his new, king-sized bed and kissed him goodnight. He fell asleep almost immediately, worn out from multiple weddings including her own. For once, she thought of the future with hope instead of dread. They could be a family here and they could be happy.

The first thing she did when she reached her bedroom was strip off the blue gown. There was only so long she could stand wearing something so...princess-y. Rumpel was already waiting for her and together they slipped between the sheets. At first they were content to hold each other and share a few tender kisses on the lips, neck, and shoulders. They had done this so many times before, hence the roundness of her belly, but they wanted this night to count.

"It's strange," Rumpel said between nuzzling Emma's neck. "This is meant to be our wedding night, yet your belly is already growing with our child." Beneath the sheets, his hand caressed her belly. Neither of them were really sure about how to proceed, besides their usual formula.

"We're already expecting a child. Tonight can be just about the two of us and our love for each other," she replied, running her fingers through his silky hair. Simple as that. The hunger in his kiss told her he agreed. "Think we can break our record from the cabin?"

She liked to think of that as their first true wedding night. Technically, they had waited until the end of their honeymoon to make love for the first time. The cabin had been where they first admitted to their attraction and need for each other, leading to five rounds of lovemaking.

She heard him snicker in the shell of her ear before his teeth grazed the lobe.

"We can certainly try," he said. They were in no hurry. The night belonged to them and they weren't about to waste it. Rumpel made sure to take his time with her, to ensure that she was satisfied in every way possible. When they finally came together, she swore there was a burst of white light behind her eyelids.

It was so magical, so perfect, she felt they were falling in love all over again.

...

_**Don't worry-this isn't the end yet. Emma still needs to have her baby, after all. I think there might be two more chapters for this story, just so I can wrap up all loose ends. It's definitely a sad thing for me to consider, since I've been working on this story for two years. As always, I have the readers to thank for their support and I'm glad so many people enjoyed this story. **_


	82. Chapter 82

_Just close your eyes, the sun is going down...You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now...Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound..._

Emma hummed the notes of the song that had been stuck in her head as she stood on the balcony connected to her room, overlooking the vast white mountainside, her hands splayed over her belly. Rumpel often said this was her way of guarding the Enchanted Forest, a guardian on top of the world, waiting for the next storm to hit.

It had taken her some time to adjust to the peace and quiet. Part of her would never be able to accept it. Regardless of what her husband claimed, she enjoyed the balcony for the fresh air and mystifying view. From here, she could see the forest for miles, a landscape of various whites, grays, and greens.

Her mother advised her that babies liked hearing the voices of their parents while in the womb. Supposedly, Charming had told her fantastic tales of his adventures with Snow White; her mother had been the one to sing lullabies. Emma didn't know any good stories-she felt that was more Rumpel's expertise since he had a way with words-so she figured she would follow in her mother's footsteps with a lullaby. Unfortunately, she didn't know any old lullabies off the top of her head, since she never had a constant maternal figure to lull her to sleep as a baby, but this one sounded enough like a lullaby to qualify.

_Not too long now, _she thought to herself, running her hands over the roundest part of her belly. _Your father and I are waiting for you. _

Something thrummed against her hand. She paused to press her palm firmly against her belly, her breath caught inside her throat as she waited to feel that pressure again. Her eyebrows shot up. There it was again! Something moved inside her. She had been waiting for this day and, strangely, it had not come yet. She had feared it never would, that there would be something wrong when she gave birth to her baby.

"Rumpel!" She shouted over her shoulder. The castle remained still long after the echo of her voice faded. Turning away from the balcony, she strained her ears to listen for any sounds in the hallway, but there wasn't so much as a creak. By now, she would have expected him to come running. _"Rumpel!" _

Still nothing.

That's when she remembered the time she had made their room soundproof, shortly before their second wedding. They had been reluctant to remove the spell, taking full advantage of it most nights.

Rumpel was on the other side of the castle today, in the library, teaching Henry how to spin. Without magic, neither one could spin straw into gold, but Henry still expressed an interest to learn. It was a piece of Rumpel's nature, something near and dear to him, and something Henry wished to share. Emma suspected it was also Henry's way of spending some personal time with his stepfather.

They were blissfully unaware of this miracle.

Emma waddled over to the bedroom door and stuck her head into the hall. Now that she was beyond the enchantment, he would have a better chance of hearing her. She shouted on the top of her lungs, just in case.

"_Rumpelstiltskin!_"

...

Henry had inherited many fine qualities from his parents-their prevailing sense of honor, Emma's cockiness, Bae's brown eyes, warm as melted chocolate-but the trait that stood out most today was his ability to learn fast. The boy had been precocious, forced to grow up too fast in Storybrooke, and he was intelligent and resourceful enough to grasp almost any challenge hurled his way.

That morning over breakfast, Rumpel had agreed to Henry's request to learn how to spin. His instincts told him that Henry was partly suggesting it in order to bond with him before the baby came, but there was no way he could say no to the boy. By the afternoon, Henry had it under control and barely depended on Rumpel's instruction to make it work.

It was impossible to spin straw into gold unless the spinner possessed magic, but Henry was proud of his accomplishment all the same. Rumpel loomed behind Henry, smiling down at the boy that he saw as his son, equally proud. He rested his hand on the wheel, letting it glide beneath his hand. He was glad this was something he could share with Henry.

"Look, I'm doing it," Henry exclaimed. The wheel moved smoothly, effortlessly under Rumpel's hand, while the pale straw was fed into it, threading through Henry's fingers.

"Yes, you are," he agreed readily. His free hand reached over to cup Henry's shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

It was something Henry needed to hear and something he didn't hesitate to say to either of his sons. They were both strong of will, good of heart, clever of mind. Both filled a unique chamber in his heart, often making it expand with the overwhelming love he felt for them. The same was true of Emma and would be true of his next child. He hadn't even met his little one yet and he would sacrifice the world for that pure, innocent soul. _I'm just full of love, _he thought with slight amusement.

"Did you pick out the name for the baby yet?" Henry took his attention off the strands of straw for a moment, glancing up at Rumpel expectantly.

Dozens of people, ranging from Emma's parents to Belle and Jefferson, had offered suggestions for baby names, but none stuck in his mind. None of them sounded...right. When he first laid eyes on his little one, he knew the right name would find its way to his tongue. Emma was as conflicted as he was about the process of naming their child.

"Not yet," he admitted sheepishly. "We don't even know what we're having. Emma wants it to be a surprise."

There was another reason Emma wanted to remain oblivious, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud: she didn't want to curse the chances of this baby being born by learning its gender. They had known they were having a girl when they named Morraine, fixed up the baby room, hung Emma's glass unicorn mobile over the crib. In her mind, it would be tempting fate again.

"We've tossed a few names around, but haven't come to a final decision," he finished.

"Do you still think about...Morraine?" Henry always had a way of asking difficult questions. Rumpel's silence and the way he averted his gaze to the wheel was enough of an answer. "Maybe you should name it Morraine, if it's a girl."

_Morraine. _

"I don't want my child to think I prefer the first Morraine over her. I would have loved them both, had they both been brought into this world. Maybe as a middle name," he added as an afterthought. The wheel started to slow, as Henry's concentration dwindled in favor of his curiosity toward the baby.

"How did you pick that name in the first place?" He had told that story to Emma, but not Henry. Did Bae remember her? It took a minute of deep thought to bring Morraine's face to the surface of his mind-it was one of those details that had become blurry with time.

Many times he had seen her laughing with Bae or overhearing her dream up wild advantures, if only they could find a way beyond their poor living conditions in the village. She had been one of the first children to be recruited into the Ogre War and she had never abandoned Bae like the other children of the village did when his father became something unnatural, unrecognizable. She had a strong spirit, but all flames eventually burn out.

"It was the name of a young girl I knew very long ago. Your father had secretly admired her when he was fourteen, though he never got the chance to tell her so before he fell through that portal. She was eternally kind to him and to me...She was one of the very few that did not fear me when I became the Dark One."

Henry nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information like a sponge. Then he quietly went back to spinning, never bothering to question what had become of that little girl. Perhaps he did not want to hear Rumpel tell how someone so brave and good could eventually fade and be forgotten by almost everyone that now inhabited the Enchanted Forest. There was no question that Morraine was gone since it had been centuries since she walked this world. He had heard about it when it happened and had wondered that night if Bae knew, wherever he was, that she was finally at rest.

_Two Morraines have I known...One would have held my son's heart in her hands and the other never even glimpsed the light of this world before leaving it. _If he did grant his child the middle name of Morraine, would the third time be the charm?

"_Rumpelstiltskin!" _

The startling sound of Emma's shriek temporarily shook him from his mournful reverie. Henry jumped on his stool and the wheel shifted in the opposite direction. Normally Rumpel's reflexes were exquisite, but his body had halted in alarm. His hand continued to move on the wheel and his fingers ultimately became stuck as it rotated.

There was a sickening crunch and red flashed behind his eyelids as the pain spiraled along every finger. He frantically spun the wheel to release his hand. Already it looked swollen and it throbbed terribly. In his ears a scream rang. At first he assumed it was Emma again, only to realize that it came from his own throat. He waited for the pain to subside, but it pulsed over his fingertips, gathering in the center of his palm. He waved his good hand over the mashed fingers, remembering too late he had no magic to rely on for healing.

Gods, it hurt! Worse than if he stuck his hand in a pit of fire.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..." Henry apologized passionately, backing away from the wheel. Rumpel nodded rapidly, to show he did not hold Henry accountable. He would have said so, but his tongue was currently caught between his teeth. All he could do was bend over at the waist, hold his hand against his stomach, and curse under his breath like an angry Joe Pesci. "What did you say?"

He gasped for a fresh breath of air and summoned the strength to lift his head. He hoped Henry hadn't heard anything he muttered under his breath. While it was true that Henry was intelligent even for his age, he was still like all children by being impressionable.

"Nothing for your ears, Henry," he panted. He put on a brave face and straightened his spine, waving his battered hand about like it was no big deal. Like it didn't feel as if someone ran it under the tires of an eighteen-wheeler on the highway. "It'll be fine. I've survived worse than this."

Of course, most of his injuries, aside from his gnarled leg, were cured with magic...No, he wasn't regretting it. That was just the pain talking.

"Rumpel? Henry?" Emma called again from somewhere on the lower level. Rumpel welcomed the distraction from his hand, even if Emma's cry had caused it in the first place.

"Let's find your mother before she loses her singing voice," Rumpel said to Henry. _Or something much more valuable. _He tried not to worry about the fate of their baby; it wasn't bound to be Morraine all over again. It was difficult to manage, when he recalled the enemies he'd made over the years. It was one of his flaws, to automatically assume the worst.

Together, he and Henry hurried from the library. Rumpel took the stairs first, with Henry following right on his heels. Halfway down, Rumpel's foot missed a step, falling through open air. His body vaulted forward and he tumbled the rest of the way down, landing on his back. His elbows and knees trembled from the sharp impact on the stairs. Colorful stars twinkled above his head until Henry crouched down beside him.

There were two Henrys. No, three...

"Are you sure you don't want me to find Emma and bring her to you?" The gods seemed to have it out for him as he strived to reach Emma. At last, Henry stopped multiplying in his line of sight and remained one whole, solid human body. Determined, he scrambled to his feet with a helping hand from Henry.

They ran down the hall toward the West Wing where Emma's bedroom was located. Rumpel saw her blonde head poking into the hall and he slid to a stop in front of her. Even though she had been the one screaming, she was staring at him in concern. Particularly, she was focusing on his swollen hand.

"Before you ask, I crushed my hand in my wheel and I fell down the stairs while coming to you. Please don't tell me you only wished to say hello," he said, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Emma took his hand and he knew what she was about to do. Before he could object, sweet relief poured through his hand, chasing away the pain. Good as new.

"The reason I called you is because of the baby. Here, feel." She grasped his newly-healed hand and brought it to her belly. He waited. After a minute or so, he felt it, surprise and joy washing over his face. Their baby was kicking. A smile broke out over his lips and he placed both hands on her belly, savoring the sensation of their child moving inside her.

"Our baby," he whispered and kissed Emma on the lips. Already he could tell this one would be a handful.

"Can I feel?" Henry inched closer to Emma's side, curious as to what it was they were feeling. Emma gently took Henry's hand and placed it beside Rumpel's on her belly. His eyes lit up with amazement as he felt the baby kick again.

"That's your little brother or sister in there," she told him, ruffling his hair. He ducked away from her hand, currently stuck in that awkward phase where ruffling his hair was no longer cute.

She didn't bother to tell him it was his half-brother or half-sister, because she knew it would not matter. Awkward family relations aside, Henry would care for his new sibling. She sensed it from the excitement on his face as he moved his hands to keep track of the baby's kicking.

"Sorry I interrupted your spinning. How was it going?"

Henry was still clutching a few pale strands of straw in his fist. Before he could give Emma a second-by-second rundown on everything Rumpel taught him, Rumpel spoke admirably of Henry's accomplishments.

"The boy's a natural," he boasted, clapping Henry on the shoulder. The pride was evident in his voice. "I'll be the first to admit he would give _me _a run for my money-and I've been spinning for centuries. Shall we get back to it, then?"

Henry grinned from ear to ear, having something else to appreciate other than the baby. He gladly led the way down the hall, the strands of straw swinging by his side. Rumpel lingered behind to thank Emma for healing his hand, offering her a peck on the lips. He knelt down and kissed her belly as he often did to be close to their little one. She left the door ajar and he listened to the sound of her soft humming before carrying on after Henry.

...

"We're having Ariel for dinner," Rumpel announced to her over breakfast the next morning.

Technically, it was midmorning since Emma had fallen into a habit of sleeping in longer than anyone else in the Dark Castle, mainly to regain her energy while carrying the baby. She saw that Henry was already gone and then she remembered that he mentioned Bae taking him to meet Ariel. _I hope for her sake he doesn't interrogate her about the Disney movie. _

"That's too bad," she replied calmly, in the middle of a yawn. "These days, I'm craving pickles and ice cream more than fish." Rumpel rolled his eyes at her as he passed a fresh, steaming cup of hot cocoa across the table. A cloud of whipped cream covered the top, dusted with cinnamon. Just how she liked it. Some things didn't change.

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Emma Swan-Stiltskin," he said, though he couldn't prevent the clever grin from sliding across his face. She simply shrugged and sipped her drink, her emerald eyes shining in the morning light over the rim of her cup. "I promised Bae in Storybrooke that he could bring her over for dinner one night. He only agreed when I swore to him that I wouldn't serve fish sticks, crab, shrimp, or any other sea creatures she might have been friends with under the sea."

Emma snickered into the cup of cocoa, her nose coming away with a drop of whipped cream on the tip. Only because that silly Disney tune floated through her head. When she thought of Ariel, she pictured a fire-engine-red-haired teenage girl in a seashell bra and dancing with a chubby flounder that was aptly named Flounder.

She shouldn't hold too strongly to the tales she heard in the real world. Apparently, they held very little truth to the way things really were for these people. Maybe Bae's new girlfriend would surprise her. Everyone else in the Enchanted Forest did, with Rumpel being at the top of that list.

"I heard you singing yesterday. It was lovely," Rumpel said, reaching over the table to take her hand. His thumb stroked her palm.

"My parents told me that an unborn baby likes to hear the sound of its parents' voices. Maybe you should try reading our baby a story, so it can hear your voice, too. After centuries of living, you must know at least one worth telling." She studied him over her cup. He had gone quiet, thoughtful, taking her suggestion to heart.

"I'll see what I can dig out," he said, tapping his temple. There was no telling how much of these past few centuries were stored in that head of his. "You know, one of these days, you'll stand on that balcony and you'll stare so hard at the world below that it'll burst into flame."

She nudged his foot under the table for his teasing remark.

"Singing helps me think a little bit. What's the harm in that?" Her husband touched a finger to his lip, his eyebrow raised in question. He didn't have to ask; the unspoken inquirement hung between them. "I was thinking that we should name two people as the baby's godparents. That way, should anything happen, we'll have two people we can turn to, two people who care about the wellbeing of our child."

His face darkened. It wasn't necessary for him to say what was on his mind since he had said it so many times before: _nothing will happen. _This was just her way of taking precautions.

"Those two people can also take our child off our hands for a little while, if we ever want the castle to ourselves," she quickly added, so that he would stop staring at her with so much pity. He tilted his head curiously.

"Who did you have in mind?"

"For the baby's godmother, I thought Belle would be a good choice," she stated. Emma respected and admired Belle's good, gentle nature and intelligence. She also wanted to return the favor for that golden necklace for the wedding. Rumpel didn't look surprised to hear her choice of godparent. "I decided to let you choose the godfather."

Rumpel licked his lips, a sign that he was thinking critically about something. Emma finished the rest of her drink while she waited and wiped the moustache of whipped cream off her lip with a napkin. Finally, Rumpel leaned closer in his seat, the name tingling on the tip of his tongue.

"Since you've chosen Belle, I suppose Jefferson will do."

That did surprise her. After he had sworn fealty to her and offered her that handmade black bracelet that ultimately nulled Regina's magic, she had more or less forgiven him for the loss of Morraine. However, she didn't know if Rumpel ever did. He often proved to be as stubborn as her, if not more. After losing one child, losing a second one was unforgivable.

The sudden, conflicting grief in his eyes warned her he was thinking along the same lines.

"If Bae had not given me a second chance, I might not have been able to make it right with him. If you hadn't given me a chance, I might not have the family and love that I do now. While I may never fully forgive him for Morraine, I do believe he has come a long way from the man he used to be. He inadvertently helped you with Regina, he gave Belle new hope of happiness, and he was once the closest thing I had to a friend in the Enchanted Forest before the curse. It wouldn't hurt to give him this opportunity to prove his worth. And...if he fails me again, I'll knock his head clean off his shoulders and stick it over my fireplace."

Despite that daunting image, Emma approved of his choice. She would have shrugged off the threat, except there was a significant part of her that wasn't convinced it was exaggeration on his part.

...

"So, Ariel..." Henry was the first to break the awkward silence that had befallen the dining hall and the table. Rough around the edges as she was, Emma still grasped basic manners and had been nothing but polite to Ariel since she stepped through the doors of the Dark Castle. She had made what she thought was necessary small talk, but she and Rumpel didn't exactly know the protocol for dining with a mermaid. So they let Henry take up the task. It came naturally to him anyway. "Have you ever been to any other worlds besides this one and Storybrooke?"

Emma peeked at Ariel from under her eyelashes. The mermaid sat across the table, a fair-skinned, deeply redheaded girl not much younger than Emma, clad in a simple yet formal pink gown that Rumpel claimed must have been threaded with Pepto-Bismol. For that, he received a scolding in the form of a swat on the back of his head when no one else was looking. Even though Ariel was first and foremost Bae's latest object of affection, Emma didn't mind her as much as she anticipated. She reminded her a little of Belle-a kind spirit, bursting with life, with an insatiable sense of curiosity that thrived on adventure.

"Oh, I've been exploring different worlds for a while now, ever since I first learned that I could cross realms," the mermaid answered with an earnest smile toward Henry. "I've been to fantastic places like Oz, Neverland, Wonderland...all filled with creatures and wonders that you could only ever dream up...though, Wonderland is a bit confusing."

"If you think that world is confusing, you should pay a visit to the Land Without Color,' Rumpel cut in from his end of the table. His inquisitive brown eyes surveyed the mermaid top to bottom, at least the half that was visible above the tabletop.

Bae shifted uncomfortably in his chair and all-too-obviously stretched just so he could place his arm around Ariel's shoulders. _You managed to steal one of my girlfriends, _Bae's stance screamed. _Are you going to charm this one, too? _"You'd stick out like a sore thumb," Rumpel concluded and dismissed Ariel by returning to his plate.

Emma interpreted that remark as another jab toward Ariel's overly pink dress, so she made to kick Rumpel's leg under the table. This time, he was expecting it and tucked his legs in the air just in time for her attack. Her foot collided with the leg of the chair instead. He smirked, irritating her further. _Ha-ha! You missed, _it read plainly.

Ariel took no offense from Rumpel's statement and Bae was allowed to relax in his seat.

"I have been there. It's rather...bland and crawling with wild creatures that only come out at night. I don't understand it. Do the people of that land see everything in color or are they colorblind?"

"Feel free to ask Frankie that question next time you meet," Rumpel said, pointing the tines of his fork at Ariel. A piece of chicken was skewered on the end of it, and he popped it in his mouth, rolling it around to savor the juicy meat. It took him a moment to realize his wife had cast him a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry...but who the hell is Frankie?" Had he been one of the cursed people she saved in Storybrooke? Someone she had, until now, overlooked in favor of her family? Rumpel was forced to swallow his bite of chicken before replying.

"Whale," he corrected. "It so happens he goes by the name of Frankenstein in his colorless world." Emma's fork clattered on her plate, bringing the entire dinner to a screeching halt. Everyone glanced her way, regardless if they were inches away from biting into a chunk of food.

"My _mother _had a _one-night stand_ with _Frankenstein?"_

Rumpel had taken another bite of chicken and he swallowed this piece hard. Emma swore she heard it as it traveled down his throat. His mouth, now empty of food, opened and closed without emitting a sound. As skilled as he was with words, he had no way of smoothing out the terrible wrinkle that magically appeared, especially not at the dinner table. Not with everyone watching. Henry's eyes alone were wide with horror.

Thankfully, Bae's ability to speak hadn't completely malfunctioned; he was able to reclaim Ariel's attention rather quickly and changed the subject.

"Have you ever met anyone named Eric?" Emma's eyes darted between Bae and Ariel, suddenly wondering if Bae intended to diffuse her tension with Rumpel by driving straight into an even worse disaster. Henry was interested, enough to scoot closer to Ariel.

"No, I can't say I have," she said honestly. The name held no significant meaning for her and probably wouldn't stick longer than a few minutes.

"In the Disney movie you do," Henry piped up. This was right up his alley, reminiscent of the days of Operation Cobra. "He's the human you fell in love with." Ariel's face contorted with confusion.

"Who is Disney?" That was a question with more than one answer. No one bothered to give her the full rundown of what she was missing. "I've met several men before, but I wasn't very impressed with most of them. Their legs were nice, but their manners left something to be desired. This one pirate nearly caught me in his net and kept making crude remarks about his hook as I swam away."

Ariel shuddered, her shoulders quivering. Emma and Rumpel exchanged knowing glances. _Hook. The guy sure knows how to get around. _

"You need not worry about that pirate, dearie. Recently, he has become a one-woman man," Rumpel reassured her. Ariel seemed relieved to hear it. _A one-woman man, yes, _Emma thought wryly. _It just wasn't a decision he willingly made for himself. _

"There was one boy I liked when I was younger, about thirteen," Ariel continued on, speaking more fondly than she had mere moments before. "The first time I visited Neverland, it was nighttime and a young boy was sitting alone on the beach. I remember he had his knees tucked up to his chest and his toes were buried in the sand. He looked so lonely while staring out at the dark horizon. He must have been no older than sixteen and I had to wonder what made that boy so sad. That was the only time I ever saw him-the next time I went to Neverland, I couldn't spot him anywhere on the shore."

Bae's fork hovered in front of his mouth, despite the fact that there was a generous strip of chicken dangling on it.

"This boy...did he have a head of messy, curly brown hair? About this tall?" Bae held up his hand next to his chair to indicate the height he meant. Ariel's blue eyes darkened as the memory resurfaced in her mind.

"Yes, now that you mention it. I remember wondering how many curls there were on his head and longing to count them. Do you know him?" Hope flourished in her face. Bae shrugged weakly.

"You could say that." The pieces clicked together in Emma's mind as she observed Bae's aloof behavior. _No...no way..._

"Allow me to solve the mystery for you. The boy you fancied was my son," Rumpel said, his fingertips bouncing together, tented in front of his chin. He seemed amused about the event rapidly unfolding at their dinner table. Ariel looked from Rumpel to Henry seated beside her, only to dismiss it since Henry was much too young to fit the description. Then she turned her head to Bae and understanding passed over her face.

"That boy...was _you?" _Bae started to blush.

"True love works in mysterious ways," Rumpel mused while the couple only had eyes for each other. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?" Rumpel covered Emma's arm with his hand, rubbing it affectionately. Emma didn't hear him.

A fierce discomfort began to spread through her belly, as though she had swallowed a gigantic boulder instead of moist strips of chicken. The sensation, though alarming, was not unlike an upset stomach. It was dull at first and then sharpened, making her ball her hands into fists over her belly. Perhaps something on her plate didn't agree with her.

She shot up from her chair, gripping the edge of the table so she wouldn't be at risk of stumbling. A second later, Rumpel followed suit. His hand steadied her back. Emma squeezed her eyes shut as the first real tremor of pain spiraled through her abdomen. Rumpel was saying something, his hand sweeping her blonde hair off her neck, and she strained her ears to catch it.

"Emma!" He repeated forcefully. "Are you alright?" The discomfort ebbed; not completely, but enough for her to breathe through it.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she mumbled, doing her best to reassure her husband before he suffered a panic attack then and there. She was aware that every pair of eyes had fallen on her. "Something didn't agree with me-"

The sensation of warm wetness seeped between her legs as she spoke, rolling down her thighs and raining over the floor. Emma gasped and cradled her enlarged belly. Rumpel heard the pitter-patter of fluid running between her legs and he ducked his head to stare at the floor.

Emma's mind was frozen in shock. She didn't have to waste any time questioning the cause of that moisture. There was really only one explanation and there was no use denying it. Hadn't they been waiting for this day to come? Shouldn't they have sensed it was so close?

"Rumpel...I think...my water just broke."

You could hear a pin drop in the Dark Castle. Everyone gaped at Emma and her pregnant belly, Rumpel more than the rest. Another wave of pain curled through her abdomen, only this time Emma recognized it as a contraction. She moaned deeply. "Rumpel..."

"Okay, okay," he said anxiously. leaping from one foot to the other. "I can do this. Just...uh...hmm..." He was drawing a blank.

"_Rumpel!" _

"Stop yelling at me! You're making me nervous!" He shouted back, waving his hands wildly in the air. "I've never done this before! I...I'm not ready!"

"Neither am I, but this baby wants out right now-_ooh!" _Her hand pressed harder over her belly. Her other fist banged down on the table. The pain came and went. Emma swayed uneasily on her feet, but Bae jumped up to rush to her side and hold her upright. Emma shook off the discomfort-and Bae's support-and glared openly at her husband. "You're telling me that you lived for centuries and collected hundreds of children in your deals and you don't have the first clue how to deliver a baby?"

"It wasn't hundreds! And it wasn't like those expecting mothers let me watch and take notes!"

"What about your son?" She jerked her chin to Bae standing closely behind her. He really didn't look excited too be dragged into this heated discussion, his hand running across his forehead.

"I was never there-and I regret that entirely," he said mostly to his son. "When I returned home from the war, branded a coward, he was already born." He scratched his head, contemplating his options. "I'll carry you to our room. You'll be more comfortable there. Then I'll warn the doctor and your parents. Bae, stay with Henry and Ariel."

"But-" Henry argued, starting to rise from his chair. Rumpel waved him back down.

"Trust me, Henry, you're too young yet to see this."

Without further ado, Rumpel bent at the knees and scooped Emma into his arms. He groaned from the added weight and staggered for a moment, but then he managed to carry her through the door, to the stairs that would lead them to the upstairs hall containing their bedroom. Rumpel sighed into the crown of her hair.

"And to think I was about to offer dessert..."

...

"Almost there, sweetheart," Rumpel promised soothingly, his voice rolling in and out of her ear like a wave on the shore. Emma's arm was draped around his neck, her fingers clenching the shirt on his back as she clung to him through the contractions. Rumpel pushed the door of their bedroom open with his butt and brought her to the bed, laying her down carefully atop the sheets.

After assuring her that he would be back in an instant, he hurried from the room. Most likely, he was sending a letter to the doctor to alert him that the baby was coming. She imagined him scribbling on a scrap of paper: _Baby in the Crib_ or perhaps _Package is Landing. _

Rumpel had provided Whale one of the vacant cottages at the base of the mountain, for exactly this moment. He could be here in less than ten or fifteen minutes if he was reckless enough.

A man of his word, Rumpel reappeared by her side before she truly missed him. He perched on the bed and pulled her into his lap, rocking her and speaking calming words while nuzzling her neck. The space between her legs burned and ached with the agony of the contractions. She flashed back to the day in jail, when she gave birth to Henry. Somehow, this time already felt worse.

"Calm down, Emma. It'll be over before you know it," Rumpel cooed and tucked the hair behind her ear. _How do you know that? You've never done this before!_ Little did he know he said the wrong thing.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I am about to give birth to _your _child and all you have to do is watch and be my cheerleader! Try dealing with the pain!" She felt Rumpel's fingers tremble near her jaw. "I'm sorry. It's the pain talking."

"I know," he said, his voice barely a whisper. She wondered if he really did know it or if he was taking her complaints to heart. Thankfully, it wasn't too long before Whale showed up at the door, red in the face, out of breath, and dressed in a strange suit that resembled a mad scientist's lab coat.

"Have...no fear...the doctor...is here..." He gasped for air, his hand pressed to his chest. When he could properly breathe, he stepped into the room and stood at the end of the bed. His icy blue eyes, unlike the gentle ocean-blue of her father's, scrutinized Emma in Rumpel's lap. Emma examined him in return and mentally repeated the name _Frankenstein, _just to see if it would fit.

"Oh, God," she said miserably, sinking her head back on her husband's shoulder. "Frankenstein is delivering my baby."

Whale, or Frankenstein, or whoever he was, glanced uncertainly over her head to Rumpel. All he received was an urgent flick of the wrist to encourage him onward. The show must go on. Whale tugged the collar of his coat.

"Hem-hem...alright. Emma, you've been through this procedure once before, so I'll skip on the details of what to expect. It's too bad you didn't go into labor in Storybrooke. The real world had access to modern medicine that made birth a breeze compared to this land. I'm afraid to tell you this will be completely natural and probably more painful than the first time."

Emma snarled in response and tried to lash out at Whale with her foot. Luckily for him, the brutal kick was compromised by yet another sharp contraction. Her leg fell flat on the bed and writhed as she struggled to staunch the pain.

"You know the drill. We'll have to wait until you're ten centimeters apart before you begin to push." Whale was at least smart enough not to give a rough estimation of how long that would take. Some births were somewhat quick, if not painless while other women were unfortunate enough to be in labor for hours on end before even pushing.

For Emma, every second felt like an hour. All she knew now was the interval between contractions, which was shortening with every few contractions she endured. She was aware of her husband's hands on her arms, her neck, her forehead, offering comfort in the only way he knew how other than words. At the end of the bed, Whale bobbed in and out of view as he waited for the hard part to begin. Shadows fell over the balcony and slithered over the sheets before Emma even knew the night was approaching. Whale snapped on a pair of clean gloves and lit a candle by the bed to offer light.

Rumpel patted her arm and then she realized Whale was saying something. She forced her mind to focus as he repeated it from where he crouched in front of her spread legs. If he said anything about what he saw down there, she would really kick him this time. Into February 31st.

"It's time, Emma. Do you hear me? You need to start pushing," Whale signaled.

Emma tilted her head into the crook of Rumpel's arm. She sucked in a massive breath and then pushed as hard as she could. Her face turned red as a tomato, a vicious scream tore through her gritted teeth, and the agony only increased in her abdomen as her baby moved closer to the world beyond her womb.

Unfortunately, Rumpel had insisted on holding Emma's hand through the process of pushing and his screams joined hers. When she slumped back in his arms, her hand released his. He whistled through his lips, blinking back hot tears behind his eyelids. His hand felt more sore than when he crushed it in his spinning wheel. He knew his wife had incredible strength in her muscles, but now his hand was proof of it.

"Dear...I think...you broke my hand," he said. He tried flexing his fingers, but winced.

"Stop complaining," she barked, her elbow digging into his ribs. She kept driving it in there with every word she uttered. "This. Is. All. Your. Fault!" He winced again, but this time it had nothing to do with the soreness of his hand. Deep down, he knew she didn't mean it. Whale certainly didn't seem too alarmed by Emma's accusation.

"Look on the bright side, Rumpelstiltskin. At least she hasn't vowed never to let you stick it in her again." It wasn't very comforting, especially since Emma had only started pushing. _Don't put any ideas into her head. _

Whale signaled for her to push again and Rumpel could swear the dim flame of the candle bent and flickered, though there was no breeze in the room. Emma attempted to push harder each time, her shrieks ricocheting off the walls. Rumpel didn't know if he could survive another crush of his hand, but he did his best to soothe Emma with a few soft kisses on her sweaty brow.

"You're doing good, Emma. Push as hard as you can. You'll be holding our child in your arms in no time," he spoke encouragingly, brushing the matted blonde hair off her forehead. For good measure, he added: "I believe in you."

That seemed to do the trick. The next time Whale gave her the sign to push, Emma gave it her all until Rumpel was concerned she would pass out in his arms. At last, a tiny pink wriggling body passed from Emma's legs into Whale's hands. _Finally, _Rumpel thought, unable to take his eyes from that delicate, squirming babe for an instant.

Their child.

Its shrill cries filled his ears and he swore there was no sweeter sound in the world. His heart felt like it would jump right out of his chest, presented as a gift to his newest son or daughter.

"It's a girl," Whale announced, cleaning off the baby's face. Rumpel sighed happily. A girl. He had a daughter. No matter the gender, he would have loved his children equally, but he'd been hoping for a little girl to call his own. Whale plaaced the baby on a woolen blanket and peered between Emma's legs again. "And here comes the second one."

Rumpel stiffened behind Emma, whose hands mercilessly tugged the sheets on the bed in the midst of catching her breath. Second one? As in...

"There's more than one?" Emma asked. Whale looked at them blankly.

"Yes, you're having twins. Did I not mention that?" Rumpel's jaw dropped. Twins? He didn't know whether to be overjoyed or anxious now that there would be two more children depending on his guidance and devotion. Emma groaned in frustration, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt the urge to push again.

"Two?" Her elbows dug into his stomach again, drawing the breath from his lungs.

"You're almost done. This one shouldn't be as difficult. Keep up the work. Push," Whale demanded loudly. Emma held on tightly to the wrinkled sheets and used the last of her strength to push that second child out.

This time, Rumpel knew it wasn't a trick of his mind-the candlelight went out for a minute before magically relighting, washing the room in complete darkness for half a heartbeat. The air grew thick and heavy, crackling with energy like it sometimes did when extraordinary magic was present. _Is it Emma's...or the baby's? Or both? _

Emma once told him the same thing happened when she gave birth to Henry, though she assumed it was a trick of her imagination or exhaustion during the labor. A second baby wiggled into view, this one also a tiny baby girl. Rumpel could no longer control his emotions. Tears welled up behind his eyelids and overflowed, falling into Emma's hair.

Two beautiful daughters. What more could he ask for?

"It's over, Emma," he whispered to his wife, rubbing her arm to let her know she was free to relax. He kissed her cheek. "We have two beautiful girls." Now that the pain of the labor was diminishing, Emma was more herself and turned her head to readily accept his kiss.

"Be thankful you're not having triplets," Whale half-joked. Emma wasn't in the laughing mood.

"Rumpel," she grumbled. "Is he holding our daughters?" Rumpel felt a touch of dread for the doctor. Whale had carefully placed the babies side by side on the warm blanket.

"Not at the moment, no."

Emma's foot shot out and knocked into Whale's jaw. His head snapped to the right and he tumbled to the floor. As much agony as he was in, it would be much worse in the morning. Rumpel couldn't help but feel that Whale deserved it. After earning his medical license from the curse and delivering at least one other baby, he should know not to get on the nerves of an emotional new mother so soon.

"I...may have deserved that," Whale admitted, his voice wet and muffled from the flow of blood in his mouth. Once he was more or less situated and on his feet, Whale finished his work by swaddling the newborn babies before placing them, one at a time, in their parents' arms.

The oldest twin was given to Emma to hold and Rumpel eagerly accepted the other twin. No words needed to be spoken; their love was expressed easily enough in their caresses and kisses given to their daughters. At one point, Emma looked to her other daughter to see that the tiny hand was fumbling for Rumpel's nose. Rumpel kissed her hand, his heart shining in his brown eyes.

Whale excused himself to spit out more blood and to inform Henry and Bae about the newest members of their family. Emma couldn't say she would miss having the doctor's shadow loom over them as they adored their littlest children.

"I guess we'll have to appoint two more godparents," she pointed out. Rumpel cocked his head, thinking for a moment while his lips kissed his daughter's head. She already had a shock of dark hair. The oldest twin's hair consisted of very few, very light wisps, and Emma had a feeling it would be as golden as her own. Otherwise, they were practically identical.

"Red and Archie," he said. Emma nodded in agreement. Red was her own unofficial godmother, but now she could be awarded the chance to be a real godmother to one of their daughters. Archie was an acceptable choice, being a conscience incarnate.

Henry and Bae padded into the room. Emma inclined her head to urge them closer to the bed. Henry's face broke out into a wide smile when he saw not one, but two babies.

"Henry, these are your two baby sisters," she told him and angled her body so he could better see the baby she held in her arms. Bae appeared proud to watch his father behave so lovingly and protectively over the other baby.

"What did you name them?" Henry immediately asked. Emma searched her husband's face, wondering how they should go about it. They had mentioned a few names here and there, but they never imagined there would be two children this time around. It was a miracle and perhaps fate's way of apologizing for the tragedy of Morraine.

"You name one, I name one?" Rumpel suggested. It was a fair deal. Emma gazed down at her daughter in fascination and brushed her rosy cheek with her knuckle. What name would be appropriate for this little one? What name was the right one?

"This one will be named...Mary Elena," she declared confidently. The name echoed in her head and it felt right. "Mary for the first friend I had in Storybrooke. Elena because it means _light _and that is exactly what our children are-flickers of light in our dark lives."

"And this one shall be...Isabelle Morraine," Rumpel said and pressed a short kiss to his daughter's head. "There was a time when Belle was a flicker of light to lead me out of the darkness. If not for her, I might have been trapped in that ocean of darkness until my dying day, never believing that something as miraculous as true love could save me. I owe her a kindness for her bravery and heart. Obviously, I chose the name Morraine to honor the child we lost. A sign that she may be gone, but she will never be forgotten. I never knew her, yet I already loved her."

"Isabelle Morraine," Emma repeated, her own way of showing Rumpel that she approved of the name.

They let Bae and Henry take turns holding the girls, instructing them on how to cradle their small bodies and support their heads. Both boys were unsure at first, but warmed up to the girls fast, even making baby-talk to the twins as they said hello for the first time. Then they were returned to Emma and Rumpel's arms, where they rightfully belonged. Silently, they vowed never to let anything or anyone harm their children or taint the happiness they had found.

"Welcome home," Emma whispered over the heads of their newborn children. She could not tell whether she meant it more for her two daughters or herself.

...

_**Obviously I am not Taylor Swift writing fanfiction, therefore I do not own Taylor Swift's "Safe and Sound." I figured I would throw the disclaimer out there. **_


	83. Epilogue

_Five Years Later..._

There was no such thing as a quiet day in the Dark Castle. There hadn't been for the last five years and yet Emma would not trade it for a moment of silence.

It seemed the twins rose with the dawn most mornings. From that point on, the castle would be filled with the sounds of running feet, the occasional crash of something breaking, and bickering over some silly issue or another. There were days when the twins would be best friends and others when they woke as enemies.

Even as babies, they were a handful, especially at night. The only way to soothe them enough to fall asleep was by one of their father's stories, always animated with wild gestures on his part, or by a lullaby from their mother.

The twins each had their preference for songs and even now Emma continued to hear the requests before bedtime. For Mary, it was "You Are My Sunshine"; for Isabelle, it was "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." That was partly because of the little names their father liked to use for them from time to time. Every once in a while, he'd call Mary his "little sunshine" because of the mane of golden curls bouncing on her shoulders wherever she went. He tended to call Isabelle his "little raincloud." One time he had sat her down and explained that it wasn't just because of the intense, ink-black shade of her hair that earned her the nickname, but because her quiet, pensive behavior, so unlike Mary's energetic, gleeful manner, was as refreshing as a cool, spring rain.

It was hard to believe it had been five years since the night of their birth. Even in the Enchanted Forest, time flew by fast.

It was Emma's birthday today. _Thirty-three, _she thought and worked out a kink in her shoulder. She was starting to feel her age. There was another reason this day was special, though. It was the anniversary of the day she truly met Henry, the day she unknowingly found a home in Storybrooke.

He was sixteen and he had sprouted up past her and Rumpel's height. He was training to be a worthy knight of the Enchanted Forest. Not only would it allow him to fulfill one of his long-time dreams, but it allowed him to be close to his grandparents since he was training to be a member of their personal guard. Charming had taught him everything he knew about the ways of the sword and importance of honor over the years. She and Rumpel told him how proud they were every chance they got.

They would get another chance today.

Henry would be returning to the Dark Castle to celebrate her birthday. She knew he would probably take longer than necessary to get here, to stop at one of the markets to buy her a special gift. Every year she insisted he didn't need to do that, but he never listened. It was enough that he would be here.

For the occasion, Emma unwrapped a homemade chocolate cake, delivered personally by Red and baked to perfection in Granny's oven. The only reason they weren't attending was because it was Red and Archie's turn to take Goldie so that the golden menace could visit Pongo. From what Red claimed, Goldie was having one hundred puppies. Emma had a sinking feeling that it wasn't an exaggeration.

Later on in the evening, Emma would make hot cocoa with cinnamon while she caught up with everything taking place in Henry's life. Rumpel had graciously taken the duty of cooking dinner off her hands, but it didn't stop her from setting the table and making sure the dining hall was presentable.

As her hands busied themselves with preparing the long dining table for dinner, the familiar sound of arguing echoed in the background, growing louder with every second. The twins were coming this way.

Today, they were re-enacting an old, favorite argument: which twin would be the first to get their hair braided by their father. Apparently, his fingers were skillful with braiding after all those years of spinning straw. Whenever she tried doing anything with their hair, they often complained that she tugged too hard.

"You went first last time! Mama, tell Mary she went first last time!" Isabelle whined, her arms folded over her pretty blue dress. Emma sighed and struggled to remain calm through the bickering. There was no easy way to deflate it, so she simply played along in the hopes that it would make the argument crumble into dust.

"Mary, you went first last time." Isabelle smiled victoriously.

"Hah! See?" Mary stuck out her tongue.

"My hair takes less time than yours!" Mary waved her head wildly, her blonde curls tumbling over her face. It was true that Mary's hair, though a mass of curls, was thinner. Isabelle had inherited her father's thick hair. It was luscious to the touch when treated properly, and a rat's nest when uncombed. Like today, for example. "Let me go first!"

Isabelle held up her hand in front of Mary's face, her fingers spread wide apart.

"Don't make me do it!" Emma gasped and spun around to scold Isabelle for the threat, but Rumpel was somehow faster.

Sneaking up behind Isabelle, he lifted her up by the waist and planted her down on his knee as he settled comfortably on the stool he used for spinning. Emma had told him several times he should move the spinning wheel to the library, but he hadn't yet gotten around to it.

"Now, now, my little, stubborn raincloud. You know the rules," he chided softly. To Mary's disappointment and impatience, he picked up a brush from the table and guided it gently through Isabelle's dark, tangled hair. Isabelle didn't even wince as the knots came undone. "Be civil to your sister-she's the only one you've got."

For now.

Recently Rumpel had tried on many occasions, usually when they were alone at night, to convince her that they should have another child. With their room still magically soundproof, there were nights when they made love long after the twins were asleep in their beds, but they weren't exactly..._trying _to have a baby. Emma was devoted to the children she had now.

_Que sera, sera. _What will be, will be.

After finishing Mary's braids, Rumpel ushered the twins to the door that led to the gardens. The sun was beginning to sink over the mountain, but there was enough time left for the twins to play outside before dinner. It would give Emma the room she needed to finish getting everything ready.

"Your brother will be here soon. Go play and keep an eye out for him," Rumpel said as they hurried into the gardens, their braids swinging at their backs. It was one of their favorite places to play, thanks in part to the variety of flowers that bloomed every year.

"You better not get those dresses dirty," Emma called after them. "Remember, Auntie Belle will be coming, too!" She didn't know if the twins heard, but she decided to give the warning. From behind, she felt her husband's arms snake around her waist, his fingers crawling up beneath her shirt to stroke her belly.

"Tonight, you and I can play," he teased, his teeth gliding over the skin behind her ear. A pleasurable feeling slithered down her back, but she shook it off, turning in his arms until his lips were only an inch above hers. Even after five years, there were times when she glimpsed that old, mischievous glint in his eye. This was one of those days.

"Calm down," she said, running her palms over his chest. "I still haven't gotten over birthing your twins." He feigned hurt.

"Aww, but I always wanted five children." He was well on his way to working those puppy eyes, but she deliberately turned her head away, refusing to be charmed by them. She knew her husband too well now; she knew how deep his desires ran.

"Something tells me that if I pop out another one, you'll aim for seven." A slightly guilty expression crossed his face. The scar on his cheek writhed as he smiled. _That's what I thought. _

"I won't make any promises." His hand moved to cup the back of her head and his lips brushed across hers. A tingling sensation of excitement traveled all the way to her toes. Taking ahold of his shirt, she kissed him back harder.

It was only by the sound of the children shouting outside that they were interrupted. The closer they got, Emma was able to piece together the message they carried. Henry was home.

Together, Emma and Rumpel went to the door that led out to the gardens, shielding their faces from the burning orange glow of the setting sun. It seemed most of their guests had arrived at the same time. Or perhaps they had planned it that way.

The first person she saw was Henry, dressed head to toe in his clean white knight uniform, giving hugs to his little sisters. A gleaming sword hung on his hip and the twins both reached out to touch it. Over his shoulder strolled Bae and Ariel, their arms looped. Ariel's red hair was down to her waist now and Bae was beginning to show a gray strand or two near his temples. Emma guessed that it was a result of the hard work that came with living in that humble village he once called home, though he never complained, least of all to his father. Not too far behind were Belle, Jefferson, and Grace. It didn't escape Emma's notice that there was a sparkling diamond on Belle's finger. Grace hurried to Henry's side and threw her arms around his neck, pressing a short kiss to his lips. It was strange to be reminded that Henry wasn't the young boy that first brought Emma to Storybrooke and even stranger still to remember that he was in love with Grace.

All that was missing was her parents. She knew it would take them a little longer to arrive, since they were toting around more baggage than anyone else. It had only been a month ago that they broke the news to Emma about finally expecting a second child. Unlike her and Rumpel, her parents had sincerely been trying since they returned to the Enchanted Forest, but her mother had suffered multiple miscarriages. It got to the point where they had begun to fear that Snow might never be able to carry a baby to term, that Emma would be her only one.

Emma wasn't jealous, even when she knew that baby would have the opportunities she missed. She was happy for them.

This is what she needed. Family.

"Everyone adores the twins," Rumpel noted, resting his chin on Emma's shoulder. For a moment, they leaned in the doorway and observed their family. Everyone took turns saying hello to the twins and asking about their dresses and braids. It was amazing that there wasn't a spot of dirt on those dresses. Yet. "Hmm...Sunshine and Rain..."

"Suits them perfectly," she said, admiring her baby girls in the sunlight. Though born twins, Mary and Isabelle could be as different as sunshine and rain. Somehow, they complimented each other all the same. Never more than a foot away from her twin.

"Yes, but it could easily suit us, too," he added with a gentle peck on her jaw. Emma tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck for him while also wondering what he could possibly mean. If she was patient, she knew he would explain his thoughts. "Such a contradictory pairing, sunshine and rain. It's either one or the other. Same with black and white, light and dark, good and evil. On rare occasions, the two occur at the same time. They exist together and create quite the beautiful thing."

Now she understood. Memories flowed through her mind, memories of the years they had spent together. He was right; their relationship had been a constant battle between sunshine and rain. Light and dark. Tragedy and happiness.

"You and I," he continued, with kisses trailing along her ear, "are as different as sunshine and rain. The purest proof that opposites attract. Everything you are is everything I need." Emma smiled and enjoyed the comfort of his embrace.

The gods must have been listening and approved, for at that precise moment, the skies opened up and a sun shower rained down over the whole of the Enchanted Forest.

...

_**I can't believe I'm saying this...**_

_**The End. **_

_**After a couple of years of working on this story, it is finally finished. I'm rather happy with the way it ended up, and I hope the readers are, too. I have to strongly thank DaesGatling for inspiring this story in the first place with the Abridged series and for helping me write it along the way. I also have to thank everyone that took the time to read and review it until its conclusion-this is my biggest story yet, with over one thousand reviews! I can't thank the readers enough for their support throughout this journey. **_

_**Several people have asked me if there will be a sequel. I am currently playing around with some ideas for a sequel, though it might not happen right away. I'm currently working on several other writing projects and real life is keeping me busy as well. The possibility is there, though, so I might find the motivation to continue writing Emma/Rumpel's story. Who knows? **_

_**If there are any readers interested in reading more of Golden Swan, I have recently started a story called "It's Only Breakfast, Dearie" and I am considering doing a collection of one-shots for Golden Swan since my collection for Rumbelle, "All I Need," is so popular. I thought I'd mention it in case anyone wants to check them out. **_

_**By the way, Rumpel's line "Everything you are is everything I need" comes from the song "Hate and Love" by Jack Savoretti which provided the inspiration for the title of this story. **_

_**This journey has been a long, but good one. (-; **_


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